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[WP] You're a time traveler from 2127 that traveled to 2016 for an election prank, but when you try to travel back to 2127 you get an error "Does not exist" | "Come on, you can't serious. You invented a time machine?" I stared at the glowing box in my best friend's basement.
"I did, well I mean. I will." He shrugged. "It is confusing if you try to make sense of it, but it is a legitimate time machine."
"Have you used it yet?" I walked closer to the glowing box.
"Yeah. I saw a T-Rex this morning before breakfast. I ate lunch with my grandparents that passed away before I was born. I'm not sure what I'm doing for dinner yet." He shrugged again. "Do you want to try it out?"
"Seriously?" I looked to him and then back at the glowing box. "Well of course I do!"
"Okay, well this is how it works. You step in, type in a date, and make sure you download my app, because that is how you get home." He held up his hand and I saw an app that had a cartoon image of the glowing box on it flash on his palm.
"That sound simple enough." I navigated to the app on my neural interface and downloaded it onto my internal hard drive.
"I haven't really tried messing with history yet, so don't do anything crazy." He sat down and hit a few buttons on his computer. "Okay, it's ready to go."
In the back of my mind, I thought my best friend was playing a joke on me. Time travel was nothing more than science fiction. It had been tried by so many people over the years, and none of them had been successful as far as I knew. I stepped into the glowing box and stared at the screen. I really didn't know where I wanted to go, if I could actually travel. I thought back to the lesson we learned in history class about the businessman named Donald Trump that almost got elected president. The pure chaos of that era sounded fun when I read about it. I decided that would be a good year to see since it was fresh on my mind. I put in the date, and then I felt my head spin.
"Holy shit, is this really happening?" It was like light collided with darkness as the box started to vibrate.
A few seconds later, I was standing on a sidewalk. I knew I wasn't in my own time anymore. I was standing in the middle of Times Square, and it looked nothing like the way it did when I watched the ball drop to ring in 2127. Everything looked ancient. Half of the people that walked by me were holding devices in their hands. Cell phones! I had read about them! They were archaic devices that people used to have to carry around in order to access their neural interface. I felt my interface lock onto a signal. It was 2016's version of a network, but it was like molasses compared to the instantaneous network I was used to.
"Fuck..." I sat down on a nearby bench. "This is real. I really am in 2016."
My scans were slow, but they confirmed it. I closed my eyes and started reading the latest news articles on my neural interface. It was history being witnessed in real time. I chuckled to myself when I saw a poll predicting Hillary Clinton's triumphant defeat of Donald Trump. They were predicting a landslide, but they had no idea how big it would be. Trump was going to be buried in so many scandals by the time election day came that he would barely win *any* of the the staunch republican states.
"I wonder if I could actually change this..." I kept rolling articles through my neural interface, absorbing them in an instant. "This would be one hell of a prank. It would also prove that we *can* change the past."
It wasn't hard to access 2016's encrypted databases. Their version of encryption could have been cracked by a toddler in 2127. Changing the winner of the election seemed harmless. Hillary Clinton was remembered as the first woman to win the Oval Office, but nothing important happened during her tenure. She spent most of her presidency dealing with all of the scandals that came after she was elected. I knew which ones would be her downfall, and which ones derailed Trump's chance of winning.
"Okay, let's transfer this email server over here. Let's email a link to Wikileaks. Trump's sex scandals are about to blow, so let's wipe out all the videos..." My mind spun in circles as my neural interface played God with 2016's weak encryption. "Hmm, a lot of these Trump support sites are based in Russia. That's odd."
I didn't remember anything about Russia supporting Trump. In my timeline, they were remembered as a driving force behind making sure he never won because videos of him in a hotel room during a visit to Moscow got released. I dug further and saw that someone else was also tracking the same information I was. They were hidden behind a lot of proxy servers, but my neural interface quickly traced their signal to a firm that supported Hillary Clinton.
"Ah so, that's how they did it. That's...cheating." I quickly killed the signal attempting to access Russia's network. "Yeah, these videos will never see the light of day."
I deleted everything that could hurt Trump prior to election day and pushed all of Hillary's secrets to the forefront. By the time the election came around, they would even know that she was responsible for rigging the primaries against Bernie Sanders, something that didn't come out until after she was out of office in my time.
"Well this was fun. I think I'll try out some of that alcohol they outlawed in 2099" I stood up and walked until I found a bar.
I was disappointed to find out that they didn't take *any* form of cryptocurrency, which was the only way to pay in my time. A few seconds later, my eyes bulged out of my head when I realized how cheap Bitcoin was in 2016. One Bitcoin would set your family up for generations in my time and seeing it hovering at such a low price was shocking. I quickly hacked a few bank accounts, created a Bitcoin wallet on my internal hard drive, and purchased enough to make me the richest person in 2127 ten times over. I was past the point of meddling. I was actually changing the future as well as the past. I hacked an ATM, which was stupidly easy through my neural interface, and returned to the bar with thousands of dollars in my pocket. It was a fortune in 2016.
Alcohol was amazing. The history books didn't do it justice. I understood how people got so addicted to it. It really messed with my neural interface, to the point I could barely access it, which was a staunch reminder of the reason it was outlawed in the first place. I drank until I could barely walk, and then got a hotel room for the evening.
I could have easily returned to 2127 and lived the rest of my life in luxury, but 2016 was a lot of fun. Sex didn't require a perfect match on the Government's DNA computer for the sole purpose of offspring. People just fucked for pleasure. Alcohol was just the tip of the debauchery iceberg. Before I knew it, I had tried almost every drug 2016 had to offer, and fucked so many women that I lost count. I staggered through New York, trapped in a cocaine/whiskey haze, and walked into a bar which was oddly silent as people stared at a television screen.
"Oh shit, the election..." I walked up and stared as the words flashed on the screen.
*Donald Trump Wins*
Everything I had done started to hit me all at once. I had literally hacked history. I started wondering how my actions changed 2127. I didn't expect much. Trump was remembered as a buffoon that got swallowed in his scandals. I had prevented the ones that stopped him from getting elected, but I was sure there were more to come. I took one last drink and walked outside, loading my neural interface as I leaned against a bench. It was hard to get myself online with the drugs in my system, but I had figured out how to do it, even if it wasn't as effective as it was when I was sober. I went to the app with the image of the glowing box and selected it.
"Okay, 2127...here I come!" I smiled and closed my eyes. "I'm going to run the fucking world with these Bitcoins."
Nothing.
I opened my eyes and selected it again.
*Error - 2127 does not exist.*
"What the fuck?" I pressed it over and over, seeing the same message pop up again. "Oh no. What have I done?"
| I'm not into politics, I'm not going to say that I even know the first thing about history either.
It's like this meme where I am from, would you go back in time and kill Donald trump?
It was the kind of question to get people to talk more about determinism and the nature of innocence than anything political. Donald Trump was more of a short hand, you could have easily substituted him with other corrupt leaders from back then, like Putin or Kim Jung Un.
We knew there was a lot more nuance to them, that they did some stuff, no one person is evil, evil is the darkness within all of our hearts, yada yada.
We weren't going to do it, we were just gonna pose with the laser in front of trump tower, we should have just gone a to the day before they kncoked it down.
Because when he the timeline *needed* him to go down that golden escalator, the timeline *needed* him to say Mexicans "were bringinger crime". It shouldn't. No group shoild be treated that way. But this isn't about history, and this isnt about politics, this is about time travel.
And in time travel, you can't change the past. You may want, and you *should* want to, but you can't.
Because after the laser went iff, and we were captured. We left the laser there.
And that laser had technology we shouldn't have had. We had a joke from this card game. It was mecha-trump.
We never thought we wold have created time traveling Trump.
No one, not even us, we're suppose to have access to unlimited time travel.
Now we are stuck, because there is no time to go back to.
We are going to die in between timelines.
We were going to die knowing unraveled the very concept of time.
Not for polics, not for some grand ideal.
Just for a meme. | |
[deleted] | [WP] A new app has just been released. It is a gps tracker guranteed to find your true soulmate. One day, you and your wife download it for fun. Your tracker says "soulmate two feet away." Hers says "soul mate 163 miles away." | She froze, staring at the device in shock. Her auburn waves fell from a poorly-placed pin as deep blue eyes began to shine. As the tears began to fall, his own cell phone fell to the carpeted floor with a dull thud.
“My darling, my angel, what is it?” His hand gently caressed her cheek, wiping away her tears. His wife, his soulmate, tore her gaze from the brightly lit screen to meet his.
“It’s- it’s n- not you,” Her voice hardly a whisper, heavy with grief, brought sorrow to his heart. His eyes flickered, momentarily, to her screen. ‘YOUR SOULMATE IS 163 MILES AWAY!’ The bright, cheerful image danced, offering directions. It was in stark contrast to his own, which had told him that she was only two feet away.
He turned from his wife, picking up their two-year-old daughter. With a smile, he took his true love’s hand.
“Come, let’s find him. We’ll find out what this is all about. After all, I will always love you, no matter what.” The walk to the family car was silence, only filled with the incessant babbling of the child, who he gently placed into a carseat. Their daughter, precious Alice. She truly was adorable.
With his wife’s hand held firmly in his left, the drive was filled with kind, comforting words. It was frustrating, that the app wouldn’t give an exact address. No, it was simply turn-by-turn directions to an unknown place.
Each street was incredibly familiar, avenues that the family travelled down every weekday.
“You have arrived at your destination,” a bright voice emitted from her phone. A soft sob was choked back, her taking her hand from his to cover her own mouth. Anxiety began gripping his body. They were here. Would this ruin their perfect marriage? Their perfect love? He placed a smile on his face as he helped his wife and daughter out of the vehicle. Only a few more steps. The building before them bore the name of their son’s elementary school. Could it be a teacher? Their son’s teacher?
They were directed towards the playground. Children called to each other, blissfully unaware of the turmoil the couple felt. Three, two, one.
“Mommy!” David ran to his mother, his wife. “Mommy? Why are you sad? Don’t be sad!” As their son embraced his mother, her cell phone began to chime. She brought the device out, reading the words displayed.
‘YOU’VE FOUND YOUR SOULMATE! CONGRATULATIONS!’ It was the same screen that he had seen earlier. Alice had been playing next to him when he opened his own map, only two feet away. David had been at school. They both loved their children so much. They were their soulmates.
Her tears became those of joy, knowing what she had already known as she embraced their son tightly. Alice held onto his neck, aware only of her father’s comforting warmth.
~ ~ I am bad at endings! | I had been away at a conference for nearly a week, and missed my wife terribly. We talked every night though, and most nights used Skype for our calls. One day she wasn't available for Skype but had another fun idea for us. I rolled my eyes as she described the new app called Soulma to me. It was supposed to, after a long series of questions, find your perfect soulmate. I was positive her and I would be mutual soulmates, so I agreed and spent the day answering questions on the app. After a long day of conference stuff I stopped by a local brewery for a beer and texted my wife. I sat at the bar and sipped a nice IPA and logged into the app. By that time Soulma had found my soulmate. It was not the 163 miles away I was expecting, but rather two feet. I had to look twice. *TWO FEET*. I discreetly looked to my left at the overweight neckbeard and shuddered. Then to my right. No one. The bartender's voice brought a sudden, scary realization. My heart stopped. She was beautiful, but far too young. She smiled at me, but there was worry in her eyes. I realized I had been unresponsive to her, so I stammered out my order and handed her the menu.
My wife's text stared up at me. She was ecstatic that her soulmate was 163 miles away. Following her text were two screenshots, one of her app's result and one of a map from our house to the bar I was at. I knew she was expecting my result back. She'd want a screenshot too, just for the romantic affect. I panicked, and swallowed half of my beer in a single gulp. The waitress was back with my food and a sparkly eyed smile. I thanked her and broke eye contact quickly. Her name was Cara. I saw her looking at me from across the bar, but I pretended not to notice. Instead I studied my food. No more messages from my wife, but it had been over ten minutes so she would soon be wondering why I haven't responded. After eating I finished my beer and requested another before going to the bathroom. God, Cara was beautiful. I stepped out into the cool night and took a deep breath of crisp air. I texted my wife, *I'm sorry honey it's been a crazy day and I have not had time to finish the questionnaire. So many questions! But I don't need an app to tell me you are my soulmate. I love you.*
That text satisfied her. I drank the guilt down and divided my time between flirting with Cara and talking to my wife. Eventually my wife went to bed and Cara was getting off of work. She wanted to go get a drink with me. She had expressed interest in my line of work, and I could feel my inhibitions had lifted but I didn't care. I went with her to a trendy bar only a couple blocks away. I could not believe that I had so much to talk about with someone twenty years younger than me. We had a blast. So much so that I *almost* agreed to let her stay the night at my hotel. But in a moment of clarity I called her an Uber instead.
I did not see her again for the remaining two days of the conference, but we did talk in texts. I went home relieved to embrace my wife again. But something was different. I felt different. I continued to talk to Cara and one day she told me about an app called Soulma and was excited about her results. I relived the panic of that night as the screenshots came in. Her soulmate was 163 miles away, and the map led to my house.
The next day I started seeing a therapist. |
[deleted] | [WP] A new app has just been released. It is a gps tracker guranteed to find your true soulmate. One day, you and your wife download it for fun. Your tracker says "soulmate two feet away." Hers says "soul mate 163 miles away." | We downloaded it as a joke, lying on the floor of our dingy little second-floor apartment on a warm Friday evening. Thought it'd say we were meant to be together, like we had always said to each other for all 10 years of our happy little marriage. Mine read out as much, at least so I thought - my true love could be reached within a mere few feet. Hers, on the other hand, said her true love was miles and miles away. We both read it and laughed - figured the program was having some problems with its routing, and that it'd just send her right back to our apartment if she decided to follow it. We went on with our evening, making dinner and watching game shows as we always had.
I wasn't really surprised when she up and left in the middle of the night. At least she tried to be subtle, not slamming any doors, or breaking anything open. Just grabbed the keys to her rusty old sedan and left. I only knew she was gone because that car couldn't start up without making noise to rival the launch of the Space Shuttle, and everyone could hear it for at least a mile around. And to be honest, I really can't blame her. What else are you supposed to do when you're told your soulmate's out there, but within your reach? Just sit at home? Keep sleeping with the boring old husband you've always had, and never learn what could have been?
I got a text a few hours later, the simple "hey I'm not coming back, here's what you can do with my stuff, etc." kind of text that every husband hopes they'll never see. I chucked my phone at the wall and went back to sleep, only to promptly be woken up by 2 noises simultaneously. One was my downstairs neighbor, dear old Ellie, probably wanting to make sure everything was OK, judging by her tone of voice and the quiet, timid knocks on the door.
The other was a reminder from the app on my phone, telling me that true love was still mere feet away.
Curious, I dismissed the app, and went to talk to Ellie.
"Johnathan? Is everything quite alright? I heard Samantha leave in the middle of the night, and thought the plumbing might have failed again. I brought my wrench if you need it..." the considerate old lady said through her yellowing teeth.
"Nah, Ellie, just a bit of trouble in paradise. It's this new app that's all the rage. Shows you how far away your soulmate is. Turns out, my wife's soulmate is off in another county." I bitterly muttered, slightly annoyed at having been woken up and even moreso at having been abandoned.
"Oh dear, Johnathan, I'm so sorry. But at least the app will tell you where yours is, right?" Ellie responded, trying her best to make the situation better.
"Yeah, except I think it's broken on my phone. It keeps telling me that my soulmate's just a few feet away." I spat out before catching myself. She wasn't helping, but it wasn't her fault my wife left. No need to get angry at the sweet old granny, John. Keep your cool, I thought.
"Hmm. That's odd. Well maybe you can stop by later for some cookies and tea, that'll help ease your mind. You could even talk to my niece, she's visiting all the way from New York! Nice girl, smart too, just got her degree in.... er...." Ellie sighed, then yelled down the stairs. "Ivy, dear, what's your degree again?"
A voice drifted up from downstairs, where Ellie had left the door to her apartment open. "PhD in chemical engineering, Gran! Why? Are you trying to set me up with someone again?"
"No, dear, of course not!" Ellie winked at me. "But I do have someone here you may like to meet...." | I had been away at a conference for nearly a week, and missed my wife terribly. We talked every night though, and most nights used Skype for our calls. One day she wasn't available for Skype but had another fun idea for us. I rolled my eyes as she described the new app called Soulma to me. It was supposed to, after a long series of questions, find your perfect soulmate. I was positive her and I would be mutual soulmates, so I agreed and spent the day answering questions on the app. After a long day of conference stuff I stopped by a local brewery for a beer and texted my wife. I sat at the bar and sipped a nice IPA and logged into the app. By that time Soulma had found my soulmate. It was not the 163 miles away I was expecting, but rather two feet. I had to look twice. *TWO FEET*. I discreetly looked to my left at the overweight neckbeard and shuddered. Then to my right. No one. The bartender's voice brought a sudden, scary realization. My heart stopped. She was beautiful, but far too young. She smiled at me, but there was worry in her eyes. I realized I had been unresponsive to her, so I stammered out my order and handed her the menu.
My wife's text stared up at me. She was ecstatic that her soulmate was 163 miles away. Following her text were two screenshots, one of her app's result and one of a map from our house to the bar I was at. I knew she was expecting my result back. She'd want a screenshot too, just for the romantic affect. I panicked, and swallowed half of my beer in a single gulp. The waitress was back with my food and a sparkly eyed smile. I thanked her and broke eye contact quickly. Her name was Cara. I saw her looking at me from across the bar, but I pretended not to notice. Instead I studied my food. No more messages from my wife, but it had been over ten minutes so she would soon be wondering why I haven't responded. After eating I finished my beer and requested another before going to the bathroom. God, Cara was beautiful. I stepped out into the cool night and took a deep breath of crisp air. I texted my wife, *I'm sorry honey it's been a crazy day and I have not had time to finish the questionnaire. So many questions! But I don't need an app to tell me you are my soulmate. I love you.*
That text satisfied her. I drank the guilt down and divided my time between flirting with Cara and talking to my wife. Eventually my wife went to bed and Cara was getting off of work. She wanted to go get a drink with me. She had expressed interest in my line of work, and I could feel my inhibitions had lifted but I didn't care. I went with her to a trendy bar only a couple blocks away. I could not believe that I had so much to talk about with someone twenty years younger than me. We had a blast. So much so that I *almost* agreed to let her stay the night at my hotel. But in a moment of clarity I called her an Uber instead.
I did not see her again for the remaining two days of the conference, but we did talk in texts. I went home relieved to embrace my wife again. But something was different. I felt different. I continued to talk to Cara and one day she told me about an app called Soulma and was excited about her results. I relived the panic of that night as the screenshots came in. Her soulmate was 163 miles away, and the map led to my house.
The next day I started seeing a therapist. |
[deleted] | [WP] A new app has just been released. It is a gps tracker guranteed to find your true soulmate. One day, you and your wife download it for fun. Your tracker says "soulmate two feet away." Hers says "soul mate 163 miles away." | We downloaded it as a joke, lying on the floor of our dingy little second-floor apartment on a warm Friday evening. Thought it'd say we were meant to be together, like we had always said to each other for all 10 years of our happy little marriage. Mine read out as much, at least so I thought - my true love could be reached within a mere few feet. Hers, on the other hand, said her true love was miles and miles away. We both read it and laughed - figured the program was having some problems with its routing, and that it'd just send her right back to our apartment if she decided to follow it. We went on with our evening, making dinner and watching game shows as we always had.
I wasn't really surprised when she up and left in the middle of the night. At least she tried to be subtle, not slamming any doors, or breaking anything open. Just grabbed the keys to her rusty old sedan and left. I only knew she was gone because that car couldn't start up without making noise to rival the launch of the Space Shuttle, and everyone could hear it for at least a mile around. And to be honest, I really can't blame her. What else are you supposed to do when you're told your soulmate's out there, but within your reach? Just sit at home? Keep sleeping with the boring old husband you've always had, and never learn what could have been?
I got a text a few hours later, the simple "hey I'm not coming back, here's what you can do with my stuff, etc." kind of text that every husband hopes they'll never see. I chucked my phone at the wall and went back to sleep, only to promptly be woken up by 2 noises simultaneously. One was my downstairs neighbor, dear old Ellie, probably wanting to make sure everything was OK, judging by her tone of voice and the quiet, timid knocks on the door.
The other was a reminder from the app on my phone, telling me that true love was still mere feet away.
Curious, I dismissed the app, and went to talk to Ellie.
"Johnathan? Is everything quite alright? I heard Samantha leave in the middle of the night, and thought the plumbing might have failed again. I brought my wrench if you need it..." the considerate old lady said through her yellowing teeth.
"Nah, Ellie, just a bit of trouble in paradise. It's this new app that's all the rage. Shows you how far away your soulmate is. Turns out, my wife's soulmate is off in another county." I bitterly muttered, slightly annoyed at having been woken up and even moreso at having been abandoned.
"Oh dear, Johnathan, I'm so sorry. But at least the app will tell you where yours is, right?" Ellie responded, trying her best to make the situation better.
"Yeah, except I think it's broken on my phone. It keeps telling me that my soulmate's just a few feet away." I spat out before catching myself. She wasn't helping, but it wasn't her fault my wife left. No need to get angry at the sweet old granny, John. Keep your cool, I thought.
"Hmm. That's odd. Well maybe you can stop by later for some cookies and tea, that'll help ease your mind. You could even talk to my niece, she's visiting all the way from New York! Nice girl, smart too, just got her degree in.... er...." Ellie sighed, then yelled down the stairs. "Ivy, dear, what's your degree again?"
A voice drifted up from downstairs, where Ellie had left the door to her apartment open. "PhD in chemical engineering, Gran! Why? Are you trying to set me up with someone again?"
"No, dear, of course not!" Ellie winked at me. "But I do have someone here you may like to meet...." | She froze, staring at the device in shock. Her auburn waves fell from a poorly-placed pin as deep blue eyes began to shine. As the tears began to fall, his own cell phone fell to the carpeted floor with a dull thud.
“My darling, my angel, what is it?” His hand gently caressed her cheek, wiping away her tears. His wife, his soulmate, tore her gaze from the brightly lit screen to meet his.
“It’s- it’s n- not you,” Her voice hardly a whisper, heavy with grief, brought sorrow to his heart. His eyes flickered, momentarily, to her screen. ‘YOUR SOULMATE IS 163 MILES AWAY!’ The bright, cheerful image danced, offering directions. It was in stark contrast to his own, which had told him that she was only two feet away.
He turned from his wife, picking up their two-year-old daughter. With a smile, he took his true love’s hand.
“Come, let’s find him. We’ll find out what this is all about. After all, I will always love you, no matter what.” The walk to the family car was silence, only filled with the incessant babbling of the child, who he gently placed into a carseat. Their daughter, precious Alice. She truly was adorable.
With his wife’s hand held firmly in his left, the drive was filled with kind, comforting words. It was frustrating, that the app wouldn’t give an exact address. No, it was simply turn-by-turn directions to an unknown place.
Each street was incredibly familiar, avenues that the family travelled down every weekday.
“You have arrived at your destination,” a bright voice emitted from her phone. A soft sob was choked back, her taking her hand from his to cover her own mouth. Anxiety began gripping his body. They were here. Would this ruin their perfect marriage? Their perfect love? He placed a smile on his face as he helped his wife and daughter out of the vehicle. Only a few more steps. The building before them bore the name of their son’s elementary school. Could it be a teacher? Their son’s teacher?
They were directed towards the playground. Children called to each other, blissfully unaware of the turmoil the couple felt. Three, two, one.
“Mommy!” David ran to his mother, his wife. “Mommy? Why are you sad? Don’t be sad!” As their son embraced his mother, her cell phone began to chime. She brought the device out, reading the words displayed.
‘YOU’VE FOUND YOUR SOULMATE! CONGRATULATIONS!’ It was the same screen that he had seen earlier. Alice had been playing next to him when he opened his own map, only two feet away. David had been at school. They both loved their children so much. They were their soulmates.
Her tears became those of joy, knowing what she had already known as she embraced their son tightly. Alice held onto his neck, aware only of her father’s comforting warmth.
~ ~ I am bad at endings! |
[WP] You have just had a surprise encounter with the world's worst supervillain. Not worst as in 'most evil'; worst as in 'lowest quality'. | The gun went off with a click. Not a bang... but a click.
"Uh... um... w-wait. Give me a m-m-minute," Baron Blood stammered. I couldn't tell if he was nervous or if it was his speech impediment flaring up again. Maybe both. "M-my gun jammed. W-we-well, no m-matter!" he cried, tossing his firearm to the side and glaring defiantly into the recording camera. "I said that unless I had my money by m-midnight, one of the hostages dies! S-So this is on you, Bank of America!" Baron Blood knelt down and put his hands on both sides of my head. My fellow hostages squealed. I grimaced. His hands were *really* sweaty. His grip tightened, and he twisted. My neck popped. It was sort of relaxing, actually.
I stared up into his surprised brown eyes. "I— I thought that would w-work. Why didn't it work?"
I shrugged, making that "I dunno" sound into my cloth gag.
"Um... Rob? D-Do we have any gasoline? Or... lighter fluid or anything?"
The cameraman shook his head.
"A m-machete? Even a knife?"
"Not since the blonde one tried to escape, remember?"
Baron Blood grunted and pressed his hands to his temples. "Y-You know what? Fuck it. I'll try again t-t-tomorrow. Cut the camera, Rob."
Rob nodded dutifully. I patted the Baron's knee sympathetically with my bound hands.
"Th-thanks Jerry," he sighed sadly. | They call him Captian Sarcasmo. Starting from the top Capt Sarcasmo wears a giant S on a spring on his head and a full bodied spandex suit in bright orange with purple S shapes all over. His plan of worldwide destruction is to use our sarcarm and love for the ironic against us. He soon realizes how hard it's become (that's what she said) to fulfill everyone's destiny in an ironic or sarcastic fashion. He eventually becomes a mod for /r/dankmemes and is currently lurking there now. Waiting for his next victim.
Edit:typos | |
[WP] Can someone write about Georgie the introverted whale? Anything can happen in the story, I just want to read about a shy whale. | The winch creaked under the weight of the beast as its huge form was lowered onto the deck of the ship. Bjorn watched on as Sigurd and Olafur retrieved their harpoons from the steaming mass now weighing down the stern, wiping slick, dark blood from the metal barbs with oil-darkened rags. Soon the Minke would be tied down and measured and the men would begin their journey back to shore.
He turned away from the scene as a deep, rumbling breath escaped the creature, its huge form seeming to deflate, to settle. Lighting his pipe, he looked out across the frigid sea, littered here and there with slabs of almost perfect blue ice which floated like decorations against the black water beneath. He strode the short distance to the cabin, boots slapping against the sodden deck.
"I wonder what he was like" Sigurd growled, joining him at the helm, glancing momentarily over his shoulder at their catch.
"I'm just glad we caught him, you know how scarce whales have been in these waters the last month."
"Shy, almost like they're... scared."
"Don't be a faviti', that would take some kind of apex predator and we're the only predator to them in these waters."
Bjorn snorted laughter and supped on his pipe, igniting the trawler's engines ready for the trip back to Reykjavik. It would be a slow journey to account for the added tonnage of their catch, but slower meant calmer, and calmer meant less could go wrong.
"uh... Bjorn" Sigurd pointed to the radar screen with a trembling hand. The softly glowing display showed their ship at the centre, a mass many times their size closing in fast "then what is that?"
The sea exploded around them, the trawler lifted out of the water and into the air. Olafur was sent bouncing across the deck and tumbling over the side, leaving behind him nothing but a small spatter of blood on the wooden boards. Sigurd held tight to Bjorn as the ship was lifted up from the sea on what seemed to be a vast, pulsating island of stone grey flesh and blubber. The sails were snapped and torn from their mountings as the trawler yawed sideways and the world became a blur of motion and pain.
And Bjorn screamed as a deafening, bone-rattling whale call echoed across the sea. | Kevin rolled the joint with his fin. It got passed around the circle, and each whale shared in the joyous haze. Finally, it was in Georgie's motionless fins. Kevin nodded with a warm smile. "C'mon, bull. Take a hit."
Georgie peered down at it. "Um...I've never...uh..."
"It's cool, Georgie. Everyone has a first time. It's harmless. Just a bit of seaweed."
Georgie inched it closer. "I guess."
"You don't gotta if you don't wanna, bull. But damn, you missing out. It'll do you good. Calm your nerves. Remember that, uh, who's that cow you dig?"
"Kath?"
"Yeah, that's the one." Kevin turned in the water, bending his tail up and down as he danced his fins against his body. "She the one with them curves and—oooh—a behind that any bull would wanna get behind." The others laughed. "Damn, Georgie. I'm telling ya. Take a hit, calm your nerves, and soon 'nough you'll be chatting her up like you ain't never did before."
"I don't know, Kev."
"Up to you, my bull. Up to you."
Georgie eyed it for a good while then passed the joint on. "I can't. You bulls have fun." He swam off, leaving the whales with a large deep\-blue gap in their circle.
Another whale dispersed from the group and floated to Georgie's side. "Oi, Georgie, yo. Mating season be coming up soon. If you ain't gonna talk to Kath tonight, when?"
"I don't need seaweed to talk to her, Dean."
Dean slapped him on the back. "I know, bud. I know. Ain't saying ya need it. But ya need something. You ain't spoken a word to that pretty cow o' yours."
"I...I will." Georgie focused his sight to the darkness below. "I just don't know what to say."
"Hello."
"Wha...?"
"Start with hello, ya dang plankton. Say something nice about her back, ya know?"
"Like what?"
Dean rubbed his fins together. "Hmm. You know. Like, 'ey, that's a damn fine hump you got on that back, miss. Mind if I use it as a saddle?"
Georgie giggled. "What? No. No\-no. I'd die."
"Well, you can tame it up a bit. You got the gist, bull. Just lay down yo charms."
Georgie lowered his head. "I don't got charms, Dean. You know that."
"Georgie, when you comfortable you be as smooth as a seal. You jus' need ta get comfy."
"I don't know how."
"Ya know what ya need? A mentor."
Georgie tilted to the side, facing Dean. "A mentor?"
"A mentor."
"For what?"
"Ya know. Laying on the charms. Getting that cow back to your part o' The Blue for a little humpback riding."
"Where would I find so—"
Dean nudged him and grinned wide. "*Ahem*."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes! Look, Georgie. I promise ya. I'm a do everything in my power ta get ya talking to that cow with charms out yo dick and everywhere else. I won't rest. I won't stop 'til you and Kathleen are smooching and tail smacking and everything in\-between. You just need ta be on\-board."
"You'd really go that far?"
"Hey, from now on, no more seaweed for your ol' buddy Dean. Not until I get my bull with his cow. Promise."
Georgie'd wallowed in the same place for most of his life. Any opportunity for change he'd swam past. But mating season really was near. His time wasn't finite. No matter how much he dreamed the opposite. He dreamed he was like The Blue below him—infinite. But he knew The Blue was finite too, no matter how it seemed to go on forever. It had an ending somewhere, forgotten and lonely. But unlike The Blue, Georgie had a will. He had the choice to stay the same, all the way to his ending, or to swim The Blue differently. The way he wanted. Georgie gazed forward, a determined glint in his eye. "You know what? Let's do it. I'll be your apprentice. It's finally time I did something." | |
[WP] Can someone write about Georgie the introverted whale? Anything can happen in the story, I just want to read about a shy whale. | His mother called him Georgie. That meant everyone else did too. George had long since stopped asking everyone to stop, nobody ever listened to him anyway. He swam close to the surface reflecting on this thought and wondering why it no longer angered him. He decided that because he no longer cared about correcting them that he no longer cared about being called Georgie.
He sighed, or atleast did his best impression of it. He saw the humans through the glass and learned how to do many human things, like talk, sigh, and dance. He liked dancing but all the other narwhals looked at him funny whenever they saw him doing it.
He didn't really understand the other narwhals, who picked the name narwhal anyway?
He swam towards the glass and saw a group of human calves dancing and pointing at him. He did his best impression of a grin and started dancing back. He was so happy swinging his flippers and moving his tail. His head
bounced in time with the small humans. They laughed and he laughed and then other whales looked at him as if he didn't belong. He didn't let it get him down, that had been the norm for what seemed like forever now.
He swam to the surface to see his mom . She was putting on a show and called him over. He rolled his eyes at being called Georgie again. He was a grown whale dammit. The other narwhals shied away from him as his mom threw a fish to him and he caught it out of the air. The humans clapped and laughed as Georgie, who only felt at home with the humans danced to his favorite song. Then his mom called him something he had never heard of before. She called him a Beluga. Georgie thought that sounded like some kind of sickness, and decided he would ask her about it after the song. | Kevin rolled the joint with his fin. It got passed around the circle, and each whale shared in the joyous haze. Finally, it was in Georgie's motionless fins. Kevin nodded with a warm smile. "C'mon, bull. Take a hit."
Georgie peered down at it. "Um...I've never...uh..."
"It's cool, Georgie. Everyone has a first time. It's harmless. Just a bit of seaweed."
Georgie inched it closer. "I guess."
"You don't gotta if you don't wanna, bull. But damn, you missing out. It'll do you good. Calm your nerves. Remember that, uh, who's that cow you dig?"
"Kath?"
"Yeah, that's the one." Kevin turned in the water, bending his tail up and down as he danced his fins against his body. "She the one with them curves and—oooh—a behind that any bull would wanna get behind." The others laughed. "Damn, Georgie. I'm telling ya. Take a hit, calm your nerves, and soon 'nough you'll be chatting her up like you ain't never did before."
"I don't know, Kev."
"Up to you, my bull. Up to you."
Georgie eyed it for a good while then passed the joint on. "I can't. You bulls have fun." He swam off, leaving the whales with a large deep\-blue gap in their circle.
Another whale dispersed from the group and floated to Georgie's side. "Oi, Georgie, yo. Mating season be coming up soon. If you ain't gonna talk to Kath tonight, when?"
"I don't need seaweed to talk to her, Dean."
Dean slapped him on the back. "I know, bud. I know. Ain't saying ya need it. But ya need something. You ain't spoken a word to that pretty cow o' yours."
"I...I will." Georgie focused his sight to the darkness below. "I just don't know what to say."
"Hello."
"Wha...?"
"Start with hello, ya dang plankton. Say something nice about her back, ya know?"
"Like what?"
Dean rubbed his fins together. "Hmm. You know. Like, 'ey, that's a damn fine hump you got on that back, miss. Mind if I use it as a saddle?"
Georgie giggled. "What? No. No\-no. I'd die."
"Well, you can tame it up a bit. You got the gist, bull. Just lay down yo charms."
Georgie lowered his head. "I don't got charms, Dean. You know that."
"Georgie, when you comfortable you be as smooth as a seal. You jus' need ta get comfy."
"I don't know how."
"Ya know what ya need? A mentor."
Georgie tilted to the side, facing Dean. "A mentor?"
"A mentor."
"For what?"
"Ya know. Laying on the charms. Getting that cow back to your part o' The Blue for a little humpback riding."
"Where would I find so—"
Dean nudged him and grinned wide. "*Ahem*."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes! Look, Georgie. I promise ya. I'm a do everything in my power ta get ya talking to that cow with charms out yo dick and everywhere else. I won't rest. I won't stop 'til you and Kathleen are smooching and tail smacking and everything in\-between. You just need ta be on\-board."
"You'd really go that far?"
"Hey, from now on, no more seaweed for your ol' buddy Dean. Not until I get my bull with his cow. Promise."
Georgie'd wallowed in the same place for most of his life. Any opportunity for change he'd swam past. But mating season really was near. His time wasn't finite. No matter how much he dreamed the opposite. He dreamed he was like The Blue below him—infinite. But he knew The Blue was finite too, no matter how it seemed to go on forever. It had an ending somewhere, forgotten and lonely. But unlike The Blue, Georgie had a will. He had the choice to stay the same, all the way to his ending, or to swim The Blue differently. The way he wanted. Georgie gazed forward, a determined glint in his eye. "You know what? Let's do it. I'll be your apprentice. It's finally time I did something." | |
[WP] A group of people find themselves having to deal with a monster, but disagree what genre of story they're in. There's the action guy, the paranormal romance girl, the one who finds the whole thing absurdly hilarious, and the cultist wannabe. The "monster" just wants to go home. | Bailakur moves through the forest as quickly as he can. He’s not used to wild areas like this. His planet has been upgraded and civilized long ago. But he didn’t know where else to go. The beings on this planet are clearly insane, and he just needs to hide.
He stretches a tentacle up to grab a tree branch and pulls himself onto it, using his six other tentacles to evenly distribute his weight, trying to hold himself on his precarious perch. He flattens himself a little to reach across multiple branches, and then tries to calm himself, hoping his bio-luminescence won’t act up.
He takes deep breaths, knowing the air isn’t quite dense enough for him, and a little too lacking in nitrogen, but sufficient nonetheless. He tries to detect vibrations through the tree, hoping to see if he has been followed. That’s when his ears pick up something through the air.
“Come on out, creature!” shouts one of the local beings. “I’ve been preparing my whole life for something like you. I’ve got enough firepower to end your reign of terror.”
Bailakur tries to make sense of what the being is saying. He understands the language just fine, thanks to his implant, but he can’t imagine how the being could have been preparing for him. Bailakur didn’t even know this planet held life until a day ago.
“I’ll not let you hurt anyone else! I know you killed that park full of people! I don’t care what kind of weaponry you have, I’m ready for you!”
Bailakur slumps sadly. His ship had gone out of control, and crashed in an area crowded with beings. He felt horrible about it, and he thought maybe he should give himself up. Maybe this was an authority figure. Bailakur decides to slide down the tree when the being yells again.
“I will kill you!”
Bailakur second thinks revealing himself. But his sadness triggers a glimmer of his natural light, and he hears the being roar triumphantly. Just then another voice, higher pitched then the first, shouts out, “No Clint! You must not hurt him!”
Bailakur watches two beings come into view under him. One is hairless and solidly built, bearing what appears to be weaponry, and even in the dark, it’s clear the weapons are pointed at Bailakur. The other being is smaller than the first, with long, flowing hair, and a delicate construction. The smaller one has its hand on the arm of the bigger.
“You cannot kill him! We have bonded together. He is my one true love!”
Bailakur struggles to keep from retching. This being views him...romantically? Bailakur considers himself open-minded, and this small being may very well be attractive to the other creatures, but he finds it repulsive. It has only four limbs, hair, and he has no clue if it is even one of the seven genders with which he is compatible. He makes a hum of disgust, and both beings look up again.
“See, he is purring at me. He loves me!”
“You are crazy!” Shouts the larger being. “You’re in love with an evil octopus monster?”
Suddenly, Bailakur hears something move in a branch to his left and he extends an eye in that direction. There is another being, holding a lighted rectangle, and pointing at him.
“Yo,” whispers the being slowly, “This is awesome!”
Bailakur recoils slightly and almost falls down the tree. The being makes a barking noise, which his implant tells him signals joy. The big creature below points his weapon up once again and the smaller creature gasps.
Bailakur sits stunned in confusion. He has no idea what is happening. Perhaps he is sick and this is a dream. The creature in the tree looks down. “That chick likes this alien thing, and Rambo down there just wants to blow it all up. I’m capturing this all for you YouTube.” Says the creature, speaking into the rectangle.
Bailakur decides he is done with all of this. He doesn’t want to keep living if it means dealing with these lunatics. He flexes his tentacles and starts to let himself down from the tree.
As he is about to reach the ground, a fourth being leaps into view. He is very fast, and he flashes a blade in the light. The blade nearly severs the head off of the larger being, and splatters life fluid onto the smaller being. He then slams the blade into the smaller beings neck, it’s long hair flying away with the movement.
The creature in the tree barks again loudly. “I thought the alien was going to kill them all, but this sicko did it!” His second round of barking is cut short as the blade flies through the air and sticks in his torso. He topples out of the tree.
Bailakur falls to the ground in horror. He has never witnessed such brutal killing. The new being turns to him. “Oh Azathoth. I offer these beings as sacrifices to you, my master. Please take me back to hell with you to serve as your lieutenant.”
Bailakur doesn’t understand what hell is, and he doesn’t want to know, but he knows this creature is the craziest of all. He turns and swings up into the trees moving from tree to tree quickly. He sends a desperate message through his implant, as the being wails for him to return.
“Don’t come here. Leave me here, and save our species.” Chants Bailakur as his final message home. “These beings cannot be dealt with. Classify this as an off-limit planet, and never come back here again.” Bailakur closes the message, and then swings off, looking for somewhere to end himself in peace.
**If you enjoyed this story please check out my other writing at r/ChuckusMaximus. Thanks for a great prompt and for all of your support!** | We've been stuck in this forest for 16 hours. We're still days or longer away from rescue. And now...it's clear that we're not alone.
The others thought I was crazy for bringing a handgun on our wilderness camping trip. Not so crazy now, is it? Now that we know about that...thing.
It's clearly not from Earth. There is nothing in this world that looks like that. To have gotten here, it must come from a world far more advanced than pur own. It must have been at the top of the chain on its homeworld. And no species gets to the top without being a predator.
Evolution has always been driven by competition. When two species that occupy the same niche in the same environment meet, they can only compete, they can only fight, and they won't stop until one species or the other is extinct.
In this little scenario, the environment is the wilderness of northern Montana, and the niche is Dominant Species on the Planet. We have no choice but to fight in order to survive.
It's clear the Creature is already thinking along these lines. It's intentions were not peaceful. Everyone in our group is safe--thanks to me. But I know my shot didn't kill it. It will go off to lick its wounds, but it will be back.
And when it does, I'll be ready.
It's been 16 hours since our car broke down. Calling it an "accident" doesn't really do it justice, because I can't help but feel like part of this must have been fate.
I don't think I've ever felt love in my life. No man or woman has ever really made me feel it. But then...
I saw it before any of the others. I heard a soft rustling in some nearby branches, I turned and I saw...something unbelievable. Something otherworldly. Something magnificent.
I looked into its eyes. All of them. And it looked back. What I saw in those fleeting moments was beautiful. There was a soul behind those eyes, and that soul...could feel love.
But before I could do anything, I heard a shout from behind me. Rick had pulled out his gun. "NO!" I screamed, but it was too late, he fired. There was a great bellow, and a gentle being ran off into the woods, clearly injured, but I prayed not fatally.
I didn't run after it. How could I? It was too soon.
If it was meant to be...It would come back.
I do not live in the fantasy world where mankind is safe from the whims of the universe. I know that anyone can be struck down at any time, for any reason. Or for no reason at all.
I was not surprised that we broke down in the worst possible way. And I am not surprised that Jen is so captivated by the sight of an eldritch abomination, though she is foolish to think it sees her as more advanced than the dirt. But not as foolish as Rick for thinking we could possibly stand a chance if it wished to slay us. That thing is allowing us to live only so long as there exists the possibility of the worship it craves. Our only path forward is to give it that worship. For sure, it will eventually corrode our minds and turn us into abominations ourselves. But that is a better lot than having our souls devoured while they are still sane enough to understand the pain.
We must worship. We can only worship.
Hail the creature. Await its return.
It had been not five minutes after reaching the first gravel road that one of the tires on their Volvo had gone flat. Douglas insisted that they turn back at that point, since it was better to be safe than sorry, after all. But Rick, Jen, and Howard decided to carry on anyway. What were the odds they'd get a second flat on the same trip?
Pretty good, as it turned out.
Now they were stuck here. They had been for 16 hours and might well be for several days. Food wasn't a problem--Rick's survivalist ways had their detriments in terms of being financially responsible, or tolerable in conversation, but they did ensure that there were always plenty of canned beans on hand.
Douglas was searching for a piece of paper to write down his last wishes in case he decided that death was preferable to eating beans for three meals a day on an indefinite basis, when he noticed that Jen was staring gooey-eyed into the underbrush. Douglas followed her eyes, and what he saw he couldn't believe.
"Is...is that what I think it is?" He muttered softly.
Then suddenly there was a shout and a scream and a gunshot and a bellow and a "What the FUCK, Rick!? We were really connecting."
"Uh, guys--" said Douglas
"It's a monster," Rick said with grim determination. "It will be back."
"You really think so?" Jen looked off where the creature had ran with eyes that were shiny and full of hope.
"Uh, guys..."
"Absolutely," said a grim-faced Rick, who was clearly not picking up on the subtext. Or the text, for that matter. "It won't stop until we're dead. We have to be ready."
Before Jen could interject, Howard butted in and said "You fools. If it wanted us dead, we would be. We're alive because it wants something from us. It wants our worship."
What.
"No!" Said Jen. "I looked in its eyes. It only wants to love."
What.
Douglas had never seen so many conclusions jumped to so fast.
"GUYS!" said Douglas, finally getting their attention. "PLEASE tell me you noticed the spatula."
Three sets of blank eyes stared at him.
"The creature. Was holding a spatula. In its left...claw, or whatever. Like a regular spatula."
Three minds tried to fit this new information into their radically different worldviews.
"It's a weapon." Rick said confidently.
"...He wants to cook for us?" Jen ventured.
"...It's trying to break our minds through hints of the familiar among the otherworldly." Howard said.
"I really have no clue what's going on here," said Douglas, "But I'm starting to think that all of you are incredibly dumb."
Log entry: Day 6 [Translated]
Fuck! Why does this planet keep trying to kill me?
I'm recording this in case some future team ever makes their way back to Earth. Probably make it a lot easier to reconstruct my final hours if I make this recording.
Okay, it's not really that bleak. There's a good chance I can figure my way out of this, if I keep myself together.
Let me provide some context. I was part of the Accloplox mission to investigate a planet that had recently produced a spacefaring species. Our plan was to stay in close orbit, as our stealth tech was enough to remain undetectable by any means that this species has available to them, including visible light.
But our plan didn't account for litter.
The really frustrating thing is that this squarely and completely my fault. From my engineering background I shoukd have known that this planet's form of space travel wouldn't directly counteract Neutonian interaction, and therefore if they set a small object in motion, it would stay in motion. That means that there would naturally be small pieces of artificial debris in motion around this planet. I just hope that nobody else got hit by them. I hope no one else had to pay for my mistake.
Of course, normally a small piece of debris wouldn't have been too much for my pod's inertial controllers to handle, but I happened to be low in the planet's gravity well at the time, trying to get a higher resolution image of some of their cities. (Interestingly, this planet has satellites that seem to be doing the same job but don't have to fly as low--suggesting that their cameras are more powerful than ours.) Anyway, the effect on my inertia was enough to disrupt my orbit, and I crashed.
Oh, and the piece of debris that got me? A spatula. Turns out this civilization has spatulas too. Kind of a weird thing to turn out to be universal, but I guess it makes sense. We both cook food, therefore we both woukd have developed frying pans, and therefore we both need spatulas. Though that doesn't explain why they left one soaring through space.
In any case, I'm now stuck here. The inertial controllers made it a gentle landing (even the spatula survived) but my pod isn't designed to escape a planet's gravity well, not from this deep. And my communications array isn't strong enough to reach the rest of my team. Even if it could, I couldn't count on them being able to rescue me--they don't have surface-to-space capabilities either, and it could take years before a ship coukd reach here from home--by that time I'll have starved to death. None of the flora or fauna on this planet is edible to me.
Making modifications to allow my pod to escape the gravity well won't be easy and will take tools I don't have. But maybe the native civilization of this planet has materials that can help me.
I recently found a group of Humans camped out near one of their roads. Their vehicle was obviously broken down--it was simply a wheel that that had broken. The machinery--an internal combustion engine, based on our reconnaissance so far--shoukd still work fine. I don't know how yet, but there might be a way I can use that to augment my own pod.
I brought the spatula with me when I went over to check it out, in the unlikely event that they would be more friendly if I brought something they woukd recognize along with me--but of course, that didn't work and thinking it might nearly killed me. At least one of the group here has a weapon, a straightforward device that launches small projectiles. It hurt like a bitch, but fortunately I have numbing agents in my pod's medkit, and the bandages shoukd have me back at full strength before long.
I need tools to survive. I don't know what I need, but my chances are much better if I have access to human technology. So in order to even have a chance, I'll have to convince these humans not to shoot me, find a basic way of communicating, then find some way to use their vehicle to augment my own.
I'm probably going to die. But I'm still going to try to get home, and to that, I'm going to have to science the shit out of this. | |
[WP] Waffle making also happens to be spell casting, but in a portable and delicious form. You're the best in the kingdom at waffling, which is why you are summoned when a powerful stranger appears before the royal court threatening to end this heresy. He calls himself "The Muffin Man". | *"You should have given up when you had the chance."*
Spitting dirt out from under my tongue, I lifted up to see *him\-\-* big hat straight, apron billowing, the Muffin Man looked down at me coolly. I grit my teeth, and somehow found the energy to growl, "Screw you."
That got me a kick to the face that sent me rolling sideways. "You never know when to stop, do you?" I could hear the *click* of the lid on his one last Tupperware. That had, in the end, been my downfall: whereas waffles are bigger and can hold more power in the pockets of their complex structure, muffins are much more compact, and so one can carry more at once. When I ran out of resources, the Muffin Man still had many more on his cart, and the tide of battle quickly turned. "That's the problem with you wafflers. First pancake syrup, then mini waffles, then waffle *fries.* And then, waffles and *chicken.*" The disgust in his voice was evident. "You really hold nothing sacred. That's why your power has grown so weak."
Though I couldn't bring myself to lift my head, I couldn't let this slander go unchallenged. "Are muffins not... just mini cakes?" I croaked out. "And\-\- and what of *cupcakes,* Muffin Man? Don't speak t*o *me of purity."
An explosion sounded somewhere to my left, and I felt its heat graze my side. *"Cupcakes are not muffins!"* The Muffin Man's voice was shrill and shaky. "There is *distance* between the two! That is my *exact* point, Waffle Maker! In your quest to *innovate,* you have lost sight of the food's *true meaning!* The essence of your power has been *lost!"* The clack of his footsteps came toward me. "The ideals of a nutritious breakfast have been *buried* under mountains of *icing and condiments!* And yet you *still* insist that they are yours!"
The footsteps stopped, and I could tell he was standing over me again. I heard a *thump,* and mustered up the last of my energy to turn my head. The Muffin Man's knee was on the ground. Looking further up, I could see that he was kneeling, Tupperware under one arm and hex muffin in the other hand. Ah, raisin bran. This was going to be a powerful one. Then he inhaled sharply, and I could see there were tears in his eyes.
"I used to respect you, you know," he whispered. And then he shoved the muffin against my face, and everything went black. | The muffin man's sneer seemingly taunts the entire essence of waffles. Attempting to wipe the smirk off his face, you raise your weapon. Feeling magic pulse out of your palm, and into your whisk, you cry "spicy syrup, enhance this inconvieable's taste buds!" A steady stream of brownish\-orange goo flies out of your whisk, and into the muffin man's mouth. "Is that the best you got?" the muffin man asks, wiping his mouth with the outside of his sleeve. Before you have time to reply, his dark eyes glaze over, and turn a shade darker. His arms ascend, as shadow muffins rise, and clump together from the ether in an algorithmic manner. The mutilated black ball of burnt bread is cast your way, in which your only ample reply is a doughy waffle shield, that wedges between you and the pathetic excuse for a wholesome brunch. Shaking off the mega\-waffle that cushioned your blow, you realize that the baker you're dealing with really is from Drury Lane.
Showing no mercy, the muffin man proceeds to darken the party by casting a shark\-muffin. Thinking quickly, you distill a helium\-waffle, allowing you to float up, and evade the muffin man's attack. "It's over muffin man, I have the high\-ground" you call out to your opponent. "The prequels suck, and shouldn't exist in this universe", he replies, somewhat taunting you to defend the prequels. "They're not all bad, you're just upset because you never lived up to your potential!" you cry, casting a somewhat salty wave of waffles his way. The waffles pelt the man, creating a soft "ploof" that annoy him more than pain him. Remarking in disgust, "that's where you're wrong waffle woman, you don't know how much darkness can feed your soul" says the sneering muffin man, spitting salt. "Well it's clear something is feeding you", you reply, slapping him silly with an invisi\-waffle.
It's time to finish this pathetic excuse for a duel. You pull out your gun\-waffle and shoot the muffin man multiple times. | |
[WP] The day you have been dreading for the last 20 years has come at last: that moose is at the door, and he wants answers. | “You have got to be kidding me.” Dave backed away from the peephole in his front door. This couldn't be happening. Even in his old age, his senses were quite sharp. There was no mistaking it. The moose was at his front door, politely knocking like... like he was some sort of gentleman calling on his neighbor and this was a completely normal thing for a moose to do!
“Why? Why me?” Dave whimpered. It wasn't as though *he* had done anything wrong. It was Joseph! He was the one who started all of this! Stupid, stupid Joseph!
“Let's hunt the moose, he says. I've always wanted to try moose! What could go wrong?” Dave was growing angry now.
“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT MOOSE WAS YOUR WIFE? HOW COULD I HAVE KNOWN I TOOK A MOTHER FROM HER BABIES? WHY DID NOONE TELL ME THAT MOOSE CAN BE SO VINDICTIVE?” Dave was screaming now.
The knocking intensified. The moose grew impatient. He knew there was no way for Dave to escape.
“I mean, it’s just how the food chain works! It's just the natural order of things!” Dave continued. “It’s not *my* fault I was craving moose meat! It's in my genetics!”
Dave threw himself at the door. “Please! I didn't know! I'm sorry!” He began to sob. He slid to the floor, whimpering.
“Not so tough without your pack to back you up huh?” The moose spoke calmly, quietly, but Dave could hear him clearly through the door nonetheless.
“It's Joseph you want! Not me! It was his idea!” Dave was grasping at straws.
“Joseph is dead. I killed him last night,” the moose's voice was as cold as ice. “In fact, I’ve killed all of your little doggy friends...and now I'm here for you.”
There was a loud crack as the front door began to give way. Dave let out a yelp and jumped back but there was nowhere to run. A lone wolf is no match for a full grown moose.
The moose leaned over the lifeless body of the final wolf. “I have avenged you, my dearest Melissa.” The moose whispered. “Now you may rest in peace.” | The doorbell rang. I peeled back the curtains. It was the moose. The moose that I hit while driving in the country, 20 years ago. The moose that I tied to the fender of my suburban, hoping to locate a fire department, or animal hospital, but ended up dropping off at the Sullivan's costume party. The party with the costume contest. The Espinosa's, a couple dressed as a moose won 1st place. The moose came in 2nd. The humiliation was too much. The real moose and the Espinosa’s locked antlers. I made my get away. It wasn't my problem any more, until now. | |
[WP] The day you have been dreading for the last 20 years has come at last: that moose is at the door, and he wants answers. | I don't know where he got the bat. Considering he didn't have thumbs or even anything close to hands, I don't know how he carried it. Especially when I took into account the fact he outweighed me, outsized me, outran me, and had huge fucking antlers. And yet, there he was. With a bat.
"Now Terry," he began, having all the eloquence of a creature that looked funny and terrifying simultaneously. "Twenty years ago, before that horrid woman snatched you up and took you away that-"
"Th-that was my mother." I managed, trying to get in more. But the moose wouldn't let me interrupt any further.
"Yes, your mother. You promised me, Terry. I've been patient, given you twenty years." He concluded, giving me the same nod and look that one might see on a mafia enforcer. It was, however, a chance to speak.
"For fuck's sake man-" I started up, only to be politely, quietly interrupted with a correction from the Algonquin Bull(y Moose).
"Bruce, Terry. My name is Bruce, you know this." Bruce the Moose said, letting me continue.
"Bruce, fuck. I was only seven. I had no sense of anything back then, least of all the fact you were real and could understand me!" I protested. "My mother thought I was in danger, and after that event, so did I!" It was the truth. After all, who the hell would have believed me? I didn't even believe my own recollections of the event.
Bruce tutted, sounding as disappointed as any overstressed, highly caffeinated soccer mom mixed with a stone cold gangster. In other words, it was like a PTA parent. "Terry, Terry, Terry. Let's forget about all that, start from the top. Wipe the slate clean." The Moose answered in turn, raising his head, looming over me. "Now, be honest. Give me some answers, Terry. You promised me you'd make them fresh, just for me. It's okay if you forgot. We can run to the store, whip 'em up fresh. I'll forgive you. But just answer me, honestly." I gulped, knowing what was coming. I couldn't avoid his question and knew it. Like a freight train. "Where the fuck are my muffins, Terry?" | The doorbell rang. I peeled back the curtains. It was the moose. The moose that I hit while driving in the country, 20 years ago. The moose that I tied to the fender of my suburban, hoping to locate a fire department, or animal hospital, but ended up dropping off at the Sullivan's costume party. The party with the costume contest. The Espinosa's, a couple dressed as a moose won 1st place. The moose came in 2nd. The humiliation was too much. The real moose and the Espinosa’s locked antlers. I made my get away. It wasn't my problem any more, until now. | |
[WP] There is a tree outside of your office window. Every day you listen to the cute little birds that live in it, merrily chirping away. Lately though, you’re starting to understand what they are actually saying, and it is terrifying. | I lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. I had not slept much last night, my mind was still racing with the one big unanswered question in all of this, “Why? What do these birds have to gain?” My alarm started ringing and pulled me away from my thoughts, I turned over and turned it off.
I got ready for work in auto-pilot, regaining control when I was stepping into my office building. “This wasn’t worth the karma,” I thought as I rode the lift up. I thought back to the first day I had seen the nest on my windowsill, I had waited until the whole family was there before taking a picture to post. I was pleasantly surprised when instead of a single couple a whole group of birds came to the windowsill. The karma from that post had been great, the Disney movie bird songs had been better.
Or they had, right until they started making sense. I don’t know how it happened but one morning as I sat at my desk and looked at the birds in the window instead of the sounds from a classical pastoral painting, I heard a small tinny voice say “It’s been decided, Jane from payroll will be replaced next.”
I looked up from my monitor to search for the source of the airy voice when I noticed the birds in the window were all looking at me. “Can this guy hear us?” asked a tiny voice I was slowly accepting was coming from the bird. “No, that’s impossible,” replied a flockmate.
I don’t know why I found myself so threatened by the little bird on the other side of the two inch glass but I darted my head down and pretended to work. Even without seeing the birds, I could still hear them.
“I don’t know man, that guy’s acting weird.”
“Don’t be crazy, there’s no way he can possibly hear us. You know what, if you’re so worried, we’ll just replace him, Jane can wait.”
I stood up from my desk and went to the bathroom. Inside I splashed water on my face, thinking maybe I was still sleepy or sleeping and this was just a side-effect.
On the way back to my desk, I could no longer hear the bird voices. I sat down at my desk and found the windowsill empty. My heart started beating faster.
“Where are they? Do they know I’m on to them? What am I even on to?” My mind started racing and I couldn’t do anything but stare ahead and wait for the birds to come back, but as it came time for lunch, they hadn’t returned.
I turned off my computer’s screen and walked to the lifts. Once inside I pushed the button for the top floor. I had never been on the roof of a skyscraper before, I had always thought that you couldn’t actually get to the top and that a skyscraper’s roof was reserved people who had a helicopter on their roofs and Hollywood movies. So I counted myself as part of a special club as I walked around the roof trying to find the birds.
I finally found the flock perched on the corner of the building, with their backs turned to me. I moved quietly behind an air conditioning unit close to they were perched but still I couldn’t hear anything, not words, not chirping.
I was slowly walking towards the flock when I heard a beating of wings behind me, I turned and saw a small mob of birds flying towards me, beating their wings at me. I covered my face and tried to move away from the onslaught of wings and tiny claws. My body went cold as I stepped away from my assailants and my foot came down on the wrong side of the building’s edge.
When they were interviewed later, all the witnesses who saw the body drop from the sky that day remarked at how odd it had been that the birds hadn’t scattered away when it landed. | It was four years to the day I started the job when I began to hear the voices.
At first, I thought it was the building. It was an old tower, nearly condemned a dozen times over. Yet, whatever plans for luxury apartment complexes and strip malls that came before the public always seemed to fall through.
I always hoped that one would succeed. Working in the same office each for so many years had grown monotonous. Even though I wasn’t a top performer, they always chose to keep me around. I was in a strange sort of stasis, never getting the chance to move to the exclusive top floors, let alone another office.
Was it any wonder that I began hearing things?
On my lunch break, I performed a sweep of the entire box-shaped room. The humming computer tower beneath my desk. The vent in the floor. The cabinets filled with ancient paper files. I turned the entire place upside down twice, but there was no change in the muffled voices.
I glanced at the clock and sighed, hiding my face in my hands. If it wasn’t the room, it had to be … *me*. I had finally lost it. Something inside my head had snapped. I began to sweat. My heart began to race. Fortunately, I was able to kick the door closed as I started to hyperventilate. I couldn’t afford for anyone to see me like this. In sales, the weak were devoured.
As I fought for my sanity, another voice entered the conversation. It was worse than the rest, high pitched and almost … song-like. The three speakers laughed briefly before continuing on. I still couldn’t understand a word of their conversation.
I was going mad, and I wasn’t even in on my own joke.
Desperately, I opened the window and tried to take a few calming breaths of fresh air. In and out. In and out. Nothing happened. Wasn’t that supposed to work? Wasn’t that how–
I froze as I noticed the birds observing me. Three birds. Three voices.
“You’re going to jump, aren’t you, John?” the first said.
The second shook its head. “I don’t think so. The last man we tried to convince didn’t believe it.”
The last man. I shook my head in disbelief. How could they know that? Wait. How did they know my name? How long had they been watching me?
“Do you mean … Mr. Ross?” I asked the birds.
“Who else?” the third bird squealed. “You must believe *harder* than he did.”
“Believe what?” I questioned.
The first bird flapped his wings emphatically and the other birds laughed.
“That I can … fly? You can’t be serious. No man can fly.”
“Of course not,” the first bird said. “You must believe that only by jumping will you ever wake up from this prison you’ve constructed for yourself.”
I stuck my head out of the window and glanced downward. Four stories below, people went about their daily routine. It was just like every day that had come before it. How was this a…
Looking around, I realized that the bird was right. Every day without fail for four years had been the same. I had never deviated from my routine. My life was an unchanging pattern. It was in the moment that I realized I *was* inside a prison, one that I had made for myself.
“Oh, he’s going to do it!” the second bird exclaimed as I fully opened the window.
“Remember that you must believe,” the third bird added. Below, people had begun to look up as I climbed onto the windowsill. “It is the only way to survive.”
“You hold the keys,” the first smiled.
I nodded my thanks, realizing I had held them all along.
Then, I jumped.
| |
[WP] For thousands of years, it has been debated the best way to perform magic. The main contenders are saying incantations, drawing hieroglyphs, and chanelling through an item. You, however, believe that a fourth way is the best. This is your case. | "What are you doing by speaking an incantation? You are creating vibrations in the atmosphere, using your will to produce an effect on the world outside of yourself. What are you doing by drawing hieroglyphs? You are rearranging matter, using your will to change the layout of the world outside yourself. What are you doing by channeling through an item? You are making that item an extension of yourself, to aide you in guiding your will to produce an affect upon the world outside of yourself." I look around the amphitheater, crowded with my peers. Each person before me has given reasons as to why their school of casting is the best, or the most powerful, or the fastest, or the most efficient. They're all wrong of course, which is why I'm here today. To set the record straight. To turn the world of magic on its head.
I've been studying magic for centuries now. Not the kind of studying most enterprising new mages envision themselves undergoing. Not the study of powerful spells or effects, nor the study of alchemy and its various branches. Not even the study of mana manipulation and its effects on spell geometry. No. My study was on a much deeper, more profound level. Right to the very core of what magic is, and how it happens. I studied the nature of casting. To do this I had to master every way of casting magic. Incantations, hieroglyphs, artifacts, bone casting, astrology, hemomancy, and every other school of magic casting I could get my hands on. Once I knew them all I could begin to distill their theories and practices into what I like to call their Simple Origins.
These Simple Origins, I discovered, are all basically identical across all schools of casting. This discovery is what has brought me here, to the Millennial Conclave. I finish looking across the crowd, some faces I was able to recognize, but most are unfamiliar. "Fellow Mages, I come before you today to share with you my Grand Discovery." Several gasps are heard throughout the masses. For anyone to announce that they have achieved their Grand Discovery is tantamount to saying they have fulfilled their purpose in life. That they could, then and there, die without regret. It is rare for any mage to make this discovery, even for those who have lived for several thousands of year.
A hush falls over the amphitheater, heavy, and charged with anticipation. "All schools of casting have their own unique techniques which allow the practitioner to produce magical effects in the world around them. However, I have discovered that all schools of casting are, in essence, at their core, the same form of casting." Several seconds go by without any sounds at all, where everyone is still catching up to what I've said. The next moment I've already anticipated, so I plug my ears with my fingers in advance. All at once everyone erupts with discontent, a veritable wall of sound not unlike some spells I've witnessed crashes forth across the stage. The ground vibrates with their voices as they all make to defend their own personal schools of casting. Thankfully one of the overseeing Ushers casts a spell of silence. I unplug my ears and clear my throat, which is strange with no sound. The Usher, the only one who can still make sound, softly asks for quiet from the audience.
A brief time passes before they can pull themselves back together, and retake their seats. "As I was saying, I have discovered that all forms of casting are basically the same. Think back to how I described the three Main Schools of casting earlier. Each form of casting is essentially creating an affect on the world outside of yourself using your will. Mana, as we have all come to more or less understand, is what powers our will once it leaves our bodies. Once we run out of mana, we can no longer use our will to cast spells." I look around again, hoping to see some sign that anyone is catching on. The older members of each School still look upset, clearly they aren't open to what I have to share. Some of the younger members of the audience, perhaps two or three hundred years old, appear confused. Clearly they aren't ready to hear what I have to say. However on several faces I am beginning to see that face people make when they suddenly catch a train of thought that appears to be going somewhere. I continue.
"My Grand Discovery is a new way of casting magic. It cuts out all the ritual, all the incantations, all the drawing, all the wand waving, all the time it normally takes to traditionally cast a spell." Another eruption of sound explodes from the crowd. This time not in anger, but out of sheer incredulity and mockery. "No spells can be cast like that!" I hear. "Preposterous!" "Impossible!" "Idiotic!" On, and on it goes for several moments. But suddenly there is Silence. The audience begins to compose themselves once more, but now it is the Ushers who appear agitated. None of them cast that spell. They didn't see anyone cast that spell. The nearest Usher looks at me from the corner of his eye and I smile.
"First, you must know the spell you intend to cast. Not just the name of the spell, or how to cast the spell, but the spell itself. The identity of the spell. Each spell is unique in its shape. In its effect. You must know that spell, it must be second nature for you to visualize that spell." I pause for a moment, to let them soak it in. "Second, you must have the mana required to cast the spell. Normally as you cast a spell your mana gradually depletes over the time it takes to cast. But with this new form of casting you must partition the mana requirement for the spell entirely at the same time you cast the spell. Finally, you must force your will outward with the entire shape of that spell at once, using the mana you've partitioned to sustain that will outside of your body. This, allows you to cast a spell instantly, with no preparation or cast time. This, is the greatest form of spell casting."
Silence, the mundane kind, fills the crowd. Every mage, even the oldest, staunchest supporters of every Main School appears deep in thought. "Suppose what you say is true." an ancient voice like wind through a crypt whispers from the front row. Archibald Sizzlebeard taps the ashes out of his pipewand with the side of his boot before filling it again from a pouch within his robes. "I assume you come prepared to offer proof?" I smile, of course I came prepared.
I visualize the entire \*Ignis\* spell within my mind, partition the mana required for a small flame, and focus my will upon the end of Archibald's pipe. With a thought I push that spell image into reality through sheer will, my mana fueling the conversion from mental to physical, and a small flame ignites the herb within the pipe. Archibald's long, overgrown eyebrows shoot up in surprise, signaling not only his own astonishment but also signaling those nearby to gasp in perfect synchronization. "Any spell" I call out quickly "can be cast this way, as long as you can memorize the entire spell. Its complete shape." To drive home my point I visualize the \*Lux\* spell most novice mages use to practice when they first begin to learn. I partition several small portions of mana in quick succession as I visualize into reality 4 small balls of floating light above my head.
A larger partition is required this time as I push the \*Incendium\* spell onto the stone floor before the stage, creating a pillar of fire from the ground to stretch a dozen spans into the sky. As the heat from my sudden display dissipates, and the flames return to nothing I gaze out upon my fellow Mages. I've spent the majority of my 762 years of life pursuing this moment. Their faces a reflection of my own from the first time I was able to cast a spell this way. To realize that the practice of magic would be changed forever. "As is the right of any mage who makes such a discovery or advancement, I have named this new form of casting. I call it Frazzlefunk's Fantastic Casting Method!" I beam with pride before my peers, I have now permanently stamped my name upon the founda\-
"Well that's a stupid name!" an angry gnomish mage shouts. "You can sod right off if you think I'm going to call it that!" another voice calls out. A deluge of insults about my naming sense rains down from the collective. Well, I suppose I can go with my backup name then. Once again I will \*Silentium\* into the air within the amphitheater.
"Fine, ok. Jerks." I pretend to sniff back my tears. "The name of this new method shall be Silent Casting. Happy now?" Several murmurs of approval, and nodding heads later the name is set. Silent Casting, my legacy, the greatest form of spell casting, is accepted. Expecting thunderous applause from mages is foolish. We, as a whole, are normally pragmatic in the matters of new and exiting information. Only when someone makes a mistake do we get excited or overly animated. So, I walk off the stage to the sound of puffing pipes, rustling robes, and chronic alchemist coughs. | To the Esteemed Council, concerning my exile, my return, and the truth I bring from the edges of the Cosmic Waste--
Leave it to the great apes to mistake 3rd dimensional narcissism for truth, for despite our attempts to reveal the path to them, they continue to murmur and scrawl over rocks and tedious bits of fauna in hopes of channeling even a minor reflection of the grand cosmic whole. And certainly, where any modest inkling of manifest is achieved by the caster, the tally is proverbially scored in favor of yet another primitive medium of choice--one that is irreparably tied to the limitations of mankind and his favored sensory tools. I was once made to know these tools well, as you may recall, and I did what I could to pass truth through that shape and on to mankind, however, they are a dense receptor to penetrate.
To the point, the incanters among them, while on an interesting path towards the truth, still fall fatally into the nuance of ages past, minding all too strictly the words of the dead and gone, whispered in times far different than their own. Our past attempts to influence their understanding have backfired tremendously, in this regard. To define is to limit, it seems, and to limit is to mar. To bind with an incantation is to rely primarily on the experiences of one outside of oneself, but there is no power to be had from outside of the self. An understanding of the intrinsic subjectivity of the human experience is essential towards leveraging an incantation properly, and there is an existential dichotomy within this sect that cannot resolve reverence for the past with the unlimited potential of the *now*, given their emerging understanding of "External Influences" as they relate to our historic cannon.
Where the human incanters seem to have it right is in leveraging an auditory medium, subsequently commanding one of the true governing essences of their material plane--sound. Beyond that, the best I've seen achieved, given the documented degree of understanding held by the incanter sects, can be almost wholly attributed to blind luck. Good for them, I suppose.
Worse off, however, are the emerging glyph masons, who spend an absurd amount of time drawing pictures for each other, only to forever forget the sacred ink in which their doodles must ultimately be penned. As we well know, the universe cares nothing for pen and parchment, as a medium--in fact, the concept is almost insulting to the grand divine, noting the pristine brilliance with which it writes its laws. Writing down the holy verse for anything more than mere recollection is a sacrilege against that which gives it power and strength. These confused scribblers have proven to be a bow with no arrows. Mankind has their way of missing the point sometimes, if a hundred thousand lifetimes have shown me anything of them.
There is something to be said for the power of the holy objects the humans speak of, however mankind has yet to create one by their own hand or volition, by my estimation. The only divine objects left in the material universe are unable to harness the true language of everything--the ultimate essence of the material plane--which has always been light. Time does not exist in the immediacy of the light singularity, nor matter to cause any interference or refraction, however, in the 3rd, these things obstruct our will. Being outside of that singularity, the agents of the 3rd can merely gather the lingering strands left by the birth of the universe and bend them feebly to their fickle ends. Crystals of old, back when their moon was still glass, and hung low in the sky, once had the potential to manifest true 'magick' for certain wielders. All of these crystals, however, have long been powdered by the elements and spread to the wind. Magical items cannot be channeled to any effect, in the 3rd, and rather these performances are reflections of a reflection--the understanding of an effect without any true knowledge of the cause.
Light and sound are the fabric of our universe, and yet, they are not mere forces, or elements. We know them to hold within them the divine language of the universe--the shape that shapes all. All that we have attempted to pass to the humans is demanded of their feeble senses by light and sound, as they bounce around an otherwise hostile material place of inorganic orchestration--a grand trick of physics, facilitated by gravity and time, and the cold absence of any guiding agency. To assume they'll ever correctly interpret the messages of the divine, at this point, is to assume over much. All three of their preferred paths lead fatally in the wrong directions, for they travel away from one another, and not toward.
I author this analysis to the Council in knowing defiance of our existing statutes regarding the revealing the truth of "External Influence" and the grander arcana to the humans, but if we keep allowing them to get this close to achieving real influence without interfering more actively, it is only a matter of time before they come to wield the divine without having a clue what their actions may do to the rest of the 3rd, and subsequently the 4th.
I suggest we teach them at last the sacred methods--not in riddles, this time, and not without the proper tools to finish the job. They've proven wholly incapable of handling anything less than the explicit. I believe it is time we teach them of the 4th, before they destroy us all with their blind stabbing at our borders.
Be swift in your decision, for I fear we may already be overdue in this matter--
Your humble servant once more,
| |
[WP] For thousands of years, it has been debated the best way to perform magic. The main contenders are saying incantations, drawing hieroglyphs, and chanelling through an item. You, however, believe that a fourth way is the best. This is your case. | Four Techniques
My name is James Kerhs, and today is the day where I fight for my future. I find myself standing before a vast crowd of people, more than I could have ever imagined. In fact I think maybe the entire country of magic folk has come out today to see the proceedings, and why wouldn’t they? Today might be the most important and influential day in all of magical history. For you see, today is the day where the High Kings of magic shall determine which arcane techniques are officially legal...and which are banned for all time.
Let me explain. There are many different ways of channeling the mystical and magical energies which are entwined with the very fabric of this reality - and even those beyond. A witch in a swamp might stir up a stew, a wizard might chant an ancient incantation, or even a small goblin might cast a spell by tossing the bones of their vanquished enemies to help focus the world’s energies. These are all fine techniques, but here’s the issue, they all have a slim chance of interfering with one another. Majority of the time a spell will go off without a hitch just like intended, but occasionally when varying techniques are invoked at the same time they can negatively tangle upon the doorways of reality causing unpredictable and often violent explosions of magical power.
After years of accidents, and horrible deaths, and unexplainable breaks in the universe (which required many man hours to correct I might add), the High Kings finally decided to enact a nationwide survey of all magically inclined beings. The votes are in, and people have demanded for a centralized and legally accepted magical technique to be determined. The community realizes, of course, that there will always be the stray rogue wizard who will go about things weather it be legal or not, but at least the civilized world can come together under an official magical system and hopefully reduce or outright prevent these horrible magical accidents from happening again.
I only know one technique, a self created and self taught style in fact, but one that I have the utmost confidence in and believe will be best for the nation. This is my chance to share my findings, to convince the world why my technique is the greatest of all. I have gone through the proper channels, I have prepared my speech, I have eaten a hearty breakfast. I must ensure that my chosen school of magic succeeds. Otherwise...well I prefer not to think about my life without magic.
And so I find myself here, standing side by side with three others upon a central stage in the middle of a stadium of sorts. The High Kings are lined on their thrones upon a raised platform against the far wall, and surrounding us on all sides are thousands upon thousands of citizens who have come to bear witness to the events of the day.
The High Kings look down upon us four figures. Their eyes combing over our bodies, seemingly seeing straight through us. “And so we have come to the final 4,” They spoke in unison, their voices combining together into a rich powerful presence of sound. Like they always did.
The stadium fell to silence. The crowd hanging on their every word.
“Speak now,” they continued. “Prove why your chosen school of magic should become the official system of the world. To be taught in school. To be honored above all others. The crowd shall vote, and so it shall be.”
Us four figures glanced back and forth between one another. Some had brought items. Others stood there empty handed.
“We shall start with you,” they said, and like a dance they all raised their right arm to point at a small gnome standing on the leftmost of the stage. “You shall propose your chosen technique. The following wizard shall provide counter arguments, before presenting their own suggestion. Many have stood in your place, and many have failed to impress us or the crowds. It is down to you 4 now. This is the final day of voting, so speak wisely.”
Wilfred Fizzlebang stepped forward. In his hands he held a gnarled old staff. “Hello wizards,” he started out, his voice magically amplified so that all in attendance might hear his words. “I propose the use of magical items for the channeling and safe manipulation of magical currents.” He lifted the staff so that all might get a good look. “This staff, and many others like it, allows its user to ground their power and focus it cleanly upon a source, preventing accidental leakage of arcane mists upon the breeze. This will ensure that no entanglement can ever happen again!” The gnome bowed and took a step back. | "Dancing?" Torgoth The Red sneered at me, "That is ridiculous."
"Coming from a man who yells dirty limericks at the top of his lungs?" That was Valerie the Fair. She tapped her blue staff on to the ground and the blue crystal on top of her staff shone with a quiet blue light. That woman really loved the color blue.
"Yes, Torgoth, dancing. I found that..."
"We may argue about the fundamental basis of where magic comes from but I think the council can all agree that this is ludicrous." Finn interrupted my pertinent explanation of the principles of dance magic. If anyone on the council was going to listen to me I thought it was going to be him. Of all the pompous asses who've sat on the council recently he seemed the least pompous since he hadn't seen the need to give himself a title. Guess I was wrong.
This meeting was going to be exhausting.
"As I was stating before I was so rudely interrupted." I gave a sharp look to Finn, "I found that when you press on the leylines with a grounding substance such as iron..."
"Why are we even listening to this garbage? We have more important things to be discussing. The border skirmishes between the Vayans and the Rox barbarians..." Torgoth interrupted me. Gods dammit.
"You mean the same barbarians you were once a part of Torgoth? Let me guess you want to give them a tribute of some sort? Maybe some virgins?" Valerie spat from her chair.
"You know that's not what they want? Some farmable land so they dont have to keep raiding the borderlands..."
"You mean the protected Forests of Kashmere? Those are sacred lands to the Tuktuk tribe. They derive all their magic from those forests. the Rox would just want to tear them down." Finn I knew was from the Tuktuk. Guess the rumors about the border skirmishes causing a fracture in the council was correct.
"There are leylines everywhere! They could learn to channel elsewhere!"
"They..." Finn let the world hang for a second before continuing, "have been there for a thousand years and no barbarians are going to move them. Finn pulled a small glowing wand from his pocket. Great. He was going to start throwing illuminated hieroglyphs at him.
"There once was a man from Tsutucket..." Torgoth yelled and his blazing red hair began glowing a burning orange.
Well shit. If I didn't do something this was going to turn into a wizards brawl. I tapped the tip of my foot on the ground at the base of the leyline that I could see connected to Torgoth. I jumped and did a quick landing with that foot onto the leyline connecting Finn to the Kashmere woods. A quick kick into the air and the leylines shifted to the ceiling, disconnecting the two wizards about to do battle. The glow of both their magics fizzled.
Valerie turned to me. She had watched the entire display of my small dance routine. Both men, confused, looked at her then me. I smiled.
"Now, as I was saying..."
r/cawdor23 | |
[WP] Necromancy, truly a vilified subject, reserved only for the most depraved of evil. You, however, use it for a good cause. | From his palm, Filigan blew a handful of sand. The grains followed the swirling currents of his breeze in a slow, graceful dance, and in the apex, they hovered and waited. Filigan held out his hands, and clenched his fists, unblinking as his torso swayed slightly. The grains exploded in clouds of shapeless diminutive particles that churned in a whirlwind.
"A void too great shan't consume those who don't deserve its darkness," Filigan whispered, "and so from the dust you will rise."
The whirlwind picked up to a violent gale, the wood underfoot trembled, and the cacophony of shattering glasses commenced. Filigan didn't flinch. He moved his long fingers in intricate patterns, while speaking alien words out loud. The typhoon quivered, as if it were fighting against Filigan's speech and will, but it soon surrendered. Its currents turned into intertwining waves and branches and strings of dust clashing together in a evermoving, yet stationary sphere.
"From my blood you will be born, but to me you don't belong!" Filigan shouted. The tremor stopped, and so did the gales. He gashed his forearm with a sharp, black nail. The blood drops ascended in front of his eyes. He blew them, and they fused with the motionless sphere, turning it a deep crimson.
"Rise," Filigan said and inhaled violently.
The sphere succumbed to his will, travelling toward his mouth in a distorted arc. Filigan's sight was crammed with the relentless crimson filling him, and once he swallowed it all, he shuddered and smiled. For he heard a gasp, and the usual, desperate question.
"Where am I?"
Where the sphere used to be, a woman stood. She was naked and afraid. Countless scars ran across her body.
"Filigan?" she said and covered herself with her arms. "What is this?"
"It's a long story, Rose," Filigan said and handed her a robe. "I'm more than a silent gardener. If it soothes your qualms, your husband stabbed you to death, and I brought you back."
Rose's eyes wandered far away in her memories. Her face distorted with terror, her teeth chattered and a lone tear trickled down her cheek. "I-I remember," she said and put on the robe absentmindedly. "Where is my son? Where is Conan?"
"Don't worry, he's fine. I altered his memories, but they won't last too long," Filigan said. "He remembers your husband hit you, but he thinks he didn't do more than a few bruises. Now go, before the spell fades."
Rose nodded and ran upstairs. However, she halted before reaching the door. "My husband?"
"Where he belongs." Filigan nodded and commanded a broom to sweep the floor. "Rose, take good care of Conan. He's a good child."
"I will, Fil." Her eyes filled with tears. "May the gods bless you and your kindness. Thank you from the deepest depths of my heart."
Rose left and Filigan collapsed on the floor. His already wizened skin withered even more, and the paleness of his skin turned gray.
"One more," he said. His voice came out frail, lifeless. "One more and no more."
------------------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall -- For more stories!
| '*So humanity already did that?*'
'Yep. We kinda have a self sustain engine now. Partly thank to your theory.'
'*Nice. Do you need anything else*?'
'Yeah, I don't really understand this physic stuff. So I will just leave it here for you. All printed out and laminated, just how you want them. You won't have to worry about dirtying it. Is the computer battery still working? Do you need a new one?'
'*It's still work fine I think. You should get going now, before people think that's there is something wrong.*'
'Okay. I'll be back next Sunday, just send me email about what you need and I will get them for you.'
'*Kid, a dead man don't need anything. Beside, I can actually move my body now. Just give Einstein my greeting for me. Tell me he better step his game up*'
'Sure do. Anything you wanna tell Mrs.Curie? You said you have something to tell her the last time we met.'
'*Hmmm. Maybe another day. Now get going. And remember to close the toom's door.*'
'Goodbye sir Hawking. Until next time'
'*Goodbye kid.*'
| |
[WP] A military engineer from the 25th century finds himself transported to an alternate version of 20th century London where Vampires and the supernatural are real. With nothing but a cutting edge toolkit, he becomes the (in)famous "Mechanical Man", a hunter of the most fearsome monsters of Europe. | "This actually worked. Nice! Pete, what are the readings." His wrist communotron gave off a bit of static and then went dark. He tapped it twice. Seemed to work, just no signal. He taped the screen a few time, changing to satellite comms and checked for location. Both dead. *Interesting. Probably the transfer fried the circuits, should ground the reassembly better*. He stood up and looked around. He was in a beautifully cared after garden on a overcast but sunny day. *Well, seems I landed in one of those reserves. The anti-tech nutjobs will probably sue my ass, but it seems we have succeed.* He turned back to the Capsule and started reading the measurements. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary, just the time stabilizer was a bit off, but the backup seemed to work.
"On your feet Kraut!" *Kraut? Ok, scratch that, something is seriously wrong with either me or these nutjobs.* He stood up slowly.
"My apologies gentlemen, it seems we have had a coordinate error. I will get some people to get this device out of here shortly. We will pay for any and all damages done. My Sincere... "
"Shut up! Put your hands on your head" He complied. "You won't be going anywhere. You are under arrest by the authority of the King under military law."
"What war? What King? Oh, wait. Sedna? Damn, you managed to fix your AM1.5 synthetic sun. I thought you nuked Makemake and got a peace treaty? Oh well, mind hailing EFN Kuiper Belt Command?"
"Capt' I think this one got hit in the head." One of the soldiers remarked. He was holding a ancient rifle and wearing a dark green uniform.
"Apprehend him." The captain ordered. *Not Sedna. What the fuck is going on.* He tapped his wrist and a the soldiers dropped to the ground. *I love sonic weapons. MPs are bad company. Gotta bail.* He took his two bags of equipment and a backpack and departed. Marching off he set the vessel he came in to self destruct.
A few hindered meters later he left the gardens and found himself on a deserted cobbled street which seemed to be in the middle of a residential area. A loud piercing sound was heard from afar. The sky was filled with planes chasing each other. Some were dropping explosives and other were emitting black smoke. *The mistake was no a where and I. Its a when am I....* 1941 Britain. He ran off into the nearest building knocking on its door as loud as he could. A older women opened and without a word let him in.
"Tea, chap?" Her husband offered.
"I'd love some."
"How'd you get stuck outside?"
"I crashed?"
"Air-force? Blimey, shot down pilots rarely are that lucky. My grandson is in the Air force. 44th bombers." He looked up. "What are you. I've never seen that uniform, must be the new high speed thing. Nicolas told me about those. They say you are almost faster than sound. As if that would be possible. Whats your name?"
"Theodore."
"Wonderful name. I am Elizabeth." The older women came from the kitchen with 3 cups of tea. "And this is Wilfred."
"Pleasure to meet you."
"What you got there." Wilfred pointed towards Theodore bags.
"Mosley tools. Propulsion and electronics. Some diagnostics and stabilizers. If you wish i could show you some." *Shit, if I am in '41, then none of this is invented yet.*
"No need. I see you are a educated fellow. Where did you study?" *20th century universities. Think. I can't say Eros Poly technical University.* "Cambridge."
"Oh my, good chap. Engineering?" *Nonmaterial? Superconductor? Electrical?*
"Yes." *What was even invented now?*
"Good to have chaps like you on our side. These Nazis are the devils spawn." He noticed large scratch marks on the wall behind.
"If I may, what caused those?" Elizabeth promptly answered:
"The Wolves, they are enjoying the war a lot. Have killed more people than the bombs. Took our younger son a few weeks back. We do the best we can to protect ourselves. But it is hard." A loud bang was heard as a bomb fell not far from where he had crash landed. "The Vamps are at least predictable, but the Wolves are stupid. We managed to force this one out a few days back. Thank god for the shotgun Wil kept around. Crumpets?"
"No thank you. May I take a look at the scratches."
"Go ahead, I thought you were in the Air force but a bright chap like you probably knows more than us." 1.5cm deep and approx 30cm long. 4 parallel scratches. Defiantly something strong. Keratin seems to be too weak for this. He fished out a rectangular object about the size of small A6 notepad and scanned the wood. The Glass shattered. Elizabeth screamed. Wilfred jumped up. In a single reflexive movement, Theodore upholstered his gun and shot at the source of the noise. Then he saw it. A huge wolf like being. It dropped dead with a hole in its forehead leaving nothing but a broken glass windows. Wilfred looked at the gun that made the kill and lowered his.
"Who are you?" | [First time here, and first submission]
John Evans crouched behind the weathered gravestone, eyes on the mausoleum suspected of being the demon’s lair. With the aid of the moon and his surplus store night vision, John read the inscription chiseled into the ancient marble. Frederick Barff, 1822-1866, what an unfortunate name, thought John.
The fog and moonless night made watching the crypt difficult. John decided to get a closer look. The gears in his mechanically assisted armor hummed softly as he came up to a crouch and began to move toward another ridiculous gothic monument to the dead. The damp air spread a thin layer of dew across John’s armor making it glisten in whatever moonlight managed to make it through the towering trees spread liberally throughout the cemetery. He was thankful that this century’s people had figured out how to quell the formation of rust on steel and iron. If not for whomever that genius amongst fools was, he probably would’ve frozen solid with rust before making it halfway across the lot. Halfway across the lot he did freeze though. Movement caught his eye. From behind the stone door of the mausoleum, an iridescent red mist began to emerge.
Crap, thought John. Thirty meters separated him from the nearest concealment. His armor suit, bound by the confines of 20th century technology weighed nearly as much as a small car. The heavy steel, electric servos, and hydraulics made it strong, and durable, but also slow. His inspiration for the armor had been the movie Aliens. The steel exoskeleton, skinned in heavy armor, boasted a top speed of seven miles per hour. But, it could also pop a blood suckers skull with less effort than it took to crush an ant. Dual 30 caliber, 4 barreled miniguns, of his own design, set in the forearms of his suit. All in all, he made a formidable opponent to the undead.
John knew he had nowhere to go and stood his ground, readying himself for the battle about to take place. The red glowing red mist quickly solidified into a tall, sharply dressed man. A cape hung loosely from his shoulders. This son of a bitch looked a hell of a lot like Billy Dee Williams. The Vampire, now fully formed turned his eyes to John and smiled. John lowered his visor.
From seemingly out of nowhere, an iron spike rocketed at John. Barely in time, John swiveled his hips narrowly avoiding the projectile. A tombstone 50 meters behind him exploded into shrapnel. The Vampire’s movements seemed impossibly fast as it ripped another iron spike from the decorative fence surrounding the mausoleum. This one found its mark, slamming hard into Johns hip. The impact turned John sideways, nearly causing him to lose his balance. John raised his arm and prepared to fire a burst of silver tipped death at the Lando impersonator. The cannon thundered to life sending over 50 rounds downrange in less than two seconds. Instantly, the demon before him vanished back into a cloud of glowing red fog. The bullets tore into the marble crypt behind where the creature had been standing. Fragments of marble burst out of the structure. The Vampire rematerialized, iron spike already in hand.
John knew that the Vampire held an advantage being so close to its lair. Once away from it’s bed, the Vampire was bound into the shape that it left its home in. John had to get it on the other side of the fence that the Vampire seemed so keen on destroying.
Another iron spike crashed into the hip of John’s suit. This time the gears groaned as they mashed against each other. The hydraulics that gave the suit most of its power whined in protest trying to move the damaged joint. Inside the suit, John could feel the armor plating resting against his actual flesh and bone hip. This was not good. Several more iron pickets hammered at the weak points on the suit. The air exploded in gunfire from John’s arm cannons. Each time John fired a burst, the creature dematerialized. The Vampire’s unwillingness to leave it’s lair was John’s only hope. Several flashbangs and smoke grenades rocketed out of John’s suit sending out blinding light and an impenetrable wall of silver sulphate laced smoke.
John dropped out of his suit and ran.
**EDIT PART TWO ADDED**
Wet turf tore from the ground with every stride John took. Nesting birds exploded from their treetop homes above him. The creature had taken flight. Vibrations tickled his wrists indicating that the Vampire’s sonic echos had activated the small sensors fastned there. John yanked his plasma cutter from his tool belt. The vibrations grew stronger and stronger.
John planted his right foot, jump cut, and pivoted around. The creature, mere inches from his face, bared its teeth, ready to strike. 25th century technology sprung to life in his hand. A jet of plasma 30,000°C blasted out from the wand like object. Carried forward by its own momentum, John’s demonic adversary never had a chance. The jet of superheated gas blasted a hole through the throat of the Vampire.
The Vampire colided hard with John slamming him into the ground. Stars burst into his field of view. The force of the blow knocked the air out of him. The thin alloy chest plate absorbed much of the blow. Without it, he surely would’ve broken ribs and maybe his spine.
The Vampire roared in pain and anger. The burning hole in its throat spewed first steam and smoke, then black putrid blood. Wild yellow eyes locked onto John. Malice and rage shown on its face.
John rolled onto one knee as fast as his battered body would allow. Still clutching the plasma cutter, he launched himself at the wounded beast. This time, the Vampire dodged the lethal jet of fire and slammed its fist into John’s back sending him back to the turf. The creature was on him an instant later. John’s emergency neural implants activated dumping massive amounts adrenaline and clophazine into his blood. John exploded up from the ground flinging the the Vampire off his back. Turning the tables on the creature, he jumped on it and began to batter it with his fists. Every chemically enhanced blow and movement doing untold damage to John’s muscular skeletal system. The Vampire though, was unaware of this fact. Finally, with supernatural strength, the vampire flung John from itself. John landed hard but came right back up to his feet. His muscles seared with red hot pain. The chemicals the implant had dumped into his bloodstream had already begun to wear off. John was out of tricks. Either the Vampire would retreat or he would die.
The Vampire, unaware of John’s rapidly deteriorating condition assessed its own wounds. Black, viscous blood gurgled out of the throat of the undead creature, it’s remaining yellow eye stared at, and tracked John. With a screaming howl, the Vampire took flight and disappeared into night as quick as it arrived.
John Collapsed. The neural implant had served its purpose and delivered a quick burst of chemical strength into John’s body saving his life. The price was torn ligaments and muscles.
The next morning, the security guard found John’s ruined exo suit.
“Dispatch, I think you need to call the police. It looks like we got the Mechanical Man’s suit here. It’s all banged up”
| |
[WP] On Tindr, you see a picture of the cutest girl you've ever seen. She looks so friendly and nice, and every outfit has a different flower pattern. Your interests look to be the same: there's only one problem. Her job is listed as "the God of Death." You think it's funny. But now you've matched. | “Hey! Cool profile!”
“Thanks! I just tried to be accurate lol”
“Oh yeah? Is that why your job description is God of Death lol?”
“Yeah, haha. My Dad got me the job.”
“Cool cool. You wanna get some coffee sometime?”
“I’d love to! You know Rafi’s Coffees and Toffees?”
“Oh, yeah! On 7th?”
“Yeah! I love that place! Tomorrow?”
“4?”
“Sounds great!”
Well, that went better than expected I suppose. I was browsing Tinder, as usual, when I came across her profile, and I swiped right without really reading her bio. She was cute as hell, and she liked basically everything I liked. D&D, Video Games, writing, etc., etc. I figured she had to have thousands of matches with those interests, but she matched me. I set up the coffee date and I waited kinda anxiously for tomorrow. I put on my best jeans, a nice button up, and I tried to smooth my hair, which proved to be a losing battle. Sighing, I got in my beat up old Corolla and headed to Rafi’s.
You know that scene in movies where the hero sees the girl for the first time and time slows down? It was kind of like that. I had arrived early and I order a latte, sipping it while keeping an eye on the door. This was the cutest girl I had ever matched with, so I was pretty nervous. When it opened, I swear on my life that time slowed down. She had long red hair that passed over the generous swell of her chest, hidden beneath a flowery sundress. She took in the coffee shop with a glance and her bright green eyes lit up and her perfect mouth curled into an excited smile when she saw me.
As she stepped into the shop, I felt my heart beating against my chest like a bass drum, and the world stopped around us. I don’t mean my perception of the world, I mean the actual world. The steam rising from the espresso machine froze, while Rafi’s shout seemed to echo forever. Even the conversations around the shop seemed to stretch into infinity as she walked towards my table. It wasn’t until she stood in front of me that time seemed to resume its normal pace, and I stared up at her slack jawed, which she found funny, as she started to giggle.
I’ve never really noticed it before with other girls, but her giggle was sexy, like REALLY sexy. I felt my heart straining against my chest and I wondered for a brief moment if this was love at first sight, or whatever the movies had lead to me believe. As I stumbled to my feet, I barely avoided knocking my coffee over, causing her to giggle again.
“You must be Matt.” She held out a small hand, which I took in mine, feeling the warmth of her skin. I swear I felt an electric shock when we touched, but she didn’t react at all.
“I… Uh… Yeah… I’m Man. Matthew. Matt. I’m Matt.” I babbled. I can’t really sugarcoat it. It was as smooth as an Albanian farm road.
“Haha, hi Matt.” She laughed at my introduction, putting me at ease. “I’m Alexia!” She shook my hand briefly before setting her flower embroidered bag down next to me.
“You like flowers.” Her sundress and her bag both had the same kind of flower design on them. That was my smooth line: ‘You like flowers.’ Just kill me now.
“Yeah, carnations are my favorite. My Dad said he made them just for me!”
“Your Dad made you flowers? Was he a botanist?” That was pretty cool. Nobody ever made me a flower.
“Umm, kinda? He’s in the life sciences.” She smiled gently at me as I stood there stupidly, caught in her eyes. Behind the blinding green of her irises, it felt like I was staring at a swirling galaxy, with endless depth. I had to pull myself away and shake my head briefly to clear it.
“Oh, that’s cool! My Dad was a chemist, so kinda similar?” I don’t know why i was talking about my Dad to my Tinder date that I met like twelve seconds ago, but I already iterated my lack of smoothness.
“Oh neat! I’m gonna grab a coffee. Can you watch my bag?” She smiled at me and I just kind of nodded dumbly as she walked off, trying to be subtle as I checked out her backside, caught in its hypnotic sway. Realizing I was staring, I shook my head and looked back at her bag, sitting on the chair beside me. At first I just glanced at it, but as I looked closely, I saw the flowers on the bag moving very slightly, as if they were spinning slowly. Blinking, I looked again and saw them only as embroidered patterns. I must have been seeing things.
Before I could really look more into this, she returned, holding a steaming mug of coffee, smiling at me once more. She set the coffee down and took her seat, but before I could say anything further, her phone started to ring, which caused her face to twitch in annoyance. Sighing heavily, she reached into her bag and pulled it out, revealing a phone case dedicated more thoroughly with the same flower pattern.
“Hi, Dad! What’s up?” Well, that was unlucky. Hard to put my best game on a girl that just got off the phone with her Dad.
“Wait, what? No! Today was my day off, you promised!” I couldn’t really make anything out from the otherside of the conversation, but her face twisted in anger.
“What? No way! I really like him, he could be the one!” There was more rumbling on the other side of the line, before a resigned look crossed her face.
“Fine fine, you’re right. It’s not your fault. Ok, ok. I got it.” She hung up the phone and closed her eyes and looked at me again.
“Matt, I really wish you had taken better care of your heart. You’re so cute, and I really like your dimples!” Wait, what? Taken care of my heart?
“Ha, my heart’s fine. Promise.” I put on my most winning smile, which caused her to smile at me in pity.
“Your Dad and your Grandad both passed away around your age and you never even thought to get it checked out? That’s disappointing, Matthew. We could have had something really special.” She just looked at me again with that pitiful look, and the pounding in my chest returned, louder and deeper now.
“Ha… What? What are you saying?” I was beginning to panic again, and when I looked around, I realized that time was frozen once more, causing my heart to race even faster.
“This is so unlucky. I finally found a cute guy, but even on my day off, work keeps bugging me. Sorry, Matt.” She smiled at me with soft eyes and reached a gentle hand out, touching my chest lightly.
My pounding heart instantly went silent, and I felt the word start to spin. As I collapsed in my chair and looked up at her with eyes that were slowly fading, I saw the galaxies in her eyes again, this time swirling brightly. As my vision faded, I swear that behind the girl, I saw a massive shadow, holding a big curved scythe, staring down at me with eyes like galaxies. The last thing I heard before the world went black was a voice that spoke with the rumble of a collapsing star, as a massive white skull flashed in front of my eyes.
“Don’t worry, Matt. My brother’s waiting for you. Who knows, maybe we’ll even see each other again.”
| I look at the girl across the table from me. She is the cutest girl I’ve ever seen.
“Are you really a god of death?” I ask.
“No, it’s from an anime.”
“Oh,” I say, “do you wanna have sex?”
“No, not really.”
I get up and leave the coffee shop. | |
[WP] In a world where the strength and nature of magic is determined by how well you know a subject, you are the world’s first paleontologist. | From the start, I had expected scorn – particularly from other practitioners of the hard magicks. From the chemoturgists and the physical mages, of course, but especially from the other life wizards. The purists, they thought themselves. My field was a bastardization of biological spellcraft, a pointless diversion.
The ridicule of the soft magicians, the psychomancers and sociomurgists, caught me off guard. Indeed, it was almost unbearable. This gaggle of glorified prestidigitators would come honking at me with their jokes and their smirks. “Find any good bones lately?” they would say, and chortle. Or “The floor’s looking a little dusty here – maybe you could use your fearsome powers to sweep it off?”
All of them were familiar with the Eingvald Principle: *a practitioner's understanding of a given field is directly proportional to the potency of the resulting magicks.* The corollary, therefore, was that - in general - the complexity of a field would be *indirectly* proportional to spell strength...at least, for common intellects. Indeed, this has been borne out in practice: human behavior is never really understood, and can only be gleaned in broad strokes; as such, the spells of the average psychomancer are so weak as to be almost irrelevant. Nor is it much better for specialists in the physical sciences, who face a choice, whether they realize it or not: specialize in something so complex that you may not gain any real power until you are almost too old to use it, because it takes most of a lifetime to understand; or slice off something easy to master, becoming a foremost wizard in an area no one cares about. Bacteriologists, for example, are a favorite “fall back” for apprentices who cannot handle the abstract notions of a true science, and they go on to entertain hosts of children at birthday parties with their colorful arrays of paramecia. *Bravo.*
It has taken more than a decade, but the end has come. As I rotate the piece of bleached collagen in my hands, considering its complex simplicity, I feel a thrill of excitement. Down in my lab, I position it correctly, and just as the last piece falls into place in the skeleton I’ve been painstakingly assembling all this time, I feel a piece of myself, my soul, fall into place as well. My understanding of this creature is complete.
I close my eyes. I *bask*. The energy fairly bubbles in my veins, and I realize I am shaking. Then a thunderous roar reverberates off the concrete walls, a sound stolen from millions of years in the Earth’s past, and I smile.
*It is time.*
***
/r/ShadowsofClouds | I had spent a few summers with my dad wondering the deserts in Colorado as a kid and sometimes I would find a strange looking skeletons. Too big to be mammals and to small to be common dragons. I collected them back then started researching them out curiosity. When I applied for my magic thesis in collage people though I was crazy to want to study such a small part of necromancy like imaginary animals. But as my research went on I started finding more and more evidence of what these things where. Of course I had some set backs in my second year of study I had to double back learn illusion magic, biology, and time manipulation. That last one took months of requisitioning to get even the most basic study books. I needed those to understand the links between those creatures and what I though to be there evolves decedents chickens. I was lucky to not be laughed out of the boardroom when I requested money to experiment on chickens.
My big break through came around 5 years into my thesis study. I finally found a full skeleton. The beast was large and bi-pedal. It had two small arms and a large head and mouth full of razor sharp teeth not to mention the claws on its feet. My powers manifested as soon as I thought of it name. Tyrannosaurus Rex or king lizard. As the words left my mouth I could feel the urge me swell up. I could feel the many disciplines that I had studied Coalescing into something new something powerful. I was first vessel for a new field of magic and It filled me with all of it power. I knew that I had to learn more and to do that I needed to see one of the beautiful creatures in the flesh. I raised my hands and touched the skeleton that I had spent weeks uncovering from the earth. At first nothing happened and slowly the bones started to shake and one by one, as if pulled by invisible muscles, began to move and pull themselves free. Once the creature stood tall a small piece of fossilized skin quivered and started to grow around the bare bones of my creation. The muscles once invisible became real and blood that had not moved in millions of years started to pump through the massive heart. Finally the eye the large slitted eye opened wide as it breathed in new life. It let out a mighty roar announcing to the world that dinosaurs had once again been born into the world and that I Ross Geller was the first pelotonlogist.
Obligatory warning as this is my first submission. Please comment I appreciate the feedback.
Thanks | |
[WP] You can see the brightness or darkness in the souls of the people around you. This skill has made you the deciding factor in many criminal cases. One day, your case pits you in front of the darkest soul you have ever encountered. This is the story of why they weren’t put in prison. | The law used to call us *enhanced lie detectors*, but we can’t detect lies. We’re more like morality indicators, or as people in our community called us *The Eyes of Harmony*. We’re able to see people’s aura. The darker the aura, the more sinister they are. The brighter the aura, the more virtuous they are. I was one of the first Eyes of Harmony to serve in the United States courtroom, and this is the story of how I became the *Eyes of Judgement*.
In the early days we were added to create drama in the courts. We would attend trials of those who are clearly guilty like school shooters, mass murderers, and child rapists and testify how dark, twisted, and unsettling their aura is. The media loved us because we enhanced how evil someone is with our descriptive testimonials. *The defendant looked to be unremorseful for his crimes* doesn’t sound as good as *the defendant’s ebony aura wraps around his leg, burning any light that is left inside him as he sits and hears about how his crimes has affected the community and nation*. Occasionally the media would hire us to determine if certain individuals are worth digging information/gossip on. Upstart politician? I hope your social media is clean or you really do help out the *everyday American* as much as you can.
The defense lawyers hated us being used in court because it often indicated their client is guilty before evidence is fully laid out to the jury. Imagine being a defense lawyer representing someone who bought some crack and hear how evil he is, how it rivals an aura of a serial killer. There is no way save the guy after the jury hears that. Eventually a defense lawyer figured out this can be used two ways, and asked for an enhanced lie detector to be present as he represented a drunk driver killing a baby and injuring the mother in a car accident.
The defendant’s aura turned out to be pure. It cemented what the defense have painted the man to be, a man who volunteers several times a week, donates money regularly, and is seen as a community leader for several years. Even after what he has done, driving drunk and smashing into a vehicle, his aura didn’t show any sign of darkness. This is huge as the defense as they pushed for it being a regular accident and sending the man to jail would only hurt the community he’s in, not protect them.
The mother’s aura on the other hand was dark. Not *download a few movies dark*, but something happened and she isn’t proud of dark. It was like a dimmed blackness mixed with a dark grey. When I announced that to the jury, several media outlets began digging into her social media, high school records, and anything that can validate what I was saying. It was later revealed through a highschool friend, she purposely created a miscarriage of her first child just weeks before he was supposed to be born. Public opinion turned on her, but thankfully the law is the law and the man was still held accountable for the death of the boy. But it went down from a *manslaughter* charge to a *drunk driving* charge, he never stepped a foot inside of jail.
That’s when we started to be used for every case.
Jennifer Hewitt is the case that changed everything. She was arrested for the murder of a thirteen year old boy that lived in her neighbourhood. Several witnesses and limited evidence pointed her as the killer but the defense provided witnesses and additional evidence to counter the prosecutions. I was needed to help determine if she was guilty or not.
The prosecution painted Jennifer Hewitt as an old senior citizen who dislikes children and how they behave. There has been several instances where she would go to a neighbour’s house and complain how noisy their kids are and file a report to the city. She had asked for Clay, the murdered boy to come over and clean the gutters in which she would pay him. After the task was completed, Clay went downstairs to collect his payment only to discover he was only being given a $5 bill. He began cussing out the woman, in which she slapped the young teenager and caused him to lose balance and fall on the floor banging his head on the counter. Jennifer waited until the boy was dead before calling 9-1-1.
The defense painted Jennifer Hewitt as an old senior citizen who is a widow to a great man who served his country in WWII. The children will occasionally harass her because she is a vulnerable person in the neighbourhood, unable to defend herself. They would egg her house, throw toilet paper on trees, and even rapidly knock on the door startling the woman. She did hire the boy to fix the gutters, but when he came into the house, his shoes were still muddy causing him to slip and hit his head on the edge of the counter, splitting it open. Jennifer tried first aid, but wasn’t able to help. She called 9-1-1 shortly after.
Regardless of what the prosecution or defense say, her soul was black. Blacker than anything I’ve ever seen before. I described it to the court as *a black aura wrapped around her body with tendrils snuffing out any light that comes in contact with her. If I threw a stick of light in there, I would not see it inside of her.* This gave the media a field day, digging up old satanic ties and dark magic rituals she would perform, linked her to a hit & run from several years ago, and medical insurance fraud. She’s evil and only looks out for herself, but I can’t tell you if she meant to kill the boy or not. Neither did the jury, and the case was dismissed due to hard of lack evidence. People were outraged.
Because of this, this is why we have the *morality law*.
*People who aren’t moral will be sent to jail without cause*
Like that, I became the *Eyes of Judgement* having the power to send anyone to jail based on how I look at their aura. Even if they didn’t commit a specific crime, everyone is guilty for something.
As a reminder,
*I am watching you.*
| **Please let me know what you think!**
I kept my eyes closed. If I didn't have to open my eyes, I wouldn't have to see the world, with its curiosities, and its miracles. I didn't have to see its monsters, and its saints, one often indistinguishable from the other for most. A truth witch, of course, can see the brightness of joy or the deepest of darkness in a soul.
I had seen both in my time, mingled, more often than not, in the same soul. As a wise man had once said, happiness may not soften the darkness in a person's life, but neither did the darkness spoil the light.
I often wondered what another truth witch would see in me. At my most vulnerable, I had often wished to see my own darkness and light. I had been convinced, that, if only I had been able to see myself, I could understand why I had been cast away by my family.
It had been foolish, of course. I had been a scared child, too young to realise that what truly matter was my own strength. In time, I had learnt the bitter truth. I could only ever rely on myself.
Chastising myself for my weakness, I opened my eyes. I clenched my fingers around the arms of the uncomfortable, wooden chair I sat in. The deep darkness of my opponent's soul, filled with horror and despair, assailed me. Only a few, small points of light dotted the inky blackness, what remained of his light.
I wondered how anyone could bear to live that way. To be so entrenched in the darkness, that even the faintest spark of light seemed to be enormous.
I watched my opponent rail against me, his face and hands trembling with emotion, his words harsh and unyielding. I had served in the courts for many decades, my words the difference between life and death, determining the course of justice. I had been respected, and even feared.
And I knew that this upstart would be the end of it.
My opponent faced the Queen now, appealing directly to her, as befitting the Commander of her personal guard. I knew that the icy chill in the Queen's eyes spelled my doom. Her soul, too, was dark, though not as dark as my opponent's.
I deliberately looked behind her, to where her niece, her own pet witch, stood. She stared over my head, her lips fixed into a thin line. Even at her tender age, Aria's soul was inky around the edges, the darkness laying siege to the light. I knew that, one day, her soul would darken as much, or perhaps more even, than the Queen's. The hate that flashed in the girl's eyes when they fell on me, and the tight clenching of her fists confirmed it.
The thought caused a pang in my heart, though I tried to quash it. I couldn't afford any weakness. It was my weakness, my agreeing to teach the girl that had been my downfall.
"I have heard enough," the Queen said, her voice a sharp, cold cut in contrast to her commander's tirade. She fixed her icy gaze to me over the commander's head. "Do you deny the charges?"
There was no profit in lying. "No. I took payment to falsify my statements."
There was a soft murmur in the court, though it died away quickly.
"And the other charge?" the girl asked.
I wondered why she asked. She had been a witness to it. But I answered, "Yes. I have blackmailed the innocent, threatening to testify against them."
"How many?" the girl asked, her voice hoarse, unable to hide her emotion. "How many innocents have been jailed or executed on your word?"
She didn't understand. I had tried to be just, at least at first. But, it had brought me little wealth or comfort. The darkness of my soul hadn't been balanced by the light of another's love or admiration. I had given away my light, and received nothing in return.
"How many?" the girl repeated, a snarl in her voice.
"I have lost count."
"Take her away," the Queen said, her voice tight with concealed emotion. "Let her rot in a cell, regretting her crimes."
She walked away, abruptly, Aria on her heels.
One day, I reflected, they would come to regret it. One day, they would give away the light in their souls and realise with regret that only darkness was left. One day, what little comfort they had would be stripped away.
The traitorous part of me whispered that, for all of the light I may have hoarded, I still had nothing left.
/r/YarnsToTell | |
*instead of hot, *jot | [wp]"OH! One more thing.. I can turn into a dragon..." She said before hanging up. You hot that down in the corner of her job application and mark it as "accepted". | The urgent advertisement had yielded a few email responses and a couple of prank calls. All Harry wanted was a children's entertainer.
'How'd it go?' Rose asked peering over his shoulder, trying to read the laptop screen.
'Well someone called and asked if I had a wife they could entertain.'
Rose wrinkled her nose. 'Do you want me to book the expensive clown?'
The colour drained from Harry's face. 'We talked about this.' Harry turned, closed the laptop and fixed his eyes on Rose. 'I'd rather he have no entertainer than a goddamn clown.'
'Okay okay, so did anyone bite?'
'Besides the prank call, and the raunchy website my email got signed up for-'
'Raunchy website?' Sarah interjected.
'BBWXTZ or something, I'm not sure what it stands for, but the women were interesting, to say the least.'
Sarah rolled her eyes. 'Someone else signed you up for that?'
Before Harry could accuse her of distrust, the phone rang. 'Ooh! That might be one.'
Harry leapt from the sofa and pawed at his phone.
'A BBWXTZ girl?' Sarah said with a smirk.
The voice on the other end of the line was soft, billowy and for a moment Harry thought Sarah was right. Someone had given his number to a sex hotline.
'Hello?' The voice trailed from the speaker.
Harry tried to picture the girl, his mind playing catch-up. 'Uh-yes hello.'
'I'm calling about the advertisement.'
'You don't want to entertain my wife do you?' Harry regretted saying the words the moment they came out.
'Sorry? I thought this was for a boy's birthday party.'
Harry heard the muffle of a handset and almost jumped. 'No wait!' He shouted.
Sarah, who had left the living room, poked her head through the hallway and shot Harry a dubious look.
'Yes?' The voice continued.
'It is.' Harry said 'I mean, it is for my son's birthday. He's turning six.'
Harry waited, his heart racing. He had no idea why he was so excited and anxious at the same time.
'Oh good.' The voice softened.
'What do I call you?'
'My name is Alex.'
Harry could still not overcome the wispy nature of the girl's voice and left him gobsmacked.
'Hello?' Alex said.
'Sorry,' Harry fumbled. 'Just busy on my end.'
'Shall I call back?'
'No no. Uh, next question.' Harry said to fill time and started scratching his head. 'What is it you do?'
'I am multi-talented. I can breathe fire, bend metal and I can do aerial acrobatics if the money is right.'
Harry's eyes bulged, and he rushed into the hallway to find Sarah.
'One moment.' He said trying not to sound too eager.
Harry found Sarah in the bedroom and began trying to mime what Alex had just told him.
'Just cover the microphone.' Sarah said in frustration after the third, what looked like, vomit mime.
Harry placed his hand on the phone and then told Sarah about Alex.
'She's probably very expensive.'
Harry nodded and raised a silencing finger.
'Alex, are you still there?'
'Yes.'
'You sound terrific, but how much will all of this cost?'
Harry scrambled around the room and found an opened envelop. He wrote the name Alex and then waited.
'One-hundred for the hour.' Alex said.
Harry wrote down "100 pr/h" and waved the envelope at Sarah who ducked and dived while trying to read. Sarah gave a thumbs up, and Harry looked relieved.
'That sounds reasonable, can I take your contact details so that I can send over more details?'
Harry wrote down her email and using the phone's display he copied her number.
'Okay thanks, Alex, my boy, will be thrilled.' Harry said knowing he was also speaking for himself.
'OH! One more thing... I can turn into a dragon..." She said before hanging up.
Harry jotted that down in the corner of the envelope and circled it three times, writing the word "accepted" below. | Being a recruiter sucks. It's seriously the worst. Imagine being the spam filter of the hiring process. Even netting clients like the Lawful League didn't help. Hell, my last interviewee's power was just metal skin. Um hello, if I need to mess with airport security I'll give you a call. I mean come on, one of the wanted villains controls magnetic waves!
Oh well, let's see if lizard girl works out any better. She should last longer than the fish man at least. But that one was on me, I should have listened when he said Arizona wasn't a good fit. |
[WP] “Sir! We are surrounded!” “Excellent, now we can fire in every direction.” | The private stumbled down the stairs of the redoubt, almost losing his footing as he slid to a stop at his destination. “Sir! We are surrounded!”
The Major and most of the other officers were standing over a map of their position laid over a plywood table. They were silent as the Major examined the interloper with a put-upon patrician indifference, then took an insouciant drag on his cigarette and turned back to the map. “Excellent, now we can fire in every direction.”
The officers laughed, bitter, nervous, resigned.
“Ashtray, please, Bannon.” The Major’s valet placed a crystal ashtray on the table near the Major’s right hand.
“Move an additional machine gun section to cover the rear. They’ll naturally attack in strength from there.” The Major tapped the end of ash off his cigarette into the tray.
“Should we request more air support, Sir?” The communications officer asked.
“I’m afraid, we cannot count upon air support. If the enemy is behind us, the airfield is most likely being evacuated as we speak. Nor artillery support, I should imagine. The guns have most likely withdrawn, if they haven’t already been overrun. Do make the request to command though, one never knows. And let them know we, at least, are still here.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Major took one last look down his nose at the map, assessing his dispositions, then strode across the room to where Bannon stood with his coat. “Very well, gentlemen. We each have our roles to play now.”
One of the captains cleared his throat. “Sir, is it not time to consider surrender…”
“No, captain. It is not time for that.”
The Major’s pistol was already in his hand, as if this too was an irritation he had anticipated. He fired once into the captain’s chest. His frozen officers looked on in shock as he holstered his pistol. “Lieutenant Handler, you are now in command of Second Company. Congratulations.”
He straightened his coat around his shoulders and marched up the stairs of the redoubt, not bothering to look behind him to see if they would follow.
| I sat shivering in fear in the small building surrounded by enemy soldiers. My captain starts laughing and I can't tell if it's really him, I yell at the top of my lungs " Sir, we are surrounded." He just looks at me and with a smirk on his face he says quietly with excitement " Excellent now we can fire in every direction." I tell him he is crazy and that we are going to die but he brushes it off and stands up grabs his rifle and checks the amount of bullets left in his last clip, he realizes it's empty and turns to me. I just look at him blankly as I say " Sir... I'm out as well." He opens his pouch strapped to his belt and takes a photo of his wife and kids, kisses it and says " Don't worry." I hear enemies outside getting ready to breach the building and I start to shed a tear on fear of my life. My captain looks at the photo one last time then looks at me and grabs his grenade from his belt, he gets the pin out and says one last time " good luck soldier." The captain runs out as the enemies breach the building and all I hear is an explosion. Next there is just silence, I quietly wait in the corner of the room holding my pistol out towards the doorway but there is no sound only silence. I step to the doorway and I see dead bodies and one is the captain, I start to cry but hold it in. I grab the photo which is all bloody and I store it in my pocket. I take one last look at the bodies and at the captain and I run away as far as I can towards what I think is the allies. | |
[WP] “Sir! We are surrounded!” “Excellent, now we can fire in every direction.” | The private stumbled down the stairs of the redoubt, almost losing his footing as he slid to a stop at his destination. “Sir! We are surrounded!”
The Major and most of the other officers were standing over a map of their position laid over a plywood table. They were silent as the Major examined the interloper with a put-upon patrician indifference, then took an insouciant drag on his cigarette and turned back to the map. “Excellent, now we can fire in every direction.”
The officers laughed, bitter, nervous, resigned.
“Ashtray, please, Bannon.” The Major’s valet placed a crystal ashtray on the table near the Major’s right hand.
“Move an additional machine gun section to cover the rear. They’ll naturally attack in strength from there.” The Major tapped the end of ash off his cigarette into the tray.
“Should we request more air support, Sir?” The communications officer asked.
“I’m afraid, we cannot count upon air support. If the enemy is behind us, the airfield is most likely being evacuated as we speak. Nor artillery support, I should imagine. The guns have most likely withdrawn, if they haven’t already been overrun. Do make the request to command though, one never knows. And let them know we, at least, are still here.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Major took one last look down his nose at the map, assessing his dispositions, then strode across the room to where Bannon stood with his coat. “Very well, gentlemen. We each have our roles to play now.”
One of the captains cleared his throat. “Sir, is it not time to consider surrender…”
“No, captain. It is not time for that.”
The Major’s pistol was already in his hand, as if this too was an irritation he had anticipated. He fired once into the captain’s chest. His frozen officers looked on in shock as he holstered his pistol. “Lieutenant Handler, you are now in command of Second Company. Congratulations.”
He straightened his coat around his shoulders and marched up the stairs of the redoubt, not bothering to look behind him to see if they would follow.
| There was no one more dedicated to the people than Poppy Arbordaugh. Her home life was not ideal. Her father had trained her with the sword and bow, feeling that the world, though a place of wonders, was best faced with a weapon. But after his death, her guardian, his wife, became cold and distant. Soon she had drowned her old self in drink, and became someone cruel. So Poppy left with her sword to find a new family.
She had joined the army as the first female recruit in the country. Others had tried, but none had disguised themselves half as well. She was tall, strong and full of love. It became fairly obvious, after she had been in active duty for a few months, that she was not a man. Her voice, her shape, her face, they all proclaimed her gender. But she fought so fiercely and shared such passion that it became an open secret. When she finally became a general no one was surprised. Then, the hordes appeared from the Hinterlands. The Jotun fought, as they do, but they were quickly overwhelmed. They stumbled, bleeding, out of their homeland, becoming instant refugees as the monsters swarmed from crackling fog. They were of varied shapes and sizes, some hulking and wrinkled as elephants, others small and toothy like rats. They moved with mysteriouly good coordination working in horrifyingly organized units. Legions had to be summoned in opposition. Arbordaugh led the largest one; greater in size than any that had been raised before. When the hordes of abominations surged out of the mists, they spread themselves thinner and thinner, until they had encircled her entire army.
Richard, her most trustworthy soldier, grew silent.
When he found his voice again, it was to scream "Sir! We are surrounded!"
But Poppy was never fazed. She had seen death already, and though it frightened her, it would never again drive her from home.
Poppy laughed "Excellent, now we can fire in every direction." | |
[WP] We receive an extraterrestrial message. It simply says "We love you. We are sorry." | Now my life is boring. *Very* boring. To put in perspective, I actually watched paint dry last week. People joke about it, but I literally repainted my walls on a Friday night, sat on a paint bucket, and scrolled through twitter until the wall was ready for a second coat.
That being said, yesterday was crazy by any *human* standard.
It started off as any normal Monday morning would, with an appropriate drizzle that graced my walk to work. As my feet splashed along the sidewalk, I felt the cold swamp forming inside my socks. I groaned in anticipation of sitting at a desk, answering phone calls while drenched from the ankles down. It seemed as if nothing could brighten my day at this point. That's when I saw the glow. A slightly transparent, gold-glowing, rectangle no bigger than a dollar bill lay flat along the surface of a puddle.
In the moment, I chuckled to myself in wonder as all I could think of was the golden tickets from Willy Wonka. However, in hindsight, this moment changed **everything**.
I kicked the glowing card, amused at the sight. It bounced and splashed into a nearby puddle. The card began pulsating. Faster and faster. I kicked it again out of curiosity. The tempo increased with urgency. At this point the card was emitting a stronger, consistent gold glow. I picked it up, wondering what kind of strange credit card had such advanced technology.
"We love you. We are sorry."
The inscription on the card still burns through my mind. I stood in the puddle bewildered by the message, completely unaware of the sopping wet mess forming inside my shoes. What could this mean? Is it some grassroots message promoted by a church? Is someone filming for a prank nearby? As I stood there pondering the meaning of this peculiar card, the glow began surging once again. In confusion, I began walking. Where? I had no idea. The curiosity quickly wore off and panic began in my mind. Things were certainly getting weird. Next thing I knew, I was on my mother's front porch. As she let me in and I sat on the plush couch, I felt relief at the environment filled with comfort and certainty. To my further reassurance, as soon as I entered the house, the tempo of the glow slowed. I had no idea what it meant, but somehow it seemed better in my mind.
"How's it going Enoch? What brings you ---"
"Mom. LOOK." I interrupted, and shoved the glowing item into her hand. The pace of the glow immediately hastened as it touched her fingertips. She mouthed the words written on the card and squinted back at me in wonder.
"In my 74 years on this earth, I've never seen anything --- OW!" She screamed in pain.
"What's wrong!?" I remarked.
I grabbed the card from her. The glowing stopped.
She explained to me that the card had burned her and showed me a black mark on her hand. Despite my demands, she refused to let me bring her to a hospital. Instead, she begged me to bring the strange item to the police. At this point, I remembered that it was Monday. I was supposed to be at work. As much as I hated it, I needed this job and all I could think about was the possibility of getting fired.
"Mom, I've really got to go. I'm supposed to be at work!"
"Mom, I really can't be late again, Mr. Jacobs will be on my ass again!"
"Yes Mom, I *promise,* I'll bring the card by the station on my way over."
"I love you too, *yes,* I'll make sure to text you when I get to work."
I rolled through my typical exit conversation, telling her what she needed to hear as my mind drifted to the list of phone calls I likely had waiting for me at my desk. I slipped the card into my pocket and began my trek through the puddles. As I reached the end of her walkway, a black van pulled up. No windows, all black, the kind of sketchy vans my mom used to warn me about.
The door opened, "Get in," a voice boomed out of darkness.
"What the---" was all I could get out before a fist came out of nowhere and dragged my shirt forward. The neckline of my shirt choked my throat, my knees banged the side of the van and my face hit something solid. I looked up, I was in the van. Darkness.
Except it wasn't darkness. My pocket was glowing, and beginning to heat up. A white gloved hand worked its way up my leg and jammed its way into my pocket. It retrieved the now burning hot, surging card.
"Where did you find this?"
In utter shock, I was unable to even contemplate an answer.
"Who have you showed this to?"
"Who are you?" was the only response I could manage.
"We're with the White House, Enoch. We're here to help."
"Can I get out of the van?" I asked.
"Not right now, sorry. We just need to ask a few questions about this." As the glove pointed to the card.
I was flat-out scared and decided I needed to make a run for it. I ignored the conversation, jerked my head around and slammed my hand on the door handle. Nothing moved.
"What do you think you're doing?!" The voice screamed. The van screeched to a halt as the brakes were hit with full force. My body flew across the floor of the van and crashed into the back door. A latch clicked and a sliver of light crept through. I kicked the door open and ran like never before. Faster than Forrest Gump, faster than Jackie Robinson, faster than Usain Bolt. Nothing was going through my mind except *run.*
I found myself outside my apartment, panting, tears streaming down my face. I looked back to see open road and I felt safe. I quickly realized the card was still in the van and that the officials were likely content with its retrieval. I felt my wet pant legs and thought trivial the issue seemed at this point. At my shoes, I saw a glow in a puddle. My heart dropped to my feet.
I reached down and picked up a card. The green glow felt cold in my hand. I flipped it over to read: "We love *YOU*. We're sorry because we need *YOU."* The card felt like it was freezing and began pulsating. An indescribable wind surrounded me to the point where I couldn't see. BANG.
Everything went black. Everything was changed from that point on.
It sure wasn't a golden ticket, and I definitely wasn't in Willy Wonka, but that day was the start of something new. Maybe one day they'll write a movie about me...if I can ever find my way home.
*To be continued.* | "Hal!" I yelled out to my supervisor, befuddled by what I just saw on the touchscreen monitor at my desk.
My first day at Area 51 had already been a whirlwind, between the extensive background checks and HR orientation, to the labyrinth of passwords and security checkpoints. My head was spinning from trying to memorize a set of protocols more byzantine than the federal tax code. And now this, a transmission from some faraway place in outer space that I'm pretty sure no human has ever set foot in.
Was this what I think it was?
"Aw, Christ," Hal chuckled, scratching his stubbled chin as he leaned in to the screen squinting. "That transmission sounds like something Kleborp would write, that yuckster. Must be bored as hell over there on M5-8181."
He leaned back, standing upright, and pondered for a moment as he gently held the left earpiece of his spectacles against his lower lip.
"Tell them this, word for word," he finally said, somewhat amused. "Hal here. You accidentally sent this to our new intern. Anyways, all good buddy. Nice prank. We survived Hoover. We survived Carter. We'll survive this."
Sensing confusion on my face, Hal explained.
"Let's put it this way. They're not wrong," he sighed, "they" strongly implying the lawmakers in DC who make these jobs of ours possible. "Somebody definitely interfered with the election. It's just that it wasn't the Russians. At all." | |
[WP] We receive an extraterrestrial message. It simply says "We love you. We are sorry." | We didn't know what to do after we lost the final reactor. Oxygen and pressurization levels were at critical stabilization. We had hours, maybe minutes left before we had to switch to our extravehicular activity suits. The station was going to slowly decay into an oxygen-less shell, so we all agreed this would allow us stave off death for a couple hours longer.
Our reactors began failing one by one in synchronous intervals. This ship doesn't have any detectives on it but it doesn't take one to figure out why it happened. If they have the technology to travel across space from regions unknown to man, it's pretty damn likely they had the power to shut us down remotely.
We knew what we were getting into when we agreed to go on this mission. Not like we had much time to think about it. Ever since we received the message from them we knew we only had days to react.
The leaders of the western world agreed that we needed to attempt to contact them. We tried every form of communication, sent through every means available to us. No response. We tried to reach them through the channel they sent us the message. Nothing. They didn't want to talk to us anymore.
The final option was our mission. What hope mankind had was given to a team of militant space operatives. Teams of cosmonauts, engineers, and military specialists. We had one goal, to find out why they were here. If that failed, we were to start a war.
Now, we knew the raw power these invaders possessed. We could see the other stations from ours slowly rotating off axis. No doubt enduring the same fate our ship inevitably would. One by one we lost contact with the remaining ships before we lost all of our reactors too.
Once the first ships started to fail, I knew this was how it would end. Not just for us up here, but for everyone down there. Before our ship was cut-off from civilization, I knew I had to send one last message to those back on Earth.
"We love you. We are sorry." | "Hal!" I yelled out to my supervisor, befuddled by what I just saw on the touchscreen monitor at my desk.
My first day at Area 51 had already been a whirlwind, between the extensive background checks and HR orientation, to the labyrinth of passwords and security checkpoints. My head was spinning from trying to memorize a set of protocols more byzantine than the federal tax code. And now this, a transmission from some faraway place in outer space that I'm pretty sure no human has ever set foot in.
Was this what I think it was?
"Aw, Christ," Hal chuckled, scratching his stubbled chin as he leaned in to the screen squinting. "That transmission sounds like something Kleborp would write, that yuckster. Must be bored as hell over there on M5-8181."
He leaned back, standing upright, and pondered for a moment as he gently held the left earpiece of his spectacles against his lower lip.
"Tell them this, word for word," he finally said, somewhat amused. "Hal here. You accidentally sent this to our new intern. Anyways, all good buddy. Nice prank. We survived Hoover. We survived Carter. We'll survive this."
Sensing confusion on my face, Hal explained.
"Let's put it this way. They're not wrong," he sighed, "they" strongly implying the lawmakers in DC who make these jobs of ours possible. "Somebody definitely interfered with the election. It's just that it wasn't the Russians. At all." | |
[WP] We receive an extraterrestrial message. It simply says "We love you. We are sorry." | Now my life is boring. *Very* boring. To put in perspective, I actually watched paint dry last week. People joke about it, but I literally repainted my walls on a Friday night, sat on a paint bucket, and scrolled through twitter until the wall was ready for a second coat.
That being said, yesterday was crazy by any *human* standard.
It started off as any normal Monday morning would, with an appropriate drizzle that graced my walk to work. As my feet splashed along the sidewalk, I felt the cold swamp forming inside my socks. I groaned in anticipation of sitting at a desk, answering phone calls while drenched from the ankles down. It seemed as if nothing could brighten my day at this point. That's when I saw the glow. A slightly transparent, gold-glowing, rectangle no bigger than a dollar bill lay flat along the surface of a puddle.
In the moment, I chuckled to myself in wonder as all I could think of was the golden tickets from Willy Wonka. However, in hindsight, this moment changed **everything**.
I kicked the glowing card, amused at the sight. It bounced and splashed into a nearby puddle. The card began pulsating. Faster and faster. I kicked it again out of curiosity. The tempo increased with urgency. At this point the card was emitting a stronger, consistent gold glow. I picked it up, wondering what kind of strange credit card had such advanced technology.
"We love you. We are sorry."
The inscription on the card still burns through my mind. I stood in the puddle bewildered by the message, completely unaware of the sopping wet mess forming inside my shoes. What could this mean? Is it some grassroots message promoted by a church? Is someone filming for a prank nearby? As I stood there pondering the meaning of this peculiar card, the glow began surging once again. In confusion, I began walking. Where? I had no idea. The curiosity quickly wore off and panic began in my mind. Things were certainly getting weird. Next thing I knew, I was on my mother's front porch. As she let me in and I sat on the plush couch, I felt relief at the environment filled with comfort and certainty. To my further reassurance, as soon as I entered the house, the tempo of the glow slowed. I had no idea what it meant, but somehow it seemed better in my mind.
"How's it going Enoch? What brings you ---"
"Mom. LOOK." I interrupted, and shoved the glowing item into her hand. The pace of the glow immediately hastened as it touched her fingertips. She mouthed the words written on the card and squinted back at me in wonder.
"In my 74 years on this earth, I've never seen anything --- OW!" She screamed in pain.
"What's wrong!?" I remarked.
I grabbed the card from her. The glowing stopped.
She explained to me that the card had burned her and showed me a black mark on her hand. Despite my demands, she refused to let me bring her to a hospital. Instead, she begged me to bring the strange item to the police. At this point, I remembered that it was Monday. I was supposed to be at work. As much as I hated it, I needed this job and all I could think about was the possibility of getting fired.
"Mom, I've really got to go. I'm supposed to be at work!"
"Mom, I really can't be late again, Mr. Jacobs will be on my ass again!"
"Yes Mom, I *promise,* I'll bring the card by the station on my way over."
"I love you too, *yes,* I'll make sure to text you when I get to work."
I rolled through my typical exit conversation, telling her what she needed to hear as my mind drifted to the list of phone calls I likely had waiting for me at my desk. I slipped the card into my pocket and began my trek through the puddles. As I reached the end of her walkway, a black van pulled up. No windows, all black, the kind of sketchy vans my mom used to warn me about.
The door opened, "Get in," a voice boomed out of darkness.
"What the---" was all I could get out before a fist came out of nowhere and dragged my shirt forward. The neckline of my shirt choked my throat, my knees banged the side of the van and my face hit something solid. I looked up, I was in the van. Darkness.
Except it wasn't darkness. My pocket was glowing, and beginning to heat up. A white gloved hand worked its way up my leg and jammed its way into my pocket. It retrieved the now burning hot, surging card.
"Where did you find this?"
In utter shock, I was unable to even contemplate an answer.
"Who have you showed this to?"
"Who are you?" was the only response I could manage.
"We're with the White House, Enoch. We're here to help."
"Can I get out of the van?" I asked.
"Not right now, sorry. We just need to ask a few questions about this." As the glove pointed to the card.
I was flat-out scared and decided I needed to make a run for it. I ignored the conversation, jerked my head around and slammed my hand on the door handle. Nothing moved.
"What do you think you're doing?!" The voice screamed. The van screeched to a halt as the brakes were hit with full force. My body flew across the floor of the van and crashed into the back door. A latch clicked and a sliver of light crept through. I kicked the door open and ran like never before. Faster than Forrest Gump, faster than Jackie Robinson, faster than Usain Bolt. Nothing was going through my mind except *run.*
I found myself outside my apartment, panting, tears streaming down my face. I looked back to see open road and I felt safe. I quickly realized the card was still in the van and that the officials were likely content with its retrieval. I felt my wet pant legs and thought trivial the issue seemed at this point. At my shoes, I saw a glow in a puddle. My heart dropped to my feet.
I reached down and picked up a card. The green glow felt cold in my hand. I flipped it over to read: "We love *YOU*. We're sorry because we need *YOU."* The card felt like it was freezing and began pulsating. An indescribable wind surrounded me to the point where I couldn't see. BANG.
Everything went black. Everything was changed from that point on.
It sure wasn't a golden ticket, and I definitely wasn't in Willy Wonka, but that day was the start of something new. Maybe one day they'll write a movie about me...if I can ever find my way home.
*To be continued.* | It was 9:23 PM on a Tuesday in September when they discovered that they weren’t alone. At least, it was 9:23 PM on the eastern seaboard, but the message was broadcast around the world at that precise moment, forced across all airwaves. The televisions, the radios, the Sirius XMs and Spotifiys, the Netflixs and Hulus, they all broadcast the same message: “We love you. We are sorry.”
And then their world descended into silence.
In the months that followed, She was ravaged as humankind collapsed on themselves. Without modern technology to aid them, the mass migrations began. Lines of people, as if on a forced march, making their way out of the city, over the bridge, to the farmlands beyond.
The earth rotated the northern hemisphere into winter and sometimes, in the silence, I could feel the screams of the forgotten, the ones who hadn’t the means or the ability to leave, and there they were, finishing out their lives in that freezing apartment.
This has been something I’ve dreamt about since I was chose to help recover our ancestral home, to tear down the barrier that protects them. My training took hundreds of human years just to be molded and shaped into one who would save Her from the pain that was being inflicted upon her. The boundary was for the humans’ sake, the ones who started walking, to help them thrive without our interference. But we watched in horror in the following millennia as they rose, taller still, and began to destroy Her.
Some tried to respect the old ways, to keep vigilant in honoring the boundaries, but the humans did not care about the cost to tomorrow when they could have today. The protectors were ignored and ultimately eliminated. As we watched, the humans waged their petty wars and moved forward in the name of progress, and we knew that we had to act.
We are the elite force sent to save Her. But as we infiltrated, we saw in humankind what the first of us saw, those of us who built the barrier to protect the humans from ourselves.
I crossed lives with a great many number of humans. There was Gertrude, the woman downstairs who may have been known as the nosy neighborhood, who emitted flashes of loneliness, like a lighthouse beacon, each time she was left behind by her Very. Important. Children as they moved on with their own lives. Or Finley, sweet little Finley, who’s favorite color was pink, and his joy bubbled over, like a soda poured too fast, each time his sister tucked her pink bunny in next to him to keep away the nightmares. And Maxwell, who had finally worked up the confidence to ask out the girl he liked from his English class. They’d had plans to see a movie on Friday, but the silence had changed that.
When we were finally ready to implement the plan, that last message was our apology—*my* apology—for letting it get this far. Somehow, across the barrier, as I felt and experienced those brief but profound flashes of humanity—I myself began to feel more real. But it can’t be real. If they destroy Her they destroy us all and we must survive.
So we pressed the button.
*We love you. We are sorry.* | |
[WP] We receive an extraterrestrial message. It simply says "We love you. We are sorry." | We didn't know what to do after we lost the final reactor. Oxygen and pressurization levels were at critical stabilization. We had hours, maybe minutes left before we had to switch to our extravehicular activity suits. The station was going to slowly decay into an oxygen-less shell, so we all agreed this would allow us stave off death for a couple hours longer.
Our reactors began failing one by one in synchronous intervals. This ship doesn't have any detectives on it but it doesn't take one to figure out why it happened. If they have the technology to travel across space from regions unknown to man, it's pretty damn likely they had the power to shut us down remotely.
We knew what we were getting into when we agreed to go on this mission. Not like we had much time to think about it. Ever since we received the message from them we knew we only had days to react.
The leaders of the western world agreed that we needed to attempt to contact them. We tried every form of communication, sent through every means available to us. No response. We tried to reach them through the channel they sent us the message. Nothing. They didn't want to talk to us anymore.
The final option was our mission. What hope mankind had was given to a team of militant space operatives. Teams of cosmonauts, engineers, and military specialists. We had one goal, to find out why they were here. If that failed, we were to start a war.
Now, we knew the raw power these invaders possessed. We could see the other stations from ours slowly rotating off axis. No doubt enduring the same fate our ship inevitably would. One by one we lost contact with the remaining ships before we lost all of our reactors too.
Once the first ships started to fail, I knew this was how it would end. Not just for us up here, but for everyone down there. Before our ship was cut-off from civilization, I knew I had to send one last message to those back on Earth.
"We love you. We are sorry." | It was 9:23 PM on a Tuesday in September when they discovered that they weren’t alone. At least, it was 9:23 PM on the eastern seaboard, but the message was broadcast around the world at that precise moment, forced across all airwaves. The televisions, the radios, the Sirius XMs and Spotifiys, the Netflixs and Hulus, they all broadcast the same message: “We love you. We are sorry.”
And then their world descended into silence.
In the months that followed, She was ravaged as humankind collapsed on themselves. Without modern technology to aid them, the mass migrations began. Lines of people, as if on a forced march, making their way out of the city, over the bridge, to the farmlands beyond.
The earth rotated the northern hemisphere into winter and sometimes, in the silence, I could feel the screams of the forgotten, the ones who hadn’t the means or the ability to leave, and there they were, finishing out their lives in that freezing apartment.
This has been something I’ve dreamt about since I was chose to help recover our ancestral home, to tear down the barrier that protects them. My training took hundreds of human years just to be molded and shaped into one who would save Her from the pain that was being inflicted upon her. The boundary was for the humans’ sake, the ones who started walking, to help them thrive without our interference. But we watched in horror in the following millennia as they rose, taller still, and began to destroy Her.
Some tried to respect the old ways, to keep vigilant in honoring the boundaries, but the humans did not care about the cost to tomorrow when they could have today. The protectors were ignored and ultimately eliminated. As we watched, the humans waged their petty wars and moved forward in the name of progress, and we knew that we had to act.
We are the elite force sent to save Her. But as we infiltrated, we saw in humankind what the first of us saw, those of us who built the barrier to protect the humans from ourselves.
I crossed lives with a great many number of humans. There was Gertrude, the woman downstairs who may have been known as the nosy neighborhood, who emitted flashes of loneliness, like a lighthouse beacon, each time she was left behind by her Very. Important. Children as they moved on with their own lives. Or Finley, sweet little Finley, who’s favorite color was pink, and his joy bubbled over, like a soda poured too fast, each time his sister tucked her pink bunny in next to him to keep away the nightmares. And Maxwell, who had finally worked up the confidence to ask out the girl he liked from his English class. They’d had plans to see a movie on Friday, but the silence had changed that.
When we were finally ready to implement the plan, that last message was our apology—*my* apology—for letting it get this far. Somehow, across the barrier, as I felt and experienced those brief but profound flashes of humanity—I myself began to feel more real. But it can’t be real. If they destroy Her they destroy us all and we must survive.
So we pressed the button.
*We love you. We are sorry.* | |
[WP] Your village has been throwing bones and other artifacts into a giant sinkhole as a means of appeasing whatever lies below. One day, you venture down into the abyss and find all of the bones and artifacts neatly arranged on shelves carved out of the walls. | They told me not to go down there. It was known—to venture into the sinkhole is to anger God, who is the only ones to grant us peace, prosperity, and tranquility.
All of that sounds nice and all. Honestly, I love our God. Sounds like a really cool guy. Or girl. Being, one might say. Ever since the Great Collapse, they have come through for us in a BIG way, and you really can’t argue with results. If my momma’s taught me anything, it’s that you should always “grab whatever fucking luck comes your way and hold it tight so it don’t run.” In other words, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. But also don’t fuck with it, because that might break it some more.
Which is why it is expressly forbidden to enter the sinkhole, where all of our bones, pots, and other semi-functional run-down materials have been thrown for the last 10 years.
It all began when someone threw their chicken bones into the sinkhole in a haste while scrambling for cover at the start of a Storm. Then, mysteriously, the Storm passed. Minimal devastation. The next day, he did again, and there was no Storm. You can figure out the rest.
Back to the point. Last Tuesday I found a treasure so cool, so valuable, that I just had to use it. You ready for this?
I found a *rope*.
My very first instinct was to go down to the sinkhole. But I hesitated. It’s a looooooong drop. We aren’t sure exactly how far down the sinkhole goes, but from throwing lots and lots of stuff down it, we can tell that it's deep. We tell the little twerps still stuck in School that we are going to throw them down there, which would certainly result in their gruesome end. Preferably, a deathly fall won’t happen to me, but I can’t guarantee it. There was also the possibility of disappointing Momma, which would be much, much worse than a fall from any height.
In the end, I don’t want to anger God any more than the next guy, but I sat with that rope for a whole week without using it. And I got bored. So I stopped hesitating. One night, I waited until the campground had cleared post dinner, lounged for a while as everyone emptied their plates into the sinkhole, and then told my momma that I could clean up the rest. She gave me a real suspicious look.
“Are you about to do something stupid?”
“No, Momma.”
“Okay, then. Just be careful now.” She turned away. As soon as she left, I grabbed my rope and tied that bad baby to the tree super freaking *extra* tight. I threw the rope down the sinkhole and heard it a satisfying *thwap* as it hit the bottom. It was long enough.
I began to hum to myself, calming my nerves as I lowered myself into the Pit of our Salvation.
“At first I was afraid. I was petrified.” It was a song I had found in a cellular phone with a little bit of juice left over. A rarity, these days; electricity didn’t survive the first set of Storms. Technically, I think the song is about love. Yet the song still felt right, given my situation. I focused on my breath, my hands, and the song. Soon, I had arrived at the chorus.
“Do you think I'd crumble. Did you think I'd lay down and die? Oh no, not I, I will survive. Oh, as long as I know how to love, I know I'll stay alive. I've got all my life to live. And I've got all my love to give and I'll survive—” My feet hit the ground.
“I will survive, hey, hey,” somebody said to my right. An old man, with a grey beard. "I love that song. Tastefully ironic, considering that she died in 2032."
“Oh fuck God DAMMIT!” I said, jumping so high I was surprised I didn’t fly right back out of the sinkhole.
“I’m sorry, did I startle you, Mary? Is it my form? I can change that.” Immediately, the man began to transform. Two seconds later, I was staring at a beagle. My mouth was agape. “Is this better?” the dog asked me. I couldn’t answer. I was too busy looking at my surroundings, which illuminated a brilliant room, decorated tastefully, with all the shit my village had been throwing down here for the last 10 years. A shower made out of reshaped clay. A plush leather couch. A full kitchen, with cabinets, crafted from chicken bones. I looked at the dog. I looked back at the room. I looked at the dog again. It wagged its tail.
“My name’s not Mary,” I said. The dog frowned, which I hadn’t previously realized was possible for dogs to do.
“No? Is it…Steven? Lauren? Nevermind it. Humans are such a bother.” I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just waited. A million questions flashed through my mind, but five stood out.
*Are you God?*
*Do you cause the storms?*
*Is it because of something that we did?*
*Does this mean that Santa Claus is real?*
*If you’re a God, why do you need that shower?*
“Well, human, what is it that you want from me? And before you go off shooting questions, the quick answers are yes, yes, of course, no, and that’s private.”
“But are you a—oh. Ok, right. No more questions. What am I supposed to do now? Ask for a wish or something? I don’t really have any wishes,” I said. The beagle transformed, taking the shape of a pigeon.
“Wait. You don’t want anything from me?” The pigeon…err…crowed.
“Not really. I was more just looking for an opportunity to use my rope,” I said. “It’s a pretty cool rope.” The pigeon flew over to the rope, and then transformed into a kitten. The kitten pawed at the rope affectionately.
“This *is* a pretty cool rope. May I have it?”
“Well, no. I kind of need it to get back up. And I have big plans for it after that.”
“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that, Joshua.” The pigeon was suddenly a kitten, pawing at the rope and looking at me with curiosity. I shook my head.
“Still not my name,” I said. The kitten sighed dramatically and transformed back into an old man. The old man leaned in close.
“You know, I could just kill you and take it. But you didn’t ask me for anything, which is surprising behavior, especially from a human. So I’ll spare you.” The old man snapped his fingers, and suddenly, I was back above the sinkhole. My rope was gone.
“You stole my fucking rope!” I groaned into the sinkhole. “Asshole!”
Above my head, clouds began to form. I heard lightning. I knew the sound, from the time of the Great Collapse. The Storms. I had brought devastation back onto us all.
“NEVERMIND! ENJOY THE ROPE! IT WAS SUPER NICE MEETING YOU,” I shouted into the sinkhole. The clouds went away.
“That’s what I thought you said,” God shouted back. I turned on my heels and sprinted back home to Momma. | She stroked my cheek with a soft, velvet finger.
“Come back to me,” she whispered, her forehead against mine. Between us was was our hands, clasped together, intertwined with a beaded necklace she had wiggled between our fingers.
“I will,” I kissed her firmly on the top of her head. “I will crawl back to you if I have to.”
Tears streamed down her face as I stepped away from her. She held the necklace out and I lowered my head so she could lay it on me. The beads were warm against my bare chest.
“She of Light guide you,” she choked out.
“He of Darkness keep away,” I said strongly. She walked back to the edge, with the other village people gathered there, and buried her head into her sister’s fur cloak. The priest walked over to bless me as a rope was tied around my waist.
“Thank you brothers,” I said to the two men tying the rope. They both put a hand on my shoulder and nodded.
“Luck to you, brother,” One of them said. I nodded at him.
The priest held his hands over me, chanting quietly. When he finished, he held his hands together and looked me deep in the eyes.
“You don’t have to do this, Kantha,” he whispered. “We do not know what dwells below us.”
“Yes,” I said, “I must. Too long the beast in the belly has made our people fear. Has made our crops grow dry. Too long it has haunted the dreams of our elderfolk and made our women barren.”
The priest held out my long sword and I grasped it, our foreheads together.
“I must do this,” I whispered. He breathed out heavy onto my face. His last blessing.
“Go forth and may She grant you strength and protection. *Namalaya*.”
“*Namalaya,*” I repeated, ending the blessing.
As I stepped backwards, away from my people, my village, the men began beating on their chests, humming a low *drrrrrrrrrrr*...
It was a battle hum.
I stepped into the sinkhole. One hand over my chest, the other holding my sword. I locked eyes with my mother and nodded to her. She wept. I locked eyes with my beloved last. I wanted the last face I saw to be hers, in case I never left the world below. She held two fingers to her lips and then out towards me. I closed my eyes, held my sword above my heart, and sunk deeper and deeper into the dirt…
I felt immense pressure as I fell through the earth. It wasn’t exactly falling. More like the earth was carrying my downwards. When I finally did burst through, the dirt below now a ceiling, the rope caught me before I crashed into what was now the ground. I untied the rope and slowly lowered myself to the floor. A hallway curved in front of me, illuminated by torchlights. Holding my sword at the ready, I marched on.
The hallway twisted and turned. After each bend I kept expecting to meet whatever monster lived down here, but it kept going. Slowly, trinkets began to appear. One here or there on the wall, lining the hallway. The farther I went, the more appeared, on shelves and in crevices. Bones, carved stones, bright feathers, jeweled goblets, ornate headpieces, painted sticks. Soon the hallway walls were nothing but housing for artifacts. I stopped and stared at one in particular. It was a beaded salamander, its eyes two small red rubies. A shiver ran up my spine. I knew the beaded work of my beloved. I remember watching her work on it.
On and on I went, until finally the hallway opened up into a mighty chamber. The sound of my footsteps, even though they were quiet, would have echoed, had it not been for all the stuff. Towers of artifacts filled the space. There was only a narrow walkway between all of it. I still had my sword at the ready as I meandered through the chamber, finally lead to a corridor. Past that, it opened up to an even bigger room, with a spiral staircase leading down to the bottom floor. Each stair was crowded with items. I stopped to look at the large skull of a bear resting on the top of a pile. Bears never appeared in our land now. This must have been old.
Making my way to the bottom level, there were no lights down here except one, at the end of the pathway. As I made my way towards it I heard a fluttering, like that of birds’ wings. I stopped, bringing my sword in front of me.
“Come here dear,” came a voice from around the bend, where the light was. It was soft, but dangerous. Another shiver ran up my spine. I walked forward slowly, my sword still ready. As I came around the bend I focused my eyes on what appeared to be an old woman, sitting next to a bright lamp. She blinked wrinkled eyes at me, a little smile on her face.
“Hello,” she said cheerfully.
“What are you?” I demanded. I knew this was a trick.
“Me?” She asked innocently. Her smile widened. “I am merely the monster you have been feeding.”
She laughed, a cackle that sounded old, but also deep, full of a long life that had seen much and played many tricks.
“Silence, witch,” I hissed at her. Her cackling slowly subsided and she leaned forward, eyes widening, as she took me in.
“You are a strong young man,” she whispered. “I bet your blood tastes sweet and runs freely.”
I pushed my sword towards her.
“I have come to finally slay you, devil in the lair,” I shouted, “I have come to be rid of your evil spirit that has haunted our lands.”
She let out another cackler and gleefully clapped her tiny hands together. She laughed until her breath was running dry and she was heaving over her chair.
“Oh, oh! You are a riot! To think you, a mere mortal, could harm *me*,” She stuck one of her long fingernails in her mouth and sucked on it. “You have no power here.”
“Enough!” I brought my sword above my head. “I have been blessed by She of Light, and laid to rest He of Darkness. I banish you from the Other space you have come from. From their unification and the blessing made onto me, I send you away from this world and this land, Demon!” I brought my sword down upon her and a blinding light erupted. I shut my eyes, expecting to open them to ruins. This sword had been in our village for centuries. It had been blessed my Rashka himself, the Original. I blinked, stunned, as I saw the sword had been stopped short by her hand. She held the blade in her right hand, which was no longer old and wrinkled. It was a satin, smooth black, with long black claws at the end of each finger.
Her eyes were now the colors of rubies. This was no mere Demon.
“What are you,” I whispered, as her hair began flowing longer, turning into a dark, shiny charcoal. Her legs began to grow and a tail wrapped around from behind her. “What are you!” I demanded again. Her back hunched over as she grew taller. The towers of artifacts were soon dwarfed in comparison to her size. Her eyes glowed, flames dancing in them, her smile showing a sharp set of fangs.
“Me?” She asked, her voice now deep, a combination of man, woman, child, animal, wind, water, and fire. “I am what you called He of Darkness and She of Light. I am the Overbearing. I am Beezlebub.”
She bent her large face towards me and laughed.
“I rule below and above, and now you are my prisoner.”
With a blink of her eyes I was pulled apart - ripped apart - her cackling filling my ears and drowning out my screams. Just before I felt myself sent down into the heat of the Earth, I saw my beloved’s face one last time. | |
[WP] Your village has been throwing bones and other artifacts into a giant sinkhole as a means of appeasing whatever lies below. One day, you venture down into the abyss and find all of the bones and artifacts neatly arranged on shelves carved out of the walls. | They told me not to go down there. It was known—to venture into the sinkhole is to anger God, who is the only ones to grant us peace, prosperity, and tranquility.
All of that sounds nice and all. Honestly, I love our God. Sounds like a really cool guy. Or girl. Being, one might say. Ever since the Great Collapse, they have come through for us in a BIG way, and you really can’t argue with results. If my momma’s taught me anything, it’s that you should always “grab whatever fucking luck comes your way and hold it tight so it don’t run.” In other words, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. But also don’t fuck with it, because that might break it some more.
Which is why it is expressly forbidden to enter the sinkhole, where all of our bones, pots, and other semi-functional run-down materials have been thrown for the last 10 years.
It all began when someone threw their chicken bones into the sinkhole in a haste while scrambling for cover at the start of a Storm. Then, mysteriously, the Storm passed. Minimal devastation. The next day, he did again, and there was no Storm. You can figure out the rest.
Back to the point. Last Tuesday I found a treasure so cool, so valuable, that I just had to use it. You ready for this?
I found a *rope*.
My very first instinct was to go down to the sinkhole. But I hesitated. It’s a looooooong drop. We aren’t sure exactly how far down the sinkhole goes, but from throwing lots and lots of stuff down it, we can tell that it's deep. We tell the little twerps still stuck in School that we are going to throw them down there, which would certainly result in their gruesome end. Preferably, a deathly fall won’t happen to me, but I can’t guarantee it. There was also the possibility of disappointing Momma, which would be much, much worse than a fall from any height.
In the end, I don’t want to anger God any more than the next guy, but I sat with that rope for a whole week without using it. And I got bored. So I stopped hesitating. One night, I waited until the campground had cleared post dinner, lounged for a while as everyone emptied their plates into the sinkhole, and then told my momma that I could clean up the rest. She gave me a real suspicious look.
“Are you about to do something stupid?”
“No, Momma.”
“Okay, then. Just be careful now.” She turned away. As soon as she left, I grabbed my rope and tied that bad baby to the tree super freaking *extra* tight. I threw the rope down the sinkhole and heard it a satisfying *thwap* as it hit the bottom. It was long enough.
I began to hum to myself, calming my nerves as I lowered myself into the Pit of our Salvation.
“At first I was afraid. I was petrified.” It was a song I had found in a cellular phone with a little bit of juice left over. A rarity, these days; electricity didn’t survive the first set of Storms. Technically, I think the song is about love. Yet the song still felt right, given my situation. I focused on my breath, my hands, and the song. Soon, I had arrived at the chorus.
“Do you think I'd crumble. Did you think I'd lay down and die? Oh no, not I, I will survive. Oh, as long as I know how to love, I know I'll stay alive. I've got all my life to live. And I've got all my love to give and I'll survive—” My feet hit the ground.
“I will survive, hey, hey,” somebody said to my right. An old man, with a grey beard. "I love that song. Tastefully ironic, considering that she died in 2032."
“Oh fuck God DAMMIT!” I said, jumping so high I was surprised I didn’t fly right back out of the sinkhole.
“I’m sorry, did I startle you, Mary? Is it my form? I can change that.” Immediately, the man began to transform. Two seconds later, I was staring at a beagle. My mouth was agape. “Is this better?” the dog asked me. I couldn’t answer. I was too busy looking at my surroundings, which illuminated a brilliant room, decorated tastefully, with all the shit my village had been throwing down here for the last 10 years. A shower made out of reshaped clay. A plush leather couch. A full kitchen, with cabinets, crafted from chicken bones. I looked at the dog. I looked back at the room. I looked at the dog again. It wagged its tail.
“My name’s not Mary,” I said. The dog frowned, which I hadn’t previously realized was possible for dogs to do.
“No? Is it…Steven? Lauren? Nevermind it. Humans are such a bother.” I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just waited. A million questions flashed through my mind, but five stood out.
*Are you God?*
*Do you cause the storms?*
*Is it because of something that we did?*
*Does this mean that Santa Claus is real?*
*If you’re a God, why do you need that shower?*
“Well, human, what is it that you want from me? And before you go off shooting questions, the quick answers are yes, yes, of course, no, and that’s private.”
“But are you a—oh. Ok, right. No more questions. What am I supposed to do now? Ask for a wish or something? I don’t really have any wishes,” I said. The beagle transformed, taking the shape of a pigeon.
“Wait. You don’t want anything from me?” The pigeon…err…crowed.
“Not really. I was more just looking for an opportunity to use my rope,” I said. “It’s a pretty cool rope.” The pigeon flew over to the rope, and then transformed into a kitten. The kitten pawed at the rope affectionately.
“This *is* a pretty cool rope. May I have it?”
“Well, no. I kind of need it to get back up. And I have big plans for it after that.”
“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that, Joshua.” The pigeon was suddenly a kitten, pawing at the rope and looking at me with curiosity. I shook my head.
“Still not my name,” I said. The kitten sighed dramatically and transformed back into an old man. The old man leaned in close.
“You know, I could just kill you and take it. But you didn’t ask me for anything, which is surprising behavior, especially from a human. So I’ll spare you.” The old man snapped his fingers, and suddenly, I was back above the sinkhole. My rope was gone.
“You stole my fucking rope!” I groaned into the sinkhole. “Asshole!”
Above my head, clouds began to form. I heard lightning. I knew the sound, from the time of the Great Collapse. The Storms. I had brought devastation back onto us all.
“NEVERMIND! ENJOY THE ROPE! IT WAS SUPER NICE MEETING YOU,” I shouted into the sinkhole. The clouds went away.
“That’s what I thought you said,” God shouted back. I turned on my heels and sprinted back home to Momma. | “Evening.” The voice behind the counter greeted me. He was hazy at first, then he was there. Not right though. He looked like something with too many digits had tried to make a shadow puppet of a human being. “You get thrown down here? Just visiting?”
The abyss was where our ancient Deities had fallen, or so the legend went, after the Gods of the North had cast their constellations from the heavens. We dropped things. Human ash for the death god, crops for a bountiful harvest. The most recent offerings were displayed neatly by the puppet, who sat behind a counter. “Where..Why are you here?” I managed numbly, slackly staring.
Swords for the war god, a father’s hammer as a plea for his safe return, dolls of children who no longer needed them. All here.
“Why? Young man..” The thing moved like a shadow puppet as well, the jerky, clumsy motions of someone who had no idea how what they intended to imitate moved. “I am the steward. I gather the offerings and send them to their proper destinations. Takes a minute to sort out the intention behind each item though.” He laughed.
Gods, I hoped he.. It. It never found anything else funny again. I realize now that the thing I’m speaking to is intended to be me. Some clumsy imitation who’s eyes were dark and thoughtless, almost an affront. “So, visiting.. Or offering yourself, mortal?”
| |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | Timmy Oliver May 27, 2041-March 13th, 2050.
Timmy read the grave stone again, then felt himself rising up. Well, that's not quite right. He witnessed the world around him move downwards in a blur, then found himself at a room that seemed like the inside of a hollow pearl.
In front of him, stood a Figure in a tuxedo with all parts so perfectly white and evenly illuminated that it was difficult to tell where each piece began and ended. His face was covered with an inky black mask, which looked like a butterfly with seven wings, and his hair was the same shade of inky, slightly concealing two horns that curved out of his head.
"Am I dead?" The boy shouts at the mysterious Figure.
"Certainly! But fear not for I-"
"That's no fair!"
The Figure walks closer
"Everyone dies, boy. It wouldn't be fair if you didn't."
"Yeah, but that's when they're old!" The boy protests, stomping his feet with indignance.
"Not always. Some barely get to see the light of morning before there's mourning, lots live only long enough to have a little love to lose, and-"
"And the Queen bloody well gets to live forever, eh?"
"Ah, well..." The Figure says, standing up and straightening his bowtie.
"Well what?" The boy asks, "Wait... does she get to live forever? How's that fair!"
The Figure looks at the boy, "Well, weren't you one of the ones who... hmm..." He muses, then flicks His hand upwards, sending the world that direction, as if He were scrolling on a device.
The boy is aware of what being sent to lower planes implies, and feels a dread reminiscent of the years before he realized Father Christmas never seemed to make good on his threats of coal. Perhaps, some part of his brain opined, this would be the oft delayed punishment.
Instead of fire and brimstone, when they at last stop, they are in a grey, dull infinite room, filled with filing cabinets farther than the eye could see. In fact, for the impatient, bold, and adventurous soul of a child, this seemed somewhat worse.
The Figure checks one, then pulls His hands together.
At first, Timmy mistakes the effects of this to be the Figure growing until he can hold the whole room in his hands, but he recognizes the motion as one to zoom out.
Next, the Figure places the room slightly to his side, then expands it again.
Timmy sees the Figure standing far off in the distance, pulling out files, then makes a motion and the room shrinks without them, making them close once again, then makes a scrolling motion, placing them back in the original room.
Opening the file, He shows it to Timmy.
Timmy sees himself, singing the national anthem.
"God save the Queen..." He mutters.
"Exactly!" The Figure says, "I mean, I don't usually go by "God" but I understand the sentiment, and there's hundreds of thousands of this prayer coming in every day!"
"Prayer?" The boy asks, wide eyed, "It's nothing more than a song!"
The Figure's posture shows incredulity, "Just a song? Millions of voices, crying out as one, and you call it just a song? I suppose you want me to Stop Believing, too!"
"B'lieve in what? You're the big man upstairs!" Timmy protests.
The Figure shrugs, "I dunno, something or another."
"How can you believe in something without knowing?"
"Well if I knew that wouldn't be faith, now would it?"
The boy glares at him, "Forget about that, what happened to "If you didn't die, that wouldn't be fair"?" He says with a squeaky, irritating voice on the go where he's supposed to sound like the ineffable Being before him.
"Well... It's like Once Upon A Time..." He starts.
"What's that?" The boy asks, not knowing about a show that ended decades before his birth.
The Figure ignores the question, rambling on about someone named Mister Gold and the refusal to let him die or be truly redeemed.
"And see, the Bard was wrong! The world is a stage but all you tiny little elves aren't just players!"
"We're not elve-" Timmy begins, but is picked up and title through the air.
"You're my audience, too! And sometimes you just have to give the people what they want. I remember a while back there was this guy with a fatal disease, but all the science-y types seemed very caught up with him so I let him stick around. Didn't have very nice things to say about me, but you can't win them all."
"So you keep the Queen alive... to pander?"
"Exactly! I'm not exactly proud of it, but the requests just keep pouring in."
"But what about the other queens?"
"Well they weren't *the* Queen, you see. Each one was just *a* queen, you know?"
"What does that mean?"
"She's such a figure, you know? So kindly but firm! And most of all, she's ruled almost a century!"
The boy shoots him a scathing look.
"Because you count her as "The Queen"!" He shouts.
"And...?"
"So she's only counted as that because she's the longest lived, which she is because-"
"Because I count her as the longest lived! Ah, I see your issue now!"
"Yes! 'Zactly!"
With that the Figure flicks him away off to his eternal home, and laughs to Himself.
You see, anyone watching the exchange would be likely to recognize the tone the Figure used. Many had heard it before, between a younger sibling and the elder, the latter playing at being the dumber.
The whole thing, just for Little Timmy. | "Libby!" he hissed under his breath. "Your glamour is slipping."
Her eyes flickered towards him and he could see the faintest of pouts. Oh boy. Judging from that mischievous twinkle in her eye, he was going to pay for that later when they were alone.
Nevertheless, she spared a thought to readjust her outer appearance to relatively match what her expected age was - give or take a few decades. Not that anyone really noticed. Beyond 90 was the new frontier when it came to women's looks.
The dinner was a bit dull and, as a result of Phillip having taken care over the years to establish that he was withdrawing more as the years went on, he moved his attention inwards, thinking of strategies and future plans to improve the monarchy as well as holidays with the family.
Ah, family. It had been a long time since he had seen his. Libby, being the Queen and reigning monarch, was constantly surrounded by hers, but his had been more or less left to fend for themselves. Not that they minded. It was much easier to disappear for long periods of time without anyone noticing when one wasn't in the public spotlight.
*'Phillip.'*
Her harsh telepathic rebuke snapped him out of his inner reflection, causing him to reaction with the motions of an elderly man having abruptly woken up from his nap. He got himself mid-reaction and did his best to seem less startled. It wasn't very successful.
He could hear her chuckle telepathically and he scowled.
*'Godsdammit, woman. I was thinking about world domination.'*
*'No, you weren't, darling,'* she replied teasingly. *'That wasn't your "planning world domination" face. That was your "I can't wait to get to the bedroom and try all these naughty fantasies" face.'*
Phillip scowled again. *'Woman, you are going to be the death of me.'*
*'I don't doubt that,'* she chuckled again. *'After all, as you've pointed out many times, that is my goal in life.'*
---
**Note:** I am le tired but I could continue this if there's interest :) | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | "Minister?" said the secretary. The minister was much too tired to look at her, to talk to her. He grunted a murmur.
"It's... the Queen. She's taken ill. We have about an hour until this hits the news."
"Taken ill?" It seemed unlikely at this point that anything could get into her immune system. The Iron Lady was after all, just a lady. Even she fell. The Queen on the other hand, she must be made of much stronger stuff. NASA grade material.
"Yes, minister, she's in a medically induced coma." The minster stood up. "Good Lord, a coma?" The minster rushed out the door, leaving his secretary behind.
The minister was the first to arrive, at least after family. He saw his old friend Willy, the next in line to the throne. Willy's wife was there, his brother, a few minor royals. But William, he was the most important man in the room, and perhaps soon to be the most important in the country.
"William, I came I soon as I heard. What's going on?" William, I noticed wasn't looking at me when he told me that she collapsed, fell down a few stairs. He looked towards a TV, the news had caught wind of an ambulance at Windsor.
From the doors of the Royal Wing, a team of nurses, and doctors had came into the lobby. They looked stressed, as if they were to announce bad news. "Prince William, we need you. Please follow us." I'll always remember the look Willy made at me. Not quite confusion, not quite stress.
The Royal Lobby, as it turns out, was much like any other hospital waiting room. The chairs were better, but nicer chairs didn't make the wait of news any easier. William cam back, by himself. He looked towards his wife and his brother. The three huddled together. Whispers.
William looked at me, his face tripping him. "I told them to do anything to save the Queen. They had ideas... but not permission."
Their ideas, it turns out, was to convert some of her organs into machine. Do what God couldn't. The Queen made a full recovery, I'm sure you're aware. She was better than new, upgraded to the best that biomech science could muster. Every year she would get tuned up. Her veins were replaced with wiring, her heart would be swapped for better power cells each year. At 124, she was more machine than human. The Titanium Lady we called her.
| "Libby!" he hissed under his breath. "Your glamour is slipping."
Her eyes flickered towards him and he could see the faintest of pouts. Oh boy. Judging from that mischievous twinkle in her eye, he was going to pay for that later when they were alone.
Nevertheless, she spared a thought to readjust her outer appearance to relatively match what her expected age was - give or take a few decades. Not that anyone really noticed. Beyond 90 was the new frontier when it came to women's looks.
The dinner was a bit dull and, as a result of Phillip having taken care over the years to establish that he was withdrawing more as the years went on, he moved his attention inwards, thinking of strategies and future plans to improve the monarchy as well as holidays with the family.
Ah, family. It had been a long time since he had seen his. Libby, being the Queen and reigning monarch, was constantly surrounded by hers, but his had been more or less left to fend for themselves. Not that they minded. It was much easier to disappear for long periods of time without anyone noticing when one wasn't in the public spotlight.
*'Phillip.'*
Her harsh telepathic rebuke snapped him out of his inner reflection, causing him to reaction with the motions of an elderly man having abruptly woken up from his nap. He got himself mid-reaction and did his best to seem less startled. It wasn't very successful.
He could hear her chuckle telepathically and he scowled.
*'Godsdammit, woman. I was thinking about world domination.'*
*'No, you weren't, darling,'* she replied teasingly. *'That wasn't your "planning world domination" face. That was your "I can't wait to get to the bedroom and try all these naughty fantasies" face.'*
Phillip scowled again. *'Woman, you are going to be the death of me.'*
*'I don't doubt that,'* she chuckled again. *'After all, as you've pointed out many times, that is my goal in life.'*
---
**Note:** I am le tired but I could continue this if there's interest :) | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | No one questioned it when the national anthem became a mandatory part of the school day for children across the UK in 2020. It seemed like a positive act from parliament, designed to strengthen the bonds between the various cultures who call this island their home.
Five years later this act was extended, to enforce a national anthem break as part of the working day. When rushed through this amendment was initially met with skepticism, however the act did ensure that everyone would receive an extra 20 minute paid break each day. It seemed like a joke to most, 'an easy way to start the day' was the general consensus.
Twenty years later and we have an entire generation who are used to the daily routine, they don't know any different. They've been singing it once a day since their first day at school, this is the norm for them. There are many still alive for whom this hasn't always been the norm, infact they only used to take part for 'the memes'. To get the extra 20 minute paid break, pretend to sing along to the country wide broadcast. After all the anthem didn't last longer than 5 minutes, plenty of time to get outside for some deserved vapourised nicotine whilst also being renumerated.
Five years later and It's those who remebered the way it used to be, the fact that this was never meant to be more than a joke to them. They became suspicious, it didn't help that the queens health was appearing to improve compared to their own, despite her being over 60 years their senior now. So they stopped, refused to sing those words anymore, that's when the mandatory flu shot for those aged 50 or over was introduced. | "Libby!" he hissed under his breath. "Your glamour is slipping."
Her eyes flickered towards him and he could see the faintest of pouts. Oh boy. Judging from that mischievous twinkle in her eye, he was going to pay for that later when they were alone.
Nevertheless, she spared a thought to readjust her outer appearance to relatively match what her expected age was - give or take a few decades. Not that anyone really noticed. Beyond 90 was the new frontier when it came to women's looks.
The dinner was a bit dull and, as a result of Phillip having taken care over the years to establish that he was withdrawing more as the years went on, he moved his attention inwards, thinking of strategies and future plans to improve the monarchy as well as holidays with the family.
Ah, family. It had been a long time since he had seen his. Libby, being the Queen and reigning monarch, was constantly surrounded by hers, but his had been more or less left to fend for themselves. Not that they minded. It was much easier to disappear for long periods of time without anyone noticing when one wasn't in the public spotlight.
*'Phillip.'*
Her harsh telepathic rebuke snapped him out of his inner reflection, causing him to reaction with the motions of an elderly man having abruptly woken up from his nap. He got himself mid-reaction and did his best to seem less startled. It wasn't very successful.
He could hear her chuckle telepathically and he scowled.
*'Godsdammit, woman. I was thinking about world domination.'*
*'No, you weren't, darling,'* she replied teasingly. *'That wasn't your "planning world domination" face. That was your "I can't wait to get to the bedroom and try all these naughty fantasies" face.'*
Phillip scowled again. *'Woman, you are going to be the death of me.'*
*'I don't doubt that,'* she chuckled again. *'After all, as you've pointed out many times, that is my goal in life.'*
---
**Note:** I am le tired but I could continue this if there's interest :) | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | It's been 15 generations since the legend was passed down to me. That our God mother was truly a vampire. I didn't believe it at first after my mother told me the story. My dad verified it too. He said that his father and his father's father confirmed the same thing. She just never aged past a certain point.
I had my doubts as well. Sometimes I would forget that the Queen had stopped aging. Nobody else acted like it was strange. I've seen housekeepers and servants grow old however. I've seen myself grow older as well.
Still though, as time has passed...she keeps me well clothed and fed. I've always given the time of day with her, and accompany her on long walks around the royal garden. They even recently did a new documentary on the wildlife here. I love this place.
When I am left to ponder about the important things in life, my thoughts usually shift over to the food. Food is delicious, and the Queen provides generously. I also have to thank the datalinks which I used to check up on my messages this morning. Willow the Eighth suggested to me that the Queen might actually be a vampire. Wow. Much suspense. Whoops. I should log off as I see the Queen is coming. I'll have to investigate this new hypothesis from Willow later. Minimize all.
"Who's a good boy? Yes you arrre. Yes youuu arree! Here's your treats! Yum yum yummy!"
ARF ARF ARF YIIPPP I NEED THE TREATS IN MY MOUF.
Damn I love being a Corgi. | "Libby!" he hissed under his breath. "Your glamour is slipping."
Her eyes flickered towards him and he could see the faintest of pouts. Oh boy. Judging from that mischievous twinkle in her eye, he was going to pay for that later when they were alone.
Nevertheless, she spared a thought to readjust her outer appearance to relatively match what her expected age was - give or take a few decades. Not that anyone really noticed. Beyond 90 was the new frontier when it came to women's looks.
The dinner was a bit dull and, as a result of Phillip having taken care over the years to establish that he was withdrawing more as the years went on, he moved his attention inwards, thinking of strategies and future plans to improve the monarchy as well as holidays with the family.
Ah, family. It had been a long time since he had seen his. Libby, being the Queen and reigning monarch, was constantly surrounded by hers, but his had been more or less left to fend for themselves. Not that they minded. It was much easier to disappear for long periods of time without anyone noticing when one wasn't in the public spotlight.
*'Phillip.'*
Her harsh telepathic rebuke snapped him out of his inner reflection, causing him to reaction with the motions of an elderly man having abruptly woken up from his nap. He got himself mid-reaction and did his best to seem less startled. It wasn't very successful.
He could hear her chuckle telepathically and he scowled.
*'Godsdammit, woman. I was thinking about world domination.'*
*'No, you weren't, darling,'* she replied teasingly. *'That wasn't your "planning world domination" face. That was your "I can't wait to get to the bedroom and try all these naughty fantasies" face.'*
Phillip scowled again. *'Woman, you are going to be the death of me.'*
*'I don't doubt that,'* she chuckled again. *'After all, as you've pointed out many times, that is my goal in life.'*
---
**Note:** I am le tired but I could continue this if there's interest :) | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | Quick edit for readability: a lot of comments are telling me the time skips aren't showing up on mobile, since you can't see the break lines. So I'll just add in dates.
Westminster Palace, 2050
Rodney Bradley eased himself to a stand and felt a series of clicks in his left knee. He straightened his back to a chorus of complaints from his body, and hooked his worn oaken cane with his left hand before shuffling across his office towards the window. The sun was low in the sky in the city high rises beyond Parliament Square. Another day lost to the grind of trying to keep his country moving.
Thirty years in politics could leave a man weathered down to his core. Brexit, the Second and Third Scottish Referendums, the Korean Crisis, Walexit. Rodney's spirit was as weathered and battered as they came, but that weathering revealed a solid stone beneath. Labour's MPs had entrusted him with Prime Minister job three years ago, and he'd aged as much in that time as he had in the other twenty seven years.
Unlike someone else.
When the queen outlived her own son, it had been newsworthy, but not necessary inhuman. Prince Charles had succumbed to a heart attack at the ripe old age of 73. Not quite seeing his mother's hundredth birthday. Rodney quirked half a smile at such a seemingly morbid memory. That had been a day to change his life.
------------------------------------------
Westminster Palace, 2022
He was late, again. Curse it. First year MPs were somewhat frowned upon if they couldn't bother attending meetings, and a face to face with the shadow cabinet secretary of health was by far his most important legislative assignment on the month. Great time to get lost.
He ran a broad hand through the thick brown hair on his head, beginning to grow too long, as his steps carried him through Westminster. His phone buzzed in his pocket, doubtlessly an update on Prince Charles health. The entire nation hung on the man's labored breathing and arrhythmic heartbeat; the national mood as erratic as the dying man's pulse. Charles had been a fixture of Bradley's life, but William had always been his prince. Being of an age to William's younger brother had that certain affect on he and his generation.
Finally his feet carried him before a nondescript door bearing the correct numbers, and pushed it open.
The first shock was that more than one individual awaited him, the second shock was that one of the extras was a prince.
"Sit down, Rodney." Chimed Jon Ashworth, the broad and charming Shadow Secretary of Health. His black hairs fading to gray, "We're glad you're here. It's time to get started."
Prince Phillip leaned forward, his frail body clearly pushed near its limit just to be here in Westminster, "A pleasure to meet you sir, forgive me if we must be brief, but I should be at the Prince's side come the death, so we lack time for proper courtesy." He nodded at Ashworth, his perpetual jovial smile fading to a frown, "With Charles death I'm afraid the work must pass from me directly to William and Harry. They'll need some help," Phillip waved at the sparse handful of politicians in the room, "those in the know have recommended you. So, without further ado, I must ask you: will you help us to stop the love of my life?"
Presumably, the world kept spinning for the next few seconds. Street vendors throughout London continued passing off questionable kebab to unsuspecting tourists, mind the gap messages droned throughout the subways of the United Kingdom. For all the good that knowledge did Rodney it might as well have been a teacup in orbit around Jupiter.
"I'm sorry sir, I can't have heard you correctly." Rodney tried to keep his voice steady, his tone respectful. Phillip was still the Prince Consort, and a nearly hundred year old man. Hardly someone to shout down.
"I'm afraid you did, son." Phillip said, not unkindly, but distracted. "I realized the issue myself some years back, but the queen is a tough one to crack. I'm still not sure how she does it."
Ashworth reached to a neat pile of folders in front of him, pulling from the top one of the meme posters that had risen to prominence in the UK over the past decade. *Long Live the Queen* was scrolled across it in blocky print, an off red rendition of the crown adorning the top of the page. Ashworth put a finger near his lips, "Say the words not. We know that much. Somehow, she draws power from them, longevity. With them she is to be immortal."
Rodney's face must have been a study in confusion as he stared at the men, "But she's... she's old, obviously. Nearing 100. She looks it to."
"A clever bit of vanity," spat Philip. "She hasn't aged a day in thirty years, Charles and I knew that much, at least. What we never could figure out was how to broach the subject without being sent to the looney bin." Philip waved his hand weakly, and a security guard Rodney had barely seen stepped forward, taking grip of the Prince-Consort's wheelchair, "I must be there at the death. Good day gentlemen, hopefully we shall speak further some day."
Ashworth smiled at the retreating pair, then turned his calm gaze onto Rodney, "Welcome to the circus."
-----------------
Westminster Palace 2050
As Rodney gazed out the window leaning heavily on the cane, he heard a slight commotion at the door to his office. But a familiar one. The rasping sounds of old cow leather on carpet, a steel cane tapping out a staccato rhythm before the little wiry man he couldn't yet see. The stopper being pulled on the bottle of gin sitting at his desk, a frown at the sound of the stopper being returned too soon, "Come now Jon, I assume you intend to pour two."
Ashworth's chuckle covered up the sound of the second pour, but a glass was set on his windowsill an appropriate time later, as the ancient and wiry MP took up his standard position just on Bradley's left. They cut an interesting pair, he'd run heavy in his youth, and only grown heavier since. The stress of politicking and secret societies may have weathered his spirit to hard stone, but it had softened his belly to a warm jello. Jon had been the opposite, going days and sometimes weeks with little to no food or rest. Bradley couldn't prove it, but he suspected his friend had turned to darker substances at times to keep him going. But they had fought.
They hadn't won, of course. The queen wouldn't be celebrating her birthday yet again if they had, but the bitch knew she was in a battle.
"Long live the king," muttered Ashworth around his first draw of the gin.
"I'll drink to that, even if it is illegal." Bradley echoed, throwing back the fire as the sun dropped behind the statue of Churchill. Another day indeed.
| "Libby!" he hissed under his breath. "Your glamour is slipping."
Her eyes flickered towards him and he could see the faintest of pouts. Oh boy. Judging from that mischievous twinkle in her eye, he was going to pay for that later when they were alone.
Nevertheless, she spared a thought to readjust her outer appearance to relatively match what her expected age was - give or take a few decades. Not that anyone really noticed. Beyond 90 was the new frontier when it came to women's looks.
The dinner was a bit dull and, as a result of Phillip having taken care over the years to establish that he was withdrawing more as the years went on, he moved his attention inwards, thinking of strategies and future plans to improve the monarchy as well as holidays with the family.
Ah, family. It had been a long time since he had seen his. Libby, being the Queen and reigning monarch, was constantly surrounded by hers, but his had been more or less left to fend for themselves. Not that they minded. It was much easier to disappear for long periods of time without anyone noticing when one wasn't in the public spotlight.
*'Phillip.'*
Her harsh telepathic rebuke snapped him out of his inner reflection, causing him to reaction with the motions of an elderly man having abruptly woken up from his nap. He got himself mid-reaction and did his best to seem less startled. It wasn't very successful.
He could hear her chuckle telepathically and he scowled.
*'Godsdammit, woman. I was thinking about world domination.'*
*'No, you weren't, darling,'* she replied teasingly. *'That wasn't your "planning world domination" face. That was your "I can't wait to get to the bedroom and try all these naughty fantasies" face.'*
Phillip scowled again. *'Woman, you are going to be the death of me.'*
*'I don't doubt that,'* she chuckled again. *'After all, as you've pointed out many times, that is my goal in life.'*
---
**Note:** I am le tired but I could continue this if there's interest :) | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | Timmy Oliver May 27, 2041-March 13th, 2050.
Timmy read the grave stone again, then felt himself rising up. Well, that's not quite right. He witnessed the world around him move downwards in a blur, then found himself at a room that seemed like the inside of a hollow pearl.
In front of him, stood a Figure in a tuxedo with all parts so perfectly white and evenly illuminated that it was difficult to tell where each piece began and ended. His face was covered with an inky black mask, which looked like a butterfly with seven wings, and his hair was the same shade of inky, slightly concealing two horns that curved out of his head.
"Am I dead?" The boy shouts at the mysterious Figure.
"Certainly! But fear not for I-"
"That's no fair!"
The Figure walks closer
"Everyone dies, boy. It wouldn't be fair if you didn't."
"Yeah, but that's when they're old!" The boy protests, stomping his feet with indignance.
"Not always. Some barely get to see the light of morning before there's mourning, lots live only long enough to have a little love to lose, and-"
"And the Queen bloody well gets to live forever, eh?"
"Ah, well..." The Figure says, standing up and straightening his bowtie.
"Well what?" The boy asks, "Wait... does she get to live forever? How's that fair!"
The Figure looks at the boy, "Well, weren't you one of the ones who... hmm..." He muses, then flicks His hand upwards, sending the world that direction, as if He were scrolling on a device.
The boy is aware of what being sent to lower planes implies, and feels a dread reminiscent of the years before he realized Father Christmas never seemed to make good on his threats of coal. Perhaps, some part of his brain opined, this would be the oft delayed punishment.
Instead of fire and brimstone, when they at last stop, they are in a grey, dull infinite room, filled with filing cabinets farther than the eye could see. In fact, for the impatient, bold, and adventurous soul of a child, this seemed somewhat worse.
The Figure checks one, then pulls His hands together.
At first, Timmy mistakes the effects of this to be the Figure growing until he can hold the whole room in his hands, but he recognizes the motion as one to zoom out.
Next, the Figure places the room slightly to his side, then expands it again.
Timmy sees the Figure standing far off in the distance, pulling out files, then makes a motion and the room shrinks without them, making them close once again, then makes a scrolling motion, placing them back in the original room.
Opening the file, He shows it to Timmy.
Timmy sees himself, singing the national anthem.
"God save the Queen..." He mutters.
"Exactly!" The Figure says, "I mean, I don't usually go by "God" but I understand the sentiment, and there's hundreds of thousands of this prayer coming in every day!"
"Prayer?" The boy asks, wide eyed, "It's nothing more than a song!"
The Figure's posture shows incredulity, "Just a song? Millions of voices, crying out as one, and you call it just a song? I suppose you want me to Stop Believing, too!"
"B'lieve in what? You're the big man upstairs!" Timmy protests.
The Figure shrugs, "I dunno, something or another."
"How can you believe in something without knowing?"
"Well if I knew that wouldn't be faith, now would it?"
The boy glares at him, "Forget about that, what happened to "If you didn't die, that wouldn't be fair"?" He says with a squeaky, irritating voice on the go where he's supposed to sound like the ineffable Being before him.
"Well... It's like Once Upon A Time..." He starts.
"What's that?" The boy asks, not knowing about a show that ended decades before his birth.
The Figure ignores the question, rambling on about someone named Mister Gold and the refusal to let him die or be truly redeemed.
"And see, the Bard was wrong! The world is a stage but all you tiny little elves aren't just players!"
"We're not elve-" Timmy begins, but is picked up and title through the air.
"You're my audience, too! And sometimes you just have to give the people what they want. I remember a while back there was this guy with a fatal disease, but all the science-y types seemed very caught up with him so I let him stick around. Didn't have very nice things to say about me, but you can't win them all."
"So you keep the Queen alive... to pander?"
"Exactly! I'm not exactly proud of it, but the requests just keep pouring in."
"But what about the other queens?"
"Well they weren't *the* Queen, you see. Each one was just *a* queen, you know?"
"What does that mean?"
"She's such a figure, you know? So kindly but firm! And most of all, she's ruled almost a century!"
The boy shoots him a scathing look.
"Because you count her as "The Queen"!" He shouts.
"And...?"
"So she's only counted as that because she's the longest lived, which she is because-"
"Because I count her as the longest lived! Ah, I see your issue now!"
"Yes! 'Zactly!"
With that the Figure flicks him away off to his eternal home, and laughs to Himself.
You see, anyone watching the exchange would be likely to recognize the tone the Figure used. Many had heard it before, between a younger sibling and the elder, the latter playing at being the dumber.
The whole thing, just for Little Timmy. | Queen Elizabeth the 2nd stood atop her balcony, gazing out onto the other grounds were many people were living in tents. Over the years the numbers had grown considerably, more and more became curious and then suspicious of her age. She was 124 now, the oldest person alive on earth and lived and in history. For a long while she tried to hide her age with top of the line and extreme makeup sessions, and acting like an old lady. When infact, she was still extremely fit and healthy, often exercising in secret. Newspaper centers and even the government itself were becoming suspicious of her age and she soon knew it would be a matter of time before her secret would be discovered, she had to act quickly. The queen had the unquestionable loyalty of her nazi brethren, who she helped infiltrate throughout the lowest and highest echelons of society. The queen organized a team of nazi special forces, suited and geared up with them and prepared a break-in plan. She lay the blueprints on the table with which she designed, showing the buildings specifications, after explaining the plan to the team they went to carry it out. Sneaking out the backdoor of Buckingham palace was easy, she had done it many times and there were also many other secret passages out of there. Soon she boarded a helicopter with her squad and proceeded to the top rated newspaper headquarters building who was also putting out the most conspiracy theorist pieces.
Going down the ropes, she descended with her team and smashed through one of the top floor windows, smoke grenades and tear gas were deployed, injuring and obscuring the view of many journalists. The queen and team were safe with their masks and suit protections. As the nazi squad held the floor the queen and a helper scoured the computers and erased many of the hard drives and backups, she deleted many other things along with the conspiracy theories so as not to suggest this operation was solely for covering up her situation. On the way out the queen saw a woman on the ground with her hands on her face covering it, it looked like she had been injured by the tear gas, the queen kicked her in the face on the way out. The queen and team departed back up the ropes and into the helicopter and safely escaped.
When the queen got back to Buckingham palace she made immediate plans to go to 10 downing street, one of the seats of government. There she would try and disrupt government plans to expose her, or whatever they're up to, as her spies had indicated. The event at the newspaper building would also provide a suitable distraction while she infiltrated the compound. The queen suited up in specialist spy equipment and gear, this was her specialty. She made her way stealthily near 10 downing street and made sure one of the guards and snipers to the side of the building were nazi's. She grappled up the building and carefully made her way to the prime ministers central office. The queen used x-ray scanning and found the laser alarm detection grid, and disabled it with her specific gamma ray and infrared specialty laser. It was an amazing tool recently developed by the nazi research and development team. She dislodged some of the roof tiles and descended into the room. If she did not have the specialty deactivation tool, she simply would have had a nazi disable it or she had multiple other tools that could do the job and multiple other ideas.
Once inside the queen looked and scanned through the various documents and the computer, she kept her x-ray sight and senor activated to detect any incoming presence, and she could always escape in a suitable fashion or simply end whoever came into the room. Upon reading much on the computer and the various documents the queen finds out that the prime minister herself seems to be leading the hunt to uncover why the queen still lives and uncover more about her various secrets and operations she has completed over the decades. She knew this could not continue. The queen heard footsteps coming from outside and through her x-ray vision could see what looks to be a security guard walking through the hallway towards the door. She already has the intel she needed and already scanned the hard drive so she has a complete copy of it. She grapples back up the rope to the rooftop and escapes just quickly enough before the security guard walks in. She puts the tiles back and reactivates the security system and grapples back down the side of the building.
She wanted to end the threat as soon as possible, and so with the continuing distraction of the event at the newspaper station, the queen journeys to west minister, the seat of government, where the prime minister was located she was informed by spies. The queen, knowing west minister to be too exposed on all sides, decides to sneak in by wearing a cleaners uniform and ID accompanied by a fellow nazi wearing the same disguise. She infiltrates the building and makes her way upstairs. She can see the prime minister all alone in her office, she enters without knocking while disabling all surrounding security remotely and starts sweeping the floor.
"Uhh, sorry but i'm quite busy right now, can you come back later?"
The queen stops sweeping the floor and looks up to the prime minister. The minister squints to look at the queen, recognizing something familiar. The queen lifts her cap up to expose who she is to the minister
"Queen...what are you doing here?"
The queen pulls out a silenced pistol from her bra
"Die, bitch"
The queen pulls the trigger multiple times into the body and face of the prime minister. The queen walks out casually and escapes the way she came. She later frames two innocent cleaners, the usual cleaners of the house, set up to take the fall. One had an alibi and the other could not provide one, he was sentenced to life in prison with no chance of parole. The queen decided to lay low for a while before returning to her leaders. Days went by and in her public appearance journeyed to Transylvania where her leaders were. She made sure no one could follow there journey and left a double for the public to follow. Her and some nazi friends then went into the cave where her leaders were.
Unbeknownst to the queen someone had followed her, a reporter, she kept low as she watched what was happening inside the cave.
The queen told her leaders that she had quelled the growing concern of her age for now, and had killed the one responsible for spearheading it, she said she bought some time for the cause.
"Gud..." one of the leaders in purple with a pig mask on. She speaks up again while holding a piglet
"We must accelerate our plan, hitler will soon be reborn"
She slashes the pig with a carving knife and it's guts spills to the floor. Another big dead pig lies dead on a table near her.
"I understand, the will of hitler will be done then" the queen replies
"Gud...gud"
Then the woman in purple, a man in blue with a pigs mask and the queen all kneel down on the floor and pray to the huge pig statue in front of them. They continue praying for minutes until the group hears some rocks dislodge nearby, and see someone has infiltrated their lair.
"Get them!" the queens shouts
The nazi henchman grab the female reporter and drag her in front of the queen
"How did you follow me?" the queen asks
"I...i saw you, back at the newspaper headquarters, i knew it was you...i recognized your unique perfume from our previous meeting...i...i followed you"
"Oh you poor lamb"
"Who are you..."
"I'm a nazi, i always have been, it was difficult during the war, i tried to help the nazis when i could"
The reporter was never seen or heard from again.
Days later the queen once again stood on her balcony ready to issue a decree, or more a rally cry.
(When i saw 2 posts about the queen next to each other i was inspired to do all that i wrote above for this post and then a continuing post in the other thread, but after writing a little bit i don't think i can go anywhere with it really, so here's that bit "Into the microphone she spoke
"All knights, that have i created, you will come to serve me now in a time of war, this war, our war, against the world, for hitler is reborn!. (or will be reborn)
Immediately the brainwashing of all those knighted came to fruition and activated, all their resources joined to the queens nazi cause in conquering the world. "
Yeah, i think i just wanted to go for something wacky with this post. I'm surprised by how much i wrote about this.) | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | "Minister?" said the secretary. The minister was much too tired to look at her, to talk to her. He grunted a murmur.
"It's... the Queen. She's taken ill. We have about an hour until this hits the news."
"Taken ill?" It seemed unlikely at this point that anything could get into her immune system. The Iron Lady was after all, just a lady. Even she fell. The Queen on the other hand, she must be made of much stronger stuff. NASA grade material.
"Yes, minister, she's in a medically induced coma." The minster stood up. "Good Lord, a coma?" The minster rushed out the door, leaving his secretary behind.
The minister was the first to arrive, at least after family. He saw his old friend Willy, the next in line to the throne. Willy's wife was there, his brother, a few minor royals. But William, he was the most important man in the room, and perhaps soon to be the most important in the country.
"William, I came I soon as I heard. What's going on?" William, I noticed wasn't looking at me when he told me that she collapsed, fell down a few stairs. He looked towards a TV, the news had caught wind of an ambulance at Windsor.
From the doors of the Royal Wing, a team of nurses, and doctors had came into the lobby. They looked stressed, as if they were to announce bad news. "Prince William, we need you. Please follow us." I'll always remember the look Willy made at me. Not quite confusion, not quite stress.
The Royal Lobby, as it turns out, was much like any other hospital waiting room. The chairs were better, but nicer chairs didn't make the wait of news any easier. William cam back, by himself. He looked towards his wife and his brother. The three huddled together. Whispers.
William looked at me, his face tripping him. "I told them to do anything to save the Queen. They had ideas... but not permission."
Their ideas, it turns out, was to convert some of her organs into machine. Do what God couldn't. The Queen made a full recovery, I'm sure you're aware. She was better than new, upgraded to the best that biomech science could muster. Every year she would get tuned up. Her veins were replaced with wiring, her heart would be swapped for better power cells each year. At 124, she was more machine than human. The Titanium Lady we called her.
| Queen Elizabeth the 2nd stood atop her balcony, gazing out onto the other grounds were many people were living in tents. Over the years the numbers had grown considerably, more and more became curious and then suspicious of her age. She was 124 now, the oldest person alive on earth and lived and in history. For a long while she tried to hide her age with top of the line and extreme makeup sessions, and acting like an old lady. When infact, she was still extremely fit and healthy, often exercising in secret. Newspaper centers and even the government itself were becoming suspicious of her age and she soon knew it would be a matter of time before her secret would be discovered, she had to act quickly. The queen had the unquestionable loyalty of her nazi brethren, who she helped infiltrate throughout the lowest and highest echelons of society. The queen organized a team of nazi special forces, suited and geared up with them and prepared a break-in plan. She lay the blueprints on the table with which she designed, showing the buildings specifications, after explaining the plan to the team they went to carry it out. Sneaking out the backdoor of Buckingham palace was easy, she had done it many times and there were also many other secret passages out of there. Soon she boarded a helicopter with her squad and proceeded to the top rated newspaper headquarters building who was also putting out the most conspiracy theorist pieces.
Going down the ropes, she descended with her team and smashed through one of the top floor windows, smoke grenades and tear gas were deployed, injuring and obscuring the view of many journalists. The queen and team were safe with their masks and suit protections. As the nazi squad held the floor the queen and a helper scoured the computers and erased many of the hard drives and backups, she deleted many other things along with the conspiracy theories so as not to suggest this operation was solely for covering up her situation. On the way out the queen saw a woman on the ground with her hands on her face covering it, it looked like she had been injured by the tear gas, the queen kicked her in the face on the way out. The queen and team departed back up the ropes and into the helicopter and safely escaped.
When the queen got back to Buckingham palace she made immediate plans to go to 10 downing street, one of the seats of government. There she would try and disrupt government plans to expose her, or whatever they're up to, as her spies had indicated. The event at the newspaper building would also provide a suitable distraction while she infiltrated the compound. The queen suited up in specialist spy equipment and gear, this was her specialty. She made her way stealthily near 10 downing street and made sure one of the guards and snipers to the side of the building were nazi's. She grappled up the building and carefully made her way to the prime ministers central office. The queen used x-ray scanning and found the laser alarm detection grid, and disabled it with her specific gamma ray and infrared specialty laser. It was an amazing tool recently developed by the nazi research and development team. She dislodged some of the roof tiles and descended into the room. If she did not have the specialty deactivation tool, she simply would have had a nazi disable it or she had multiple other tools that could do the job and multiple other ideas.
Once inside the queen looked and scanned through the various documents and the computer, she kept her x-ray sight and senor activated to detect any incoming presence, and she could always escape in a suitable fashion or simply end whoever came into the room. Upon reading much on the computer and the various documents the queen finds out that the prime minister herself seems to be leading the hunt to uncover why the queen still lives and uncover more about her various secrets and operations she has completed over the decades. She knew this could not continue. The queen heard footsteps coming from outside and through her x-ray vision could see what looks to be a security guard walking through the hallway towards the door. She already has the intel she needed and already scanned the hard drive so she has a complete copy of it. She grapples back up the rope to the rooftop and escapes just quickly enough before the security guard walks in. She puts the tiles back and reactivates the security system and grapples back down the side of the building.
She wanted to end the threat as soon as possible, and so with the continuing distraction of the event at the newspaper station, the queen journeys to west minister, the seat of government, where the prime minister was located she was informed by spies. The queen, knowing west minister to be too exposed on all sides, decides to sneak in by wearing a cleaners uniform and ID accompanied by a fellow nazi wearing the same disguise. She infiltrates the building and makes her way upstairs. She can see the prime minister all alone in her office, she enters without knocking while disabling all surrounding security remotely and starts sweeping the floor.
"Uhh, sorry but i'm quite busy right now, can you come back later?"
The queen stops sweeping the floor and looks up to the prime minister. The minister squints to look at the queen, recognizing something familiar. The queen lifts her cap up to expose who she is to the minister
"Queen...what are you doing here?"
The queen pulls out a silenced pistol from her bra
"Die, bitch"
The queen pulls the trigger multiple times into the body and face of the prime minister. The queen walks out casually and escapes the way she came. She later frames two innocent cleaners, the usual cleaners of the house, set up to take the fall. One had an alibi and the other could not provide one, he was sentenced to life in prison with no chance of parole. The queen decided to lay low for a while before returning to her leaders. Days went by and in her public appearance journeyed to Transylvania where her leaders were. She made sure no one could follow there journey and left a double for the public to follow. Her and some nazi friends then went into the cave where her leaders were.
Unbeknownst to the queen someone had followed her, a reporter, she kept low as she watched what was happening inside the cave.
The queen told her leaders that she had quelled the growing concern of her age for now, and had killed the one responsible for spearheading it, she said she bought some time for the cause.
"Gud..." one of the leaders in purple with a pig mask on. She speaks up again while holding a piglet
"We must accelerate our plan, hitler will soon be reborn"
She slashes the pig with a carving knife and it's guts spills to the floor. Another big dead pig lies dead on a table near her.
"I understand, the will of hitler will be done then" the queen replies
"Gud...gud"
Then the woman in purple, a man in blue with a pigs mask and the queen all kneel down on the floor and pray to the huge pig statue in front of them. They continue praying for minutes until the group hears some rocks dislodge nearby, and see someone has infiltrated their lair.
"Get them!" the queens shouts
The nazi henchman grab the female reporter and drag her in front of the queen
"How did you follow me?" the queen asks
"I...i saw you, back at the newspaper headquarters, i knew it was you...i recognized your unique perfume from our previous meeting...i...i followed you"
"Oh you poor lamb"
"Who are you..."
"I'm a nazi, i always have been, it was difficult during the war, i tried to help the nazis when i could"
The reporter was never seen or heard from again.
Days later the queen once again stood on her balcony ready to issue a decree, or more a rally cry.
(When i saw 2 posts about the queen next to each other i was inspired to do all that i wrote above for this post and then a continuing post in the other thread, but after writing a little bit i don't think i can go anywhere with it really, so here's that bit "Into the microphone she spoke
"All knights, that have i created, you will come to serve me now in a time of war, this war, our war, against the world, for hitler is reborn!. (or will be reborn)
Immediately the brainwashing of all those knighted came to fruition and activated, all their resources joined to the queens nazi cause in conquering the world. "
Yeah, i think i just wanted to go for something wacky with this post. I'm surprised by how much i wrote about this.) | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | No one questioned it when the national anthem became a mandatory part of the school day for children across the UK in 2020. It seemed like a positive act from parliament, designed to strengthen the bonds between the various cultures who call this island their home.
Five years later this act was extended, to enforce a national anthem break as part of the working day. When rushed through this amendment was initially met with skepticism, however the act did ensure that everyone would receive an extra 20 minute paid break each day. It seemed like a joke to most, 'an easy way to start the day' was the general consensus.
Twenty years later and we have an entire generation who are used to the daily routine, they don't know any different. They've been singing it once a day since their first day at school, this is the norm for them. There are many still alive for whom this hasn't always been the norm, infact they only used to take part for 'the memes'. To get the extra 20 minute paid break, pretend to sing along to the country wide broadcast. After all the anthem didn't last longer than 5 minutes, plenty of time to get outside for some deserved vapourised nicotine whilst also being renumerated.
Five years later and It's those who remebered the way it used to be, the fact that this was never meant to be more than a joke to them. They became suspicious, it didn't help that the queens health was appearing to improve compared to their own, despite her being over 60 years their senior now. So they stopped, refused to sing those words anymore, that's when the mandatory flu shot for those aged 50 or over was introduced. | Queen Elizabeth the 2nd stood atop her balcony, gazing out onto the other grounds were many people were living in tents. Over the years the numbers had grown considerably, more and more became curious and then suspicious of her age. She was 124 now, the oldest person alive on earth and lived and in history. For a long while she tried to hide her age with top of the line and extreme makeup sessions, and acting like an old lady. When infact, she was still extremely fit and healthy, often exercising in secret. Newspaper centers and even the government itself were becoming suspicious of her age and she soon knew it would be a matter of time before her secret would be discovered, she had to act quickly. The queen had the unquestionable loyalty of her nazi brethren, who she helped infiltrate throughout the lowest and highest echelons of society. The queen organized a team of nazi special forces, suited and geared up with them and prepared a break-in plan. She lay the blueprints on the table with which she designed, showing the buildings specifications, after explaining the plan to the team they went to carry it out. Sneaking out the backdoor of Buckingham palace was easy, she had done it many times and there were also many other secret passages out of there. Soon she boarded a helicopter with her squad and proceeded to the top rated newspaper headquarters building who was also putting out the most conspiracy theorist pieces.
Going down the ropes, she descended with her team and smashed through one of the top floor windows, smoke grenades and tear gas were deployed, injuring and obscuring the view of many journalists. The queen and team were safe with their masks and suit protections. As the nazi squad held the floor the queen and a helper scoured the computers and erased many of the hard drives and backups, she deleted many other things along with the conspiracy theories so as not to suggest this operation was solely for covering up her situation. On the way out the queen saw a woman on the ground with her hands on her face covering it, it looked like she had been injured by the tear gas, the queen kicked her in the face on the way out. The queen and team departed back up the ropes and into the helicopter and safely escaped.
When the queen got back to Buckingham palace she made immediate plans to go to 10 downing street, one of the seats of government. There she would try and disrupt government plans to expose her, or whatever they're up to, as her spies had indicated. The event at the newspaper building would also provide a suitable distraction while she infiltrated the compound. The queen suited up in specialist spy equipment and gear, this was her specialty. She made her way stealthily near 10 downing street and made sure one of the guards and snipers to the side of the building were nazi's. She grappled up the building and carefully made her way to the prime ministers central office. The queen used x-ray scanning and found the laser alarm detection grid, and disabled it with her specific gamma ray and infrared specialty laser. It was an amazing tool recently developed by the nazi research and development team. She dislodged some of the roof tiles and descended into the room. If she did not have the specialty deactivation tool, she simply would have had a nazi disable it or she had multiple other tools that could do the job and multiple other ideas.
Once inside the queen looked and scanned through the various documents and the computer, she kept her x-ray sight and senor activated to detect any incoming presence, and she could always escape in a suitable fashion or simply end whoever came into the room. Upon reading much on the computer and the various documents the queen finds out that the prime minister herself seems to be leading the hunt to uncover why the queen still lives and uncover more about her various secrets and operations she has completed over the decades. She knew this could not continue. The queen heard footsteps coming from outside and through her x-ray vision could see what looks to be a security guard walking through the hallway towards the door. She already has the intel she needed and already scanned the hard drive so she has a complete copy of it. She grapples back up the rope to the rooftop and escapes just quickly enough before the security guard walks in. She puts the tiles back and reactivates the security system and grapples back down the side of the building.
She wanted to end the threat as soon as possible, and so with the continuing distraction of the event at the newspaper station, the queen journeys to west minister, the seat of government, where the prime minister was located she was informed by spies. The queen, knowing west minister to be too exposed on all sides, decides to sneak in by wearing a cleaners uniform and ID accompanied by a fellow nazi wearing the same disguise. She infiltrates the building and makes her way upstairs. She can see the prime minister all alone in her office, she enters without knocking while disabling all surrounding security remotely and starts sweeping the floor.
"Uhh, sorry but i'm quite busy right now, can you come back later?"
The queen stops sweeping the floor and looks up to the prime minister. The minister squints to look at the queen, recognizing something familiar. The queen lifts her cap up to expose who she is to the minister
"Queen...what are you doing here?"
The queen pulls out a silenced pistol from her bra
"Die, bitch"
The queen pulls the trigger multiple times into the body and face of the prime minister. The queen walks out casually and escapes the way she came. She later frames two innocent cleaners, the usual cleaners of the house, set up to take the fall. One had an alibi and the other could not provide one, he was sentenced to life in prison with no chance of parole. The queen decided to lay low for a while before returning to her leaders. Days went by and in her public appearance journeyed to Transylvania where her leaders were. She made sure no one could follow there journey and left a double for the public to follow. Her and some nazi friends then went into the cave where her leaders were.
Unbeknownst to the queen someone had followed her, a reporter, she kept low as she watched what was happening inside the cave.
The queen told her leaders that she had quelled the growing concern of her age for now, and had killed the one responsible for spearheading it, she said she bought some time for the cause.
"Gud..." one of the leaders in purple with a pig mask on. She speaks up again while holding a piglet
"We must accelerate our plan, hitler will soon be reborn"
She slashes the pig with a carving knife and it's guts spills to the floor. Another big dead pig lies dead on a table near her.
"I understand, the will of hitler will be done then" the queen replies
"Gud...gud"
Then the woman in purple, a man in blue with a pigs mask and the queen all kneel down on the floor and pray to the huge pig statue in front of them. They continue praying for minutes until the group hears some rocks dislodge nearby, and see someone has infiltrated their lair.
"Get them!" the queens shouts
The nazi henchman grab the female reporter and drag her in front of the queen
"How did you follow me?" the queen asks
"I...i saw you, back at the newspaper headquarters, i knew it was you...i recognized your unique perfume from our previous meeting...i...i followed you"
"Oh you poor lamb"
"Who are you..."
"I'm a nazi, i always have been, it was difficult during the war, i tried to help the nazis when i could"
The reporter was never seen or heard from again.
Days later the queen once again stood on her balcony ready to issue a decree, or more a rally cry.
(When i saw 2 posts about the queen next to each other i was inspired to do all that i wrote above for this post and then a continuing post in the other thread, but after writing a little bit i don't think i can go anywhere with it really, so here's that bit "Into the microphone she spoke
"All knights, that have i created, you will come to serve me now in a time of war, this war, our war, against the world, for hitler is reborn!. (or will be reborn)
Immediately the brainwashing of all those knighted came to fruition and activated, all their resources joined to the queens nazi cause in conquering the world. "
Yeah, i think i just wanted to go for something wacky with this post. I'm surprised by how much i wrote about this.) | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | It's been 15 generations since the legend was passed down to me. That our God mother was truly a vampire. I didn't believe it at first after my mother told me the story. My dad verified it too. He said that his father and his father's father confirmed the same thing. She just never aged past a certain point.
I had my doubts as well. Sometimes I would forget that the Queen had stopped aging. Nobody else acted like it was strange. I've seen housekeepers and servants grow old however. I've seen myself grow older as well.
Still though, as time has passed...she keeps me well clothed and fed. I've always given the time of day with her, and accompany her on long walks around the royal garden. They even recently did a new documentary on the wildlife here. I love this place.
When I am left to ponder about the important things in life, my thoughts usually shift over to the food. Food is delicious, and the Queen provides generously. I also have to thank the datalinks which I used to check up on my messages this morning. Willow the Eighth suggested to me that the Queen might actually be a vampire. Wow. Much suspense. Whoops. I should log off as I see the Queen is coming. I'll have to investigate this new hypothesis from Willow later. Minimize all.
"Who's a good boy? Yes you arrre. Yes youuu arree! Here's your treats! Yum yum yummy!"
ARF ARF ARF YIIPPP I NEED THE TREATS IN MY MOUF.
Damn I love being a Corgi. | Queen Elizabeth the 2nd stood atop her balcony, gazing out onto the other grounds were many people were living in tents. Over the years the numbers had grown considerably, more and more became curious and then suspicious of her age. She was 124 now, the oldest person alive on earth and lived and in history. For a long while she tried to hide her age with top of the line and extreme makeup sessions, and acting like an old lady. When infact, she was still extremely fit and healthy, often exercising in secret. Newspaper centers and even the government itself were becoming suspicious of her age and she soon knew it would be a matter of time before her secret would be discovered, she had to act quickly. The queen had the unquestionable loyalty of her nazi brethren, who she helped infiltrate throughout the lowest and highest echelons of society. The queen organized a team of nazi special forces, suited and geared up with them and prepared a break-in plan. She lay the blueprints on the table with which she designed, showing the buildings specifications, after explaining the plan to the team they went to carry it out. Sneaking out the backdoor of Buckingham palace was easy, she had done it many times and there were also many other secret passages out of there. Soon she boarded a helicopter with her squad and proceeded to the top rated newspaper headquarters building who was also putting out the most conspiracy theorist pieces.
Going down the ropes, she descended with her team and smashed through one of the top floor windows, smoke grenades and tear gas were deployed, injuring and obscuring the view of many journalists. The queen and team were safe with their masks and suit protections. As the nazi squad held the floor the queen and a helper scoured the computers and erased many of the hard drives and backups, she deleted many other things along with the conspiracy theories so as not to suggest this operation was solely for covering up her situation. On the way out the queen saw a woman on the ground with her hands on her face covering it, it looked like she had been injured by the tear gas, the queen kicked her in the face on the way out. The queen and team departed back up the ropes and into the helicopter and safely escaped.
When the queen got back to Buckingham palace she made immediate plans to go to 10 downing street, one of the seats of government. There she would try and disrupt government plans to expose her, or whatever they're up to, as her spies had indicated. The event at the newspaper building would also provide a suitable distraction while she infiltrated the compound. The queen suited up in specialist spy equipment and gear, this was her specialty. She made her way stealthily near 10 downing street and made sure one of the guards and snipers to the side of the building were nazi's. She grappled up the building and carefully made her way to the prime ministers central office. The queen used x-ray scanning and found the laser alarm detection grid, and disabled it with her specific gamma ray and infrared specialty laser. It was an amazing tool recently developed by the nazi research and development team. She dislodged some of the roof tiles and descended into the room. If she did not have the specialty deactivation tool, she simply would have had a nazi disable it or she had multiple other tools that could do the job and multiple other ideas.
Once inside the queen looked and scanned through the various documents and the computer, she kept her x-ray sight and senor activated to detect any incoming presence, and she could always escape in a suitable fashion or simply end whoever came into the room. Upon reading much on the computer and the various documents the queen finds out that the prime minister herself seems to be leading the hunt to uncover why the queen still lives and uncover more about her various secrets and operations she has completed over the decades. She knew this could not continue. The queen heard footsteps coming from outside and through her x-ray vision could see what looks to be a security guard walking through the hallway towards the door. She already has the intel she needed and already scanned the hard drive so she has a complete copy of it. She grapples back up the rope to the rooftop and escapes just quickly enough before the security guard walks in. She puts the tiles back and reactivates the security system and grapples back down the side of the building.
She wanted to end the threat as soon as possible, and so with the continuing distraction of the event at the newspaper station, the queen journeys to west minister, the seat of government, where the prime minister was located she was informed by spies. The queen, knowing west minister to be too exposed on all sides, decides to sneak in by wearing a cleaners uniform and ID accompanied by a fellow nazi wearing the same disguise. She infiltrates the building and makes her way upstairs. She can see the prime minister all alone in her office, she enters without knocking while disabling all surrounding security remotely and starts sweeping the floor.
"Uhh, sorry but i'm quite busy right now, can you come back later?"
The queen stops sweeping the floor and looks up to the prime minister. The minister squints to look at the queen, recognizing something familiar. The queen lifts her cap up to expose who she is to the minister
"Queen...what are you doing here?"
The queen pulls out a silenced pistol from her bra
"Die, bitch"
The queen pulls the trigger multiple times into the body and face of the prime minister. The queen walks out casually and escapes the way she came. She later frames two innocent cleaners, the usual cleaners of the house, set up to take the fall. One had an alibi and the other could not provide one, he was sentenced to life in prison with no chance of parole. The queen decided to lay low for a while before returning to her leaders. Days went by and in her public appearance journeyed to Transylvania where her leaders were. She made sure no one could follow there journey and left a double for the public to follow. Her and some nazi friends then went into the cave where her leaders were.
Unbeknownst to the queen someone had followed her, a reporter, she kept low as she watched what was happening inside the cave.
The queen told her leaders that she had quelled the growing concern of her age for now, and had killed the one responsible for spearheading it, she said she bought some time for the cause.
"Gud..." one of the leaders in purple with a pig mask on. She speaks up again while holding a piglet
"We must accelerate our plan, hitler will soon be reborn"
She slashes the pig with a carving knife and it's guts spills to the floor. Another big dead pig lies dead on a table near her.
"I understand, the will of hitler will be done then" the queen replies
"Gud...gud"
Then the woman in purple, a man in blue with a pigs mask and the queen all kneel down on the floor and pray to the huge pig statue in front of them. They continue praying for minutes until the group hears some rocks dislodge nearby, and see someone has infiltrated their lair.
"Get them!" the queens shouts
The nazi henchman grab the female reporter and drag her in front of the queen
"How did you follow me?" the queen asks
"I...i saw you, back at the newspaper headquarters, i knew it was you...i recognized your unique perfume from our previous meeting...i...i followed you"
"Oh you poor lamb"
"Who are you..."
"I'm a nazi, i always have been, it was difficult during the war, i tried to help the nazis when i could"
The reporter was never seen or heard from again.
Days later the queen once again stood on her balcony ready to issue a decree, or more a rally cry.
(When i saw 2 posts about the queen next to each other i was inspired to do all that i wrote above for this post and then a continuing post in the other thread, but after writing a little bit i don't think i can go anywhere with it really, so here's that bit "Into the microphone she spoke
"All knights, that have i created, you will come to serve me now in a time of war, this war, our war, against the world, for hitler is reborn!. (or will be reborn)
Immediately the brainwashing of all those knighted came to fruition and activated, all their resources joined to the queens nazi cause in conquering the world. "
Yeah, i think i just wanted to go for something wacky with this post. I'm surprised by how much i wrote about this.) | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | Quick edit for readability: a lot of comments are telling me the time skips aren't showing up on mobile, since you can't see the break lines. So I'll just add in dates.
Westminster Palace, 2050
Rodney Bradley eased himself to a stand and felt a series of clicks in his left knee. He straightened his back to a chorus of complaints from his body, and hooked his worn oaken cane with his left hand before shuffling across his office towards the window. The sun was low in the sky in the city high rises beyond Parliament Square. Another day lost to the grind of trying to keep his country moving.
Thirty years in politics could leave a man weathered down to his core. Brexit, the Second and Third Scottish Referendums, the Korean Crisis, Walexit. Rodney's spirit was as weathered and battered as they came, but that weathering revealed a solid stone beneath. Labour's MPs had entrusted him with Prime Minister job three years ago, and he'd aged as much in that time as he had in the other twenty seven years.
Unlike someone else.
When the queen outlived her own son, it had been newsworthy, but not necessary inhuman. Prince Charles had succumbed to a heart attack at the ripe old age of 73. Not quite seeing his mother's hundredth birthday. Rodney quirked half a smile at such a seemingly morbid memory. That had been a day to change his life.
------------------------------------------
Westminster Palace, 2022
He was late, again. Curse it. First year MPs were somewhat frowned upon if they couldn't bother attending meetings, and a face to face with the shadow cabinet secretary of health was by far his most important legislative assignment on the month. Great time to get lost.
He ran a broad hand through the thick brown hair on his head, beginning to grow too long, as his steps carried him through Westminster. His phone buzzed in his pocket, doubtlessly an update on Prince Charles health. The entire nation hung on the man's labored breathing and arrhythmic heartbeat; the national mood as erratic as the dying man's pulse. Charles had been a fixture of Bradley's life, but William had always been his prince. Being of an age to William's younger brother had that certain affect on he and his generation.
Finally his feet carried him before a nondescript door bearing the correct numbers, and pushed it open.
The first shock was that more than one individual awaited him, the second shock was that one of the extras was a prince.
"Sit down, Rodney." Chimed Jon Ashworth, the broad and charming Shadow Secretary of Health. His black hairs fading to gray, "We're glad you're here. It's time to get started."
Prince Phillip leaned forward, his frail body clearly pushed near its limit just to be here in Westminster, "A pleasure to meet you sir, forgive me if we must be brief, but I should be at the Prince's side come the death, so we lack time for proper courtesy." He nodded at Ashworth, his perpetual jovial smile fading to a frown, "With Charles death I'm afraid the work must pass from me directly to William and Harry. They'll need some help," Phillip waved at the sparse handful of politicians in the room, "those in the know have recommended you. So, without further ado, I must ask you: will you help us to stop the love of my life?"
Presumably, the world kept spinning for the next few seconds. Street vendors throughout London continued passing off questionable kebab to unsuspecting tourists, mind the gap messages droned throughout the subways of the United Kingdom. For all the good that knowledge did Rodney it might as well have been a teacup in orbit around Jupiter.
"I'm sorry sir, I can't have heard you correctly." Rodney tried to keep his voice steady, his tone respectful. Phillip was still the Prince Consort, and a nearly hundred year old man. Hardly someone to shout down.
"I'm afraid you did, son." Phillip said, not unkindly, but distracted. "I realized the issue myself some years back, but the queen is a tough one to crack. I'm still not sure how she does it."
Ashworth reached to a neat pile of folders in front of him, pulling from the top one of the meme posters that had risen to prominence in the UK over the past decade. *Long Live the Queen* was scrolled across it in blocky print, an off red rendition of the crown adorning the top of the page. Ashworth put a finger near his lips, "Say the words not. We know that much. Somehow, she draws power from them, longevity. With them she is to be immortal."
Rodney's face must have been a study in confusion as he stared at the men, "But she's... she's old, obviously. Nearing 100. She looks it to."
"A clever bit of vanity," spat Philip. "She hasn't aged a day in thirty years, Charles and I knew that much, at least. What we never could figure out was how to broach the subject without being sent to the looney bin." Philip waved his hand weakly, and a security guard Rodney had barely seen stepped forward, taking grip of the Prince-Consort's wheelchair, "I must be there at the death. Good day gentlemen, hopefully we shall speak further some day."
Ashworth smiled at the retreating pair, then turned his calm gaze onto Rodney, "Welcome to the circus."
-----------------
Westminster Palace 2050
As Rodney gazed out the window leaning heavily on the cane, he heard a slight commotion at the door to his office. But a familiar one. The rasping sounds of old cow leather on carpet, a steel cane tapping out a staccato rhythm before the little wiry man he couldn't yet see. The stopper being pulled on the bottle of gin sitting at his desk, a frown at the sound of the stopper being returned too soon, "Come now Jon, I assume you intend to pour two."
Ashworth's chuckle covered up the sound of the second pour, but a glass was set on his windowsill an appropriate time later, as the ancient and wiry MP took up his standard position just on Bradley's left. They cut an interesting pair, he'd run heavy in his youth, and only grown heavier since. The stress of politicking and secret societies may have weathered his spirit to hard stone, but it had softened his belly to a warm jello. Jon had been the opposite, going days and sometimes weeks with little to no food or rest. Bradley couldn't prove it, but he suspected his friend had turned to darker substances at times to keep him going. But they had fought.
They hadn't won, of course. The queen wouldn't be celebrating her birthday yet again if they had, but the bitch knew she was in a battle.
"Long live the king," muttered Ashworth around his first draw of the gin.
"I'll drink to that, even if it is illegal." Bradley echoed, throwing back the fire as the sun dropped behind the statue of Churchill. Another day indeed.
| Queen Elizabeth the 2nd stood atop her balcony, gazing out onto the other grounds were many people were living in tents. Over the years the numbers had grown considerably, more and more became curious and then suspicious of her age. She was 124 now, the oldest person alive on earth and lived and in history. For a long while she tried to hide her age with top of the line and extreme makeup sessions, and acting like an old lady. When infact, she was still extremely fit and healthy, often exercising in secret. Newspaper centers and even the government itself were becoming suspicious of her age and she soon knew it would be a matter of time before her secret would be discovered, she had to act quickly. The queen had the unquestionable loyalty of her nazi brethren, who she helped infiltrate throughout the lowest and highest echelons of society. The queen organized a team of nazi special forces, suited and geared up with them and prepared a break-in plan. She lay the blueprints on the table with which she designed, showing the buildings specifications, after explaining the plan to the team they went to carry it out. Sneaking out the backdoor of Buckingham palace was easy, she had done it many times and there were also many other secret passages out of there. Soon she boarded a helicopter with her squad and proceeded to the top rated newspaper headquarters building who was also putting out the most conspiracy theorist pieces.
Going down the ropes, she descended with her team and smashed through one of the top floor windows, smoke grenades and tear gas were deployed, injuring and obscuring the view of many journalists. The queen and team were safe with their masks and suit protections. As the nazi squad held the floor the queen and a helper scoured the computers and erased many of the hard drives and backups, she deleted many other things along with the conspiracy theories so as not to suggest this operation was solely for covering up her situation. On the way out the queen saw a woman on the ground with her hands on her face covering it, it looked like she had been injured by the tear gas, the queen kicked her in the face on the way out. The queen and team departed back up the ropes and into the helicopter and safely escaped.
When the queen got back to Buckingham palace she made immediate plans to go to 10 downing street, one of the seats of government. There she would try and disrupt government plans to expose her, or whatever they're up to, as her spies had indicated. The event at the newspaper building would also provide a suitable distraction while she infiltrated the compound. The queen suited up in specialist spy equipment and gear, this was her specialty. She made her way stealthily near 10 downing street and made sure one of the guards and snipers to the side of the building were nazi's. She grappled up the building and carefully made her way to the prime ministers central office. The queen used x-ray scanning and found the laser alarm detection grid, and disabled it with her specific gamma ray and infrared specialty laser. It was an amazing tool recently developed by the nazi research and development team. She dislodged some of the roof tiles and descended into the room. If she did not have the specialty deactivation tool, she simply would have had a nazi disable it or she had multiple other tools that could do the job and multiple other ideas.
Once inside the queen looked and scanned through the various documents and the computer, she kept her x-ray sight and senor activated to detect any incoming presence, and she could always escape in a suitable fashion or simply end whoever came into the room. Upon reading much on the computer and the various documents the queen finds out that the prime minister herself seems to be leading the hunt to uncover why the queen still lives and uncover more about her various secrets and operations she has completed over the decades. She knew this could not continue. The queen heard footsteps coming from outside and through her x-ray vision could see what looks to be a security guard walking through the hallway towards the door. She already has the intel she needed and already scanned the hard drive so she has a complete copy of it. She grapples back up the rope to the rooftop and escapes just quickly enough before the security guard walks in. She puts the tiles back and reactivates the security system and grapples back down the side of the building.
She wanted to end the threat as soon as possible, and so with the continuing distraction of the event at the newspaper station, the queen journeys to west minister, the seat of government, where the prime minister was located she was informed by spies. The queen, knowing west minister to be too exposed on all sides, decides to sneak in by wearing a cleaners uniform and ID accompanied by a fellow nazi wearing the same disguise. She infiltrates the building and makes her way upstairs. She can see the prime minister all alone in her office, she enters without knocking while disabling all surrounding security remotely and starts sweeping the floor.
"Uhh, sorry but i'm quite busy right now, can you come back later?"
The queen stops sweeping the floor and looks up to the prime minister. The minister squints to look at the queen, recognizing something familiar. The queen lifts her cap up to expose who she is to the minister
"Queen...what are you doing here?"
The queen pulls out a silenced pistol from her bra
"Die, bitch"
The queen pulls the trigger multiple times into the body and face of the prime minister. The queen walks out casually and escapes the way she came. She later frames two innocent cleaners, the usual cleaners of the house, set up to take the fall. One had an alibi and the other could not provide one, he was sentenced to life in prison with no chance of parole. The queen decided to lay low for a while before returning to her leaders. Days went by and in her public appearance journeyed to Transylvania where her leaders were. She made sure no one could follow there journey and left a double for the public to follow. Her and some nazi friends then went into the cave where her leaders were.
Unbeknownst to the queen someone had followed her, a reporter, she kept low as she watched what was happening inside the cave.
The queen told her leaders that she had quelled the growing concern of her age for now, and had killed the one responsible for spearheading it, she said she bought some time for the cause.
"Gud..." one of the leaders in purple with a pig mask on. She speaks up again while holding a piglet
"We must accelerate our plan, hitler will soon be reborn"
She slashes the pig with a carving knife and it's guts spills to the floor. Another big dead pig lies dead on a table near her.
"I understand, the will of hitler will be done then" the queen replies
"Gud...gud"
Then the woman in purple, a man in blue with a pigs mask and the queen all kneel down on the floor and pray to the huge pig statue in front of them. They continue praying for minutes until the group hears some rocks dislodge nearby, and see someone has infiltrated their lair.
"Get them!" the queens shouts
The nazi henchman grab the female reporter and drag her in front of the queen
"How did you follow me?" the queen asks
"I...i saw you, back at the newspaper headquarters, i knew it was you...i recognized your unique perfume from our previous meeting...i...i followed you"
"Oh you poor lamb"
"Who are you..."
"I'm a nazi, i always have been, it was difficult during the war, i tried to help the nazis when i could"
The reporter was never seen or heard from again.
Days later the queen once again stood on her balcony ready to issue a decree, or more a rally cry.
(When i saw 2 posts about the queen next to each other i was inspired to do all that i wrote above for this post and then a continuing post in the other thread, but after writing a little bit i don't think i can go anywhere with it really, so here's that bit "Into the microphone she spoke
"All knights, that have i created, you will come to serve me now in a time of war, this war, our war, against the world, for hitler is reborn!. (or will be reborn)
Immediately the brainwashing of all those knighted came to fruition and activated, all their resources joined to the queens nazi cause in conquering the world. "
Yeah, i think i just wanted to go for something wacky with this post. I'm surprised by how much i wrote about this.) | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | Timmy Oliver May 27, 2041-March 13th, 2050.
Timmy read the grave stone again, then felt himself rising up. Well, that's not quite right. He witnessed the world around him move downwards in a blur, then found himself at a room that seemed like the inside of a hollow pearl.
In front of him, stood a Figure in a tuxedo with all parts so perfectly white and evenly illuminated that it was difficult to tell where each piece began and ended. His face was covered with an inky black mask, which looked like a butterfly with seven wings, and his hair was the same shade of inky, slightly concealing two horns that curved out of his head.
"Am I dead?" The boy shouts at the mysterious Figure.
"Certainly! But fear not for I-"
"That's no fair!"
The Figure walks closer
"Everyone dies, boy. It wouldn't be fair if you didn't."
"Yeah, but that's when they're old!" The boy protests, stomping his feet with indignance.
"Not always. Some barely get to see the light of morning before there's mourning, lots live only long enough to have a little love to lose, and-"
"And the Queen bloody well gets to live forever, eh?"
"Ah, well..." The Figure says, standing up and straightening his bowtie.
"Well what?" The boy asks, "Wait... does she get to live forever? How's that fair!"
The Figure looks at the boy, "Well, weren't you one of the ones who... hmm..." He muses, then flicks His hand upwards, sending the world that direction, as if He were scrolling on a device.
The boy is aware of what being sent to lower planes implies, and feels a dread reminiscent of the years before he realized Father Christmas never seemed to make good on his threats of coal. Perhaps, some part of his brain opined, this would be the oft delayed punishment.
Instead of fire and brimstone, when they at last stop, they are in a grey, dull infinite room, filled with filing cabinets farther than the eye could see. In fact, for the impatient, bold, and adventurous soul of a child, this seemed somewhat worse.
The Figure checks one, then pulls His hands together.
At first, Timmy mistakes the effects of this to be the Figure growing until he can hold the whole room in his hands, but he recognizes the motion as one to zoom out.
Next, the Figure places the room slightly to his side, then expands it again.
Timmy sees the Figure standing far off in the distance, pulling out files, then makes a motion and the room shrinks without them, making them close once again, then makes a scrolling motion, placing them back in the original room.
Opening the file, He shows it to Timmy.
Timmy sees himself, singing the national anthem.
"God save the Queen..." He mutters.
"Exactly!" The Figure says, "I mean, I don't usually go by "God" but I understand the sentiment, and there's hundreds of thousands of this prayer coming in every day!"
"Prayer?" The boy asks, wide eyed, "It's nothing more than a song!"
The Figure's posture shows incredulity, "Just a song? Millions of voices, crying out as one, and you call it just a song? I suppose you want me to Stop Believing, too!"
"B'lieve in what? You're the big man upstairs!" Timmy protests.
The Figure shrugs, "I dunno, something or another."
"How can you believe in something without knowing?"
"Well if I knew that wouldn't be faith, now would it?"
The boy glares at him, "Forget about that, what happened to "If you didn't die, that wouldn't be fair"?" He says with a squeaky, irritating voice on the go where he's supposed to sound like the ineffable Being before him.
"Well... It's like Once Upon A Time..." He starts.
"What's that?" The boy asks, not knowing about a show that ended decades before his birth.
The Figure ignores the question, rambling on about someone named Mister Gold and the refusal to let him die or be truly redeemed.
"And see, the Bard was wrong! The world is a stage but all you tiny little elves aren't just players!"
"We're not elve-" Timmy begins, but is picked up and title through the air.
"You're my audience, too! And sometimes you just have to give the people what they want. I remember a while back there was this guy with a fatal disease, but all the science-y types seemed very caught up with him so I let him stick around. Didn't have very nice things to say about me, but you can't win them all."
"So you keep the Queen alive... to pander?"
"Exactly! I'm not exactly proud of it, but the requests just keep pouring in."
"But what about the other queens?"
"Well they weren't *the* Queen, you see. Each one was just *a* queen, you know?"
"What does that mean?"
"She's such a figure, you know? So kindly but firm! And most of all, she's ruled almost a century!"
The boy shoots him a scathing look.
"Because you count her as "The Queen"!" He shouts.
"And...?"
"So she's only counted as that because she's the longest lived, which she is because-"
"Because I count her as the longest lived! Ah, I see your issue now!"
"Yes! 'Zactly!"
With that the Figure flicks him away off to his eternal home, and laughs to Himself.
You see, anyone watching the exchange would be likely to recognize the tone the Figure used. Many had heard it before, between a younger sibling and the elder, the latter playing at being the dumber.
The whole thing, just for Little Timmy. | **NEWBURGH BUGLE HQ- NEWBURGH, NEW YORK 9:30 AM EST; 5/4/50**
"Diane. Do you have a story?" The bark of Mr. White wasn't abnormal and my heart skipped a beat every time I heard it. The chief executive of the Newburgh Bugle dried his sweaty palms on his desk, wiping away the sweat on his forehead for good measure. This was his trademark look before scolding someone... I didn't want to be that 'someone'.
I managed to squeak out a disappointing, resounding, "No, sir."
"On any other day, Diane, I swear I would have FUMED after hearing that. But, I need someone who's not busy. Chatter is going on around the town after Michelle quit her story on the Queen of England. I need you to pick up where she left off. Go to England, sit the Queen down and make her talk about how damn old she is. Record it, write, whatever you have to do and bring us back your findings."
"Yes, sir. Do you have any of Michelle's work for me to take a look at?" My heart returned beating to its natural rate.
"No. Michelle just up and left, and I have no idea where her work is. Sent in her resignation letter over e-mail, missed her flight back to the US... Don't be like Michelle. Don't quit, you're young... you can figure it out."
**HEATHROW AIRPORT 9:00 AM BST; 5/6/50**
Oh, God. I'm about to interview the Queen of England. Stay cool, read over the notes you prepared on the plane.
"Oof-"
"Watch where you're going, miss!"
Alright, probably shouldn't read and walk. Pick up your papers before someone steps on them-- too late.
"Sorry! Silly me, my papers shouldn't be on the ground."
She's gone, looking at her phone and not giving a care to what I just said. Why did **I** apologize for **her** stepping on my papers? Ugh! Buckingham Palace, here I come.
**BUCKINGHAM PALACE 9:30 AM BST**
"Hi, my name is Diane Mane, investigative journalist. I'm working with the Newburgh Bugle on my story about the Queen and her lifestyle habits contributing to her longevity and I was wondering if she was available right now."
Was that too much? Sure felt like a mouthful.
"Yes, just this way." The guard walks me down an elegant teal hallway, decorated with elaborate portraits. He knocks on a door, inside a doorway with a golden border. Before I can jot this down, the door opens and I'm hit with a whiff of an aromatic, graceful scent. Fancy. I walk into the room and bear witness to the Queen sitting down, devoid of the regality I expected. A simple outfit and a warm smile.
"You smell good. Well, not you, but this room. Your room, I mean--" I blush, as red as a tomato and in a scramble to sit down, my papers fall to the floor.
She chuckles at my nervousness and helps me pick them up. "Honey, relax. What do you want to ask me?"
I can feel the thin layer of perspiration across my palms, and the sweat beads welling up at the top of my head. Stay calm, Diane.
"What lifestyle habits would you recommend to others, others who want to live as long as you?"
Her smile drops. "Well, there's one thing one has to do... for another to live long. Sacrifice."
"What do you mean?"
Her eyebrows furrow, her eyes stare fiercely into mine and my heart jumps. "It's rather hard to explain. You have to take it, you can't rest on your laurels."
"Uh... what are you taking?"
"Everything."
"Everything from what?" What is she talking about?!
Her eyebrows suddenly relax, and she quickly looks away. It's as if she slipped out of a trance, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up. Yeah, this is weird.
"Hahaha! I'm just messing with you, Ms. Mane! I eat several vegetables a day, I don't smoke or drink, I don't eat foods with processed sugar... Basically, I watch what I eat. Then, I make sure I have a walk around the estate every day. You see, it helps me keep my bones moving and soak up the Sun's Vitamin D. Do you want to walk with me on the daily path?"
"Sure, I'll just... Where's the nearest bathroom?"
"My guard will take you."
My heart rate is still skyrocketing, something about the Queen's initial vagueness made my skin crawl. I just need to take a break to regain my composure.
I look in the mirror, making sure my hair is fine when something catches my eye in the mirror's reflection. It's a piece of paper, crumpled up. Figuring I'll help out the staff, I'm about to throw out the jagged, unruly ball of paper when I see that there's text on it. I open it up, with the loud, crinkling sound filling up the vacant bathroom, and I gasp. It's a note from Michelle.
*Please get this note the publicity it needs. I don't know what lies the Queen will spread about me: Whether I quit or went missing or died in a freak accident or what. Whatever she says is a lie. They're going to kill me, I'm running because I've found their secret. The reason the Queen has lived so long is*
The female guard comes in, she sees the note. She asks me what it is, and my throat closes up. I can't move my feet and there's a strong feeling, from the top of my skull to the tips of my toenails-- it's fear. She looks at it and all I can do is watch as her face contorts... into shock and anger.
I'm defenseless as she grabs me, pulling me back to the interview room.
I'm defenseless as she hands the note over to the Queen.
I'm defenseless as guards force me into the chair I was sitting in, holding me down as if I could resist.
I'm defenseless as the Queen takes off her spotless, white gloves and delicately places them on her desk.
I'm defenseless as her wrinkled, dirty hands press onto my chest... right near my heart. My eyes widen, there's a sharp pain in my chest-- **GOD, HELP ME!**
The pain leaves as quickly as it came. But, my body becomes rigid and I can't move a finger. My chest feels as light as a feather...my heartbeat is the slowest it's been in my life. Her hands are still there... the room is on its side...darkness clouds my vision and the last thing I hear is the Queen's low voice:
*"Well, there's one thing one has to do... for another to live long. Sacrifice."* | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | "Minister?" said the secretary. The minister was much too tired to look at her, to talk to her. He grunted a murmur.
"It's... the Queen. She's taken ill. We have about an hour until this hits the news."
"Taken ill?" It seemed unlikely at this point that anything could get into her immune system. The Iron Lady was after all, just a lady. Even she fell. The Queen on the other hand, she must be made of much stronger stuff. NASA grade material.
"Yes, minister, she's in a medically induced coma." The minster stood up. "Good Lord, a coma?" The minster rushed out the door, leaving his secretary behind.
The minister was the first to arrive, at least after family. He saw his old friend Willy, the next in line to the throne. Willy's wife was there, his brother, a few minor royals. But William, he was the most important man in the room, and perhaps soon to be the most important in the country.
"William, I came I soon as I heard. What's going on?" William, I noticed wasn't looking at me when he told me that she collapsed, fell down a few stairs. He looked towards a TV, the news had caught wind of an ambulance at Windsor.
From the doors of the Royal Wing, a team of nurses, and doctors had came into the lobby. They looked stressed, as if they were to announce bad news. "Prince William, we need you. Please follow us." I'll always remember the look Willy made at me. Not quite confusion, not quite stress.
The Royal Lobby, as it turns out, was much like any other hospital waiting room. The chairs were better, but nicer chairs didn't make the wait of news any easier. William cam back, by himself. He looked towards his wife and his brother. The three huddled together. Whispers.
William looked at me, his face tripping him. "I told them to do anything to save the Queen. They had ideas... but not permission."
Their ideas, it turns out, was to convert some of her organs into machine. Do what God couldn't. The Queen made a full recovery, I'm sure you're aware. She was better than new, upgraded to the best that biomech science could muster. Every year she would get tuned up. Her veins were replaced with wiring, her heart would be swapped for better power cells each year. At 124, she was more machine than human. The Titanium Lady we called her.
| **NEWBURGH BUGLE HQ- NEWBURGH, NEW YORK 9:30 AM EST; 5/4/50**
"Diane. Do you have a story?" The bark of Mr. White wasn't abnormal and my heart skipped a beat every time I heard it. The chief executive of the Newburgh Bugle dried his sweaty palms on his desk, wiping away the sweat on his forehead for good measure. This was his trademark look before scolding someone... I didn't want to be that 'someone'.
I managed to squeak out a disappointing, resounding, "No, sir."
"On any other day, Diane, I swear I would have FUMED after hearing that. But, I need someone who's not busy. Chatter is going on around the town after Michelle quit her story on the Queen of England. I need you to pick up where she left off. Go to England, sit the Queen down and make her talk about how damn old she is. Record it, write, whatever you have to do and bring us back your findings."
"Yes, sir. Do you have any of Michelle's work for me to take a look at?" My heart returned beating to its natural rate.
"No. Michelle just up and left, and I have no idea where her work is. Sent in her resignation letter over e-mail, missed her flight back to the US... Don't be like Michelle. Don't quit, you're young... you can figure it out."
**HEATHROW AIRPORT 9:00 AM BST; 5/6/50**
Oh, God. I'm about to interview the Queen of England. Stay cool, read over the notes you prepared on the plane.
"Oof-"
"Watch where you're going, miss!"
Alright, probably shouldn't read and walk. Pick up your papers before someone steps on them-- too late.
"Sorry! Silly me, my papers shouldn't be on the ground."
She's gone, looking at her phone and not giving a care to what I just said. Why did **I** apologize for **her** stepping on my papers? Ugh! Buckingham Palace, here I come.
**BUCKINGHAM PALACE 9:30 AM BST**
"Hi, my name is Diane Mane, investigative journalist. I'm working with the Newburgh Bugle on my story about the Queen and her lifestyle habits contributing to her longevity and I was wondering if she was available right now."
Was that too much? Sure felt like a mouthful.
"Yes, just this way." The guard walks me down an elegant teal hallway, decorated with elaborate portraits. He knocks on a door, inside a doorway with a golden border. Before I can jot this down, the door opens and I'm hit with a whiff of an aromatic, graceful scent. Fancy. I walk into the room and bear witness to the Queen sitting down, devoid of the regality I expected. A simple outfit and a warm smile.
"You smell good. Well, not you, but this room. Your room, I mean--" I blush, as red as a tomato and in a scramble to sit down, my papers fall to the floor.
She chuckles at my nervousness and helps me pick them up. "Honey, relax. What do you want to ask me?"
I can feel the thin layer of perspiration across my palms, and the sweat beads welling up at the top of my head. Stay calm, Diane.
"What lifestyle habits would you recommend to others, others who want to live as long as you?"
Her smile drops. "Well, there's one thing one has to do... for another to live long. Sacrifice."
"What do you mean?"
Her eyebrows furrow, her eyes stare fiercely into mine and my heart jumps. "It's rather hard to explain. You have to take it, you can't rest on your laurels."
"Uh... what are you taking?"
"Everything."
"Everything from what?" What is she talking about?!
Her eyebrows suddenly relax, and she quickly looks away. It's as if she slipped out of a trance, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up. Yeah, this is weird.
"Hahaha! I'm just messing with you, Ms. Mane! I eat several vegetables a day, I don't smoke or drink, I don't eat foods with processed sugar... Basically, I watch what I eat. Then, I make sure I have a walk around the estate every day. You see, it helps me keep my bones moving and soak up the Sun's Vitamin D. Do you want to walk with me on the daily path?"
"Sure, I'll just... Where's the nearest bathroom?"
"My guard will take you."
My heart rate is still skyrocketing, something about the Queen's initial vagueness made my skin crawl. I just need to take a break to regain my composure.
I look in the mirror, making sure my hair is fine when something catches my eye in the mirror's reflection. It's a piece of paper, crumpled up. Figuring I'll help out the staff, I'm about to throw out the jagged, unruly ball of paper when I see that there's text on it. I open it up, with the loud, crinkling sound filling up the vacant bathroom, and I gasp. It's a note from Michelle.
*Please get this note the publicity it needs. I don't know what lies the Queen will spread about me: Whether I quit or went missing or died in a freak accident or what. Whatever she says is a lie. They're going to kill me, I'm running because I've found their secret. The reason the Queen has lived so long is*
The female guard comes in, she sees the note. She asks me what it is, and my throat closes up. I can't move my feet and there's a strong feeling, from the top of my skull to the tips of my toenails-- it's fear. She looks at it and all I can do is watch as her face contorts... into shock and anger.
I'm defenseless as she grabs me, pulling me back to the interview room.
I'm defenseless as she hands the note over to the Queen.
I'm defenseless as guards force me into the chair I was sitting in, holding me down as if I could resist.
I'm defenseless as the Queen takes off her spotless, white gloves and delicately places them on her desk.
I'm defenseless as her wrinkled, dirty hands press onto my chest... right near my heart. My eyes widen, there's a sharp pain in my chest-- **GOD, HELP ME!**
The pain leaves as quickly as it came. But, my body becomes rigid and I can't move a finger. My chest feels as light as a feather...my heartbeat is the slowest it's been in my life. Her hands are still there... the room is on its side...darkness clouds my vision and the last thing I hear is the Queen's low voice:
*"Well, there's one thing one has to do... for another to live long. Sacrifice."* | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | No one questioned it when the national anthem became a mandatory part of the school day for children across the UK in 2020. It seemed like a positive act from parliament, designed to strengthen the bonds between the various cultures who call this island their home.
Five years later this act was extended, to enforce a national anthem break as part of the working day. When rushed through this amendment was initially met with skepticism, however the act did ensure that everyone would receive an extra 20 minute paid break each day. It seemed like a joke to most, 'an easy way to start the day' was the general consensus.
Twenty years later and we have an entire generation who are used to the daily routine, they don't know any different. They've been singing it once a day since their first day at school, this is the norm for them. There are many still alive for whom this hasn't always been the norm, infact they only used to take part for 'the memes'. To get the extra 20 minute paid break, pretend to sing along to the country wide broadcast. After all the anthem didn't last longer than 5 minutes, plenty of time to get outside for some deserved vapourised nicotine whilst also being renumerated.
Five years later and It's those who remebered the way it used to be, the fact that this was never meant to be more than a joke to them. They became suspicious, it didn't help that the queens health was appearing to improve compared to their own, despite her being over 60 years their senior now. So they stopped, refused to sing those words anymore, that's when the mandatory flu shot for those aged 50 or over was introduced. | **NEWBURGH BUGLE HQ- NEWBURGH, NEW YORK 9:30 AM EST; 5/4/50**
"Diane. Do you have a story?" The bark of Mr. White wasn't abnormal and my heart skipped a beat every time I heard it. The chief executive of the Newburgh Bugle dried his sweaty palms on his desk, wiping away the sweat on his forehead for good measure. This was his trademark look before scolding someone... I didn't want to be that 'someone'.
I managed to squeak out a disappointing, resounding, "No, sir."
"On any other day, Diane, I swear I would have FUMED after hearing that. But, I need someone who's not busy. Chatter is going on around the town after Michelle quit her story on the Queen of England. I need you to pick up where she left off. Go to England, sit the Queen down and make her talk about how damn old she is. Record it, write, whatever you have to do and bring us back your findings."
"Yes, sir. Do you have any of Michelle's work for me to take a look at?" My heart returned beating to its natural rate.
"No. Michelle just up and left, and I have no idea where her work is. Sent in her resignation letter over e-mail, missed her flight back to the US... Don't be like Michelle. Don't quit, you're young... you can figure it out."
**HEATHROW AIRPORT 9:00 AM BST; 5/6/50**
Oh, God. I'm about to interview the Queen of England. Stay cool, read over the notes you prepared on the plane.
"Oof-"
"Watch where you're going, miss!"
Alright, probably shouldn't read and walk. Pick up your papers before someone steps on them-- too late.
"Sorry! Silly me, my papers shouldn't be on the ground."
She's gone, looking at her phone and not giving a care to what I just said. Why did **I** apologize for **her** stepping on my papers? Ugh! Buckingham Palace, here I come.
**BUCKINGHAM PALACE 9:30 AM BST**
"Hi, my name is Diane Mane, investigative journalist. I'm working with the Newburgh Bugle on my story about the Queen and her lifestyle habits contributing to her longevity and I was wondering if she was available right now."
Was that too much? Sure felt like a mouthful.
"Yes, just this way." The guard walks me down an elegant teal hallway, decorated with elaborate portraits. He knocks on a door, inside a doorway with a golden border. Before I can jot this down, the door opens and I'm hit with a whiff of an aromatic, graceful scent. Fancy. I walk into the room and bear witness to the Queen sitting down, devoid of the regality I expected. A simple outfit and a warm smile.
"You smell good. Well, not you, but this room. Your room, I mean--" I blush, as red as a tomato and in a scramble to sit down, my papers fall to the floor.
She chuckles at my nervousness and helps me pick them up. "Honey, relax. What do you want to ask me?"
I can feel the thin layer of perspiration across my palms, and the sweat beads welling up at the top of my head. Stay calm, Diane.
"What lifestyle habits would you recommend to others, others who want to live as long as you?"
Her smile drops. "Well, there's one thing one has to do... for another to live long. Sacrifice."
"What do you mean?"
Her eyebrows furrow, her eyes stare fiercely into mine and my heart jumps. "It's rather hard to explain. You have to take it, you can't rest on your laurels."
"Uh... what are you taking?"
"Everything."
"Everything from what?" What is she talking about?!
Her eyebrows suddenly relax, and she quickly looks away. It's as if she slipped out of a trance, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up. Yeah, this is weird.
"Hahaha! I'm just messing with you, Ms. Mane! I eat several vegetables a day, I don't smoke or drink, I don't eat foods with processed sugar... Basically, I watch what I eat. Then, I make sure I have a walk around the estate every day. You see, it helps me keep my bones moving and soak up the Sun's Vitamin D. Do you want to walk with me on the daily path?"
"Sure, I'll just... Where's the nearest bathroom?"
"My guard will take you."
My heart rate is still skyrocketing, something about the Queen's initial vagueness made my skin crawl. I just need to take a break to regain my composure.
I look in the mirror, making sure my hair is fine when something catches my eye in the mirror's reflection. It's a piece of paper, crumpled up. Figuring I'll help out the staff, I'm about to throw out the jagged, unruly ball of paper when I see that there's text on it. I open it up, with the loud, crinkling sound filling up the vacant bathroom, and I gasp. It's a note from Michelle.
*Please get this note the publicity it needs. I don't know what lies the Queen will spread about me: Whether I quit or went missing or died in a freak accident or what. Whatever she says is a lie. They're going to kill me, I'm running because I've found their secret. The reason the Queen has lived so long is*
The female guard comes in, she sees the note. She asks me what it is, and my throat closes up. I can't move my feet and there's a strong feeling, from the top of my skull to the tips of my toenails-- it's fear. She looks at it and all I can do is watch as her face contorts... into shock and anger.
I'm defenseless as she grabs me, pulling me back to the interview room.
I'm defenseless as she hands the note over to the Queen.
I'm defenseless as guards force me into the chair I was sitting in, holding me down as if I could resist.
I'm defenseless as the Queen takes off her spotless, white gloves and delicately places them on her desk.
I'm defenseless as her wrinkled, dirty hands press onto my chest... right near my heart. My eyes widen, there's a sharp pain in my chest-- **GOD, HELP ME!**
The pain leaves as quickly as it came. But, my body becomes rigid and I can't move a finger. My chest feels as light as a feather...my heartbeat is the slowest it's been in my life. Her hands are still there... the room is on its side...darkness clouds my vision and the last thing I hear is the Queen's low voice:
*"Well, there's one thing one has to do... for another to live long. Sacrifice."* | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | It's been 15 generations since the legend was passed down to me. That our God mother was truly a vampire. I didn't believe it at first after my mother told me the story. My dad verified it too. He said that his father and his father's father confirmed the same thing. She just never aged past a certain point.
I had my doubts as well. Sometimes I would forget that the Queen had stopped aging. Nobody else acted like it was strange. I've seen housekeepers and servants grow old however. I've seen myself grow older as well.
Still though, as time has passed...she keeps me well clothed and fed. I've always given the time of day with her, and accompany her on long walks around the royal garden. They even recently did a new documentary on the wildlife here. I love this place.
When I am left to ponder about the important things in life, my thoughts usually shift over to the food. Food is delicious, and the Queen provides generously. I also have to thank the datalinks which I used to check up on my messages this morning. Willow the Eighth suggested to me that the Queen might actually be a vampire. Wow. Much suspense. Whoops. I should log off as I see the Queen is coming. I'll have to investigate this new hypothesis from Willow later. Minimize all.
"Who's a good boy? Yes you arrre. Yes youuu arree! Here's your treats! Yum yum yummy!"
ARF ARF ARF YIIPPP I NEED THE TREATS IN MY MOUF.
Damn I love being a Corgi. | **NEWBURGH BUGLE HQ- NEWBURGH, NEW YORK 9:30 AM EST; 5/4/50**
"Diane. Do you have a story?" The bark of Mr. White wasn't abnormal and my heart skipped a beat every time I heard it. The chief executive of the Newburgh Bugle dried his sweaty palms on his desk, wiping away the sweat on his forehead for good measure. This was his trademark look before scolding someone... I didn't want to be that 'someone'.
I managed to squeak out a disappointing, resounding, "No, sir."
"On any other day, Diane, I swear I would have FUMED after hearing that. But, I need someone who's not busy. Chatter is going on around the town after Michelle quit her story on the Queen of England. I need you to pick up where she left off. Go to England, sit the Queen down and make her talk about how damn old she is. Record it, write, whatever you have to do and bring us back your findings."
"Yes, sir. Do you have any of Michelle's work for me to take a look at?" My heart returned beating to its natural rate.
"No. Michelle just up and left, and I have no idea where her work is. Sent in her resignation letter over e-mail, missed her flight back to the US... Don't be like Michelle. Don't quit, you're young... you can figure it out."
**HEATHROW AIRPORT 9:00 AM BST; 5/6/50**
Oh, God. I'm about to interview the Queen of England. Stay cool, read over the notes you prepared on the plane.
"Oof-"
"Watch where you're going, miss!"
Alright, probably shouldn't read and walk. Pick up your papers before someone steps on them-- too late.
"Sorry! Silly me, my papers shouldn't be on the ground."
She's gone, looking at her phone and not giving a care to what I just said. Why did **I** apologize for **her** stepping on my papers? Ugh! Buckingham Palace, here I come.
**BUCKINGHAM PALACE 9:30 AM BST**
"Hi, my name is Diane Mane, investigative journalist. I'm working with the Newburgh Bugle on my story about the Queen and her lifestyle habits contributing to her longevity and I was wondering if she was available right now."
Was that too much? Sure felt like a mouthful.
"Yes, just this way." The guard walks me down an elegant teal hallway, decorated with elaborate portraits. He knocks on a door, inside a doorway with a golden border. Before I can jot this down, the door opens and I'm hit with a whiff of an aromatic, graceful scent. Fancy. I walk into the room and bear witness to the Queen sitting down, devoid of the regality I expected. A simple outfit and a warm smile.
"You smell good. Well, not you, but this room. Your room, I mean--" I blush, as red as a tomato and in a scramble to sit down, my papers fall to the floor.
She chuckles at my nervousness and helps me pick them up. "Honey, relax. What do you want to ask me?"
I can feel the thin layer of perspiration across my palms, and the sweat beads welling up at the top of my head. Stay calm, Diane.
"What lifestyle habits would you recommend to others, others who want to live as long as you?"
Her smile drops. "Well, there's one thing one has to do... for another to live long. Sacrifice."
"What do you mean?"
Her eyebrows furrow, her eyes stare fiercely into mine and my heart jumps. "It's rather hard to explain. You have to take it, you can't rest on your laurels."
"Uh... what are you taking?"
"Everything."
"Everything from what?" What is she talking about?!
Her eyebrows suddenly relax, and she quickly looks away. It's as if she slipped out of a trance, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up. Yeah, this is weird.
"Hahaha! I'm just messing with you, Ms. Mane! I eat several vegetables a day, I don't smoke or drink, I don't eat foods with processed sugar... Basically, I watch what I eat. Then, I make sure I have a walk around the estate every day. You see, it helps me keep my bones moving and soak up the Sun's Vitamin D. Do you want to walk with me on the daily path?"
"Sure, I'll just... Where's the nearest bathroom?"
"My guard will take you."
My heart rate is still skyrocketing, something about the Queen's initial vagueness made my skin crawl. I just need to take a break to regain my composure.
I look in the mirror, making sure my hair is fine when something catches my eye in the mirror's reflection. It's a piece of paper, crumpled up. Figuring I'll help out the staff, I'm about to throw out the jagged, unruly ball of paper when I see that there's text on it. I open it up, with the loud, crinkling sound filling up the vacant bathroom, and I gasp. It's a note from Michelle.
*Please get this note the publicity it needs. I don't know what lies the Queen will spread about me: Whether I quit or went missing or died in a freak accident or what. Whatever she says is a lie. They're going to kill me, I'm running because I've found their secret. The reason the Queen has lived so long is*
The female guard comes in, she sees the note. She asks me what it is, and my throat closes up. I can't move my feet and there's a strong feeling, from the top of my skull to the tips of my toenails-- it's fear. She looks at it and all I can do is watch as her face contorts... into shock and anger.
I'm defenseless as she grabs me, pulling me back to the interview room.
I'm defenseless as she hands the note over to the Queen.
I'm defenseless as guards force me into the chair I was sitting in, holding me down as if I could resist.
I'm defenseless as the Queen takes off her spotless, white gloves and delicately places them on her desk.
I'm defenseless as her wrinkled, dirty hands press onto my chest... right near my heart. My eyes widen, there's a sharp pain in my chest-- **GOD, HELP ME!**
The pain leaves as quickly as it came. But, my body becomes rigid and I can't move a finger. My chest feels as light as a feather...my heartbeat is the slowest it's been in my life. Her hands are still there... the room is on its side...darkness clouds my vision and the last thing I hear is the Queen's low voice:
*"Well, there's one thing one has to do... for another to live long. Sacrifice."* | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | Quick edit for readability: a lot of comments are telling me the time skips aren't showing up on mobile, since you can't see the break lines. So I'll just add in dates.
Westminster Palace, 2050
Rodney Bradley eased himself to a stand and felt a series of clicks in his left knee. He straightened his back to a chorus of complaints from his body, and hooked his worn oaken cane with his left hand before shuffling across his office towards the window. The sun was low in the sky in the city high rises beyond Parliament Square. Another day lost to the grind of trying to keep his country moving.
Thirty years in politics could leave a man weathered down to his core. Brexit, the Second and Third Scottish Referendums, the Korean Crisis, Walexit. Rodney's spirit was as weathered and battered as they came, but that weathering revealed a solid stone beneath. Labour's MPs had entrusted him with Prime Minister job three years ago, and he'd aged as much in that time as he had in the other twenty seven years.
Unlike someone else.
When the queen outlived her own son, it had been newsworthy, but not necessary inhuman. Prince Charles had succumbed to a heart attack at the ripe old age of 73. Not quite seeing his mother's hundredth birthday. Rodney quirked half a smile at such a seemingly morbid memory. That had been a day to change his life.
------------------------------------------
Westminster Palace, 2022
He was late, again. Curse it. First year MPs were somewhat frowned upon if they couldn't bother attending meetings, and a face to face with the shadow cabinet secretary of health was by far his most important legislative assignment on the month. Great time to get lost.
He ran a broad hand through the thick brown hair on his head, beginning to grow too long, as his steps carried him through Westminster. His phone buzzed in his pocket, doubtlessly an update on Prince Charles health. The entire nation hung on the man's labored breathing and arrhythmic heartbeat; the national mood as erratic as the dying man's pulse. Charles had been a fixture of Bradley's life, but William had always been his prince. Being of an age to William's younger brother had that certain affect on he and his generation.
Finally his feet carried him before a nondescript door bearing the correct numbers, and pushed it open.
The first shock was that more than one individual awaited him, the second shock was that one of the extras was a prince.
"Sit down, Rodney." Chimed Jon Ashworth, the broad and charming Shadow Secretary of Health. His black hairs fading to gray, "We're glad you're here. It's time to get started."
Prince Phillip leaned forward, his frail body clearly pushed near its limit just to be here in Westminster, "A pleasure to meet you sir, forgive me if we must be brief, but I should be at the Prince's side come the death, so we lack time for proper courtesy." He nodded at Ashworth, his perpetual jovial smile fading to a frown, "With Charles death I'm afraid the work must pass from me directly to William and Harry. They'll need some help," Phillip waved at the sparse handful of politicians in the room, "those in the know have recommended you. So, without further ado, I must ask you: will you help us to stop the love of my life?"
Presumably, the world kept spinning for the next few seconds. Street vendors throughout London continued passing off questionable kebab to unsuspecting tourists, mind the gap messages droned throughout the subways of the United Kingdom. For all the good that knowledge did Rodney it might as well have been a teacup in orbit around Jupiter.
"I'm sorry sir, I can't have heard you correctly." Rodney tried to keep his voice steady, his tone respectful. Phillip was still the Prince Consort, and a nearly hundred year old man. Hardly someone to shout down.
"I'm afraid you did, son." Phillip said, not unkindly, but distracted. "I realized the issue myself some years back, but the queen is a tough one to crack. I'm still not sure how she does it."
Ashworth reached to a neat pile of folders in front of him, pulling from the top one of the meme posters that had risen to prominence in the UK over the past decade. *Long Live the Queen* was scrolled across it in blocky print, an off red rendition of the crown adorning the top of the page. Ashworth put a finger near his lips, "Say the words not. We know that much. Somehow, she draws power from them, longevity. With them she is to be immortal."
Rodney's face must have been a study in confusion as he stared at the men, "But she's... she's old, obviously. Nearing 100. She looks it to."
"A clever bit of vanity," spat Philip. "She hasn't aged a day in thirty years, Charles and I knew that much, at least. What we never could figure out was how to broach the subject without being sent to the looney bin." Philip waved his hand weakly, and a security guard Rodney had barely seen stepped forward, taking grip of the Prince-Consort's wheelchair, "I must be there at the death. Good day gentlemen, hopefully we shall speak further some day."
Ashworth smiled at the retreating pair, then turned his calm gaze onto Rodney, "Welcome to the circus."
-----------------
Westminster Palace 2050
As Rodney gazed out the window leaning heavily on the cane, he heard a slight commotion at the door to his office. But a familiar one. The rasping sounds of old cow leather on carpet, a steel cane tapping out a staccato rhythm before the little wiry man he couldn't yet see. The stopper being pulled on the bottle of gin sitting at his desk, a frown at the sound of the stopper being returned too soon, "Come now Jon, I assume you intend to pour two."
Ashworth's chuckle covered up the sound of the second pour, but a glass was set on his windowsill an appropriate time later, as the ancient and wiry MP took up his standard position just on Bradley's left. They cut an interesting pair, he'd run heavy in his youth, and only grown heavier since. The stress of politicking and secret societies may have weathered his spirit to hard stone, but it had softened his belly to a warm jello. Jon had been the opposite, going days and sometimes weeks with little to no food or rest. Bradley couldn't prove it, but he suspected his friend had turned to darker substances at times to keep him going. But they had fought.
They hadn't won, of course. The queen wouldn't be celebrating her birthday yet again if they had, but the bitch knew she was in a battle.
"Long live the king," muttered Ashworth around his first draw of the gin.
"I'll drink to that, even if it is illegal." Bradley echoed, throwing back the fire as the sun dropped behind the statue of Churchill. Another day indeed.
| **NEWBURGH BUGLE HQ- NEWBURGH, NEW YORK 9:30 AM EST; 5/4/50**
"Diane. Do you have a story?" The bark of Mr. White wasn't abnormal and my heart skipped a beat every time I heard it. The chief executive of the Newburgh Bugle dried his sweaty palms on his desk, wiping away the sweat on his forehead for good measure. This was his trademark look before scolding someone... I didn't want to be that 'someone'.
I managed to squeak out a disappointing, resounding, "No, sir."
"On any other day, Diane, I swear I would have FUMED after hearing that. But, I need someone who's not busy. Chatter is going on around the town after Michelle quit her story on the Queen of England. I need you to pick up where she left off. Go to England, sit the Queen down and make her talk about how damn old she is. Record it, write, whatever you have to do and bring us back your findings."
"Yes, sir. Do you have any of Michelle's work for me to take a look at?" My heart returned beating to its natural rate.
"No. Michelle just up and left, and I have no idea where her work is. Sent in her resignation letter over e-mail, missed her flight back to the US... Don't be like Michelle. Don't quit, you're young... you can figure it out."
**HEATHROW AIRPORT 9:00 AM BST; 5/6/50**
Oh, God. I'm about to interview the Queen of England. Stay cool, read over the notes you prepared on the plane.
"Oof-"
"Watch where you're going, miss!"
Alright, probably shouldn't read and walk. Pick up your papers before someone steps on them-- too late.
"Sorry! Silly me, my papers shouldn't be on the ground."
She's gone, looking at her phone and not giving a care to what I just said. Why did **I** apologize for **her** stepping on my papers? Ugh! Buckingham Palace, here I come.
**BUCKINGHAM PALACE 9:30 AM BST**
"Hi, my name is Diane Mane, investigative journalist. I'm working with the Newburgh Bugle on my story about the Queen and her lifestyle habits contributing to her longevity and I was wondering if she was available right now."
Was that too much? Sure felt like a mouthful.
"Yes, just this way." The guard walks me down an elegant teal hallway, decorated with elaborate portraits. He knocks on a door, inside a doorway with a golden border. Before I can jot this down, the door opens and I'm hit with a whiff of an aromatic, graceful scent. Fancy. I walk into the room and bear witness to the Queen sitting down, devoid of the regality I expected. A simple outfit and a warm smile.
"You smell good. Well, not you, but this room. Your room, I mean--" I blush, as red as a tomato and in a scramble to sit down, my papers fall to the floor.
She chuckles at my nervousness and helps me pick them up. "Honey, relax. What do you want to ask me?"
I can feel the thin layer of perspiration across my palms, and the sweat beads welling up at the top of my head. Stay calm, Diane.
"What lifestyle habits would you recommend to others, others who want to live as long as you?"
Her smile drops. "Well, there's one thing one has to do... for another to live long. Sacrifice."
"What do you mean?"
Her eyebrows furrow, her eyes stare fiercely into mine and my heart jumps. "It's rather hard to explain. You have to take it, you can't rest on your laurels."
"Uh... what are you taking?"
"Everything."
"Everything from what?" What is she talking about?!
Her eyebrows suddenly relax, and she quickly looks away. It's as if she slipped out of a trance, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up. Yeah, this is weird.
"Hahaha! I'm just messing with you, Ms. Mane! I eat several vegetables a day, I don't smoke or drink, I don't eat foods with processed sugar... Basically, I watch what I eat. Then, I make sure I have a walk around the estate every day. You see, it helps me keep my bones moving and soak up the Sun's Vitamin D. Do you want to walk with me on the daily path?"
"Sure, I'll just... Where's the nearest bathroom?"
"My guard will take you."
My heart rate is still skyrocketing, something about the Queen's initial vagueness made my skin crawl. I just need to take a break to regain my composure.
I look in the mirror, making sure my hair is fine when something catches my eye in the mirror's reflection. It's a piece of paper, crumpled up. Figuring I'll help out the staff, I'm about to throw out the jagged, unruly ball of paper when I see that there's text on it. I open it up, with the loud, crinkling sound filling up the vacant bathroom, and I gasp. It's a note from Michelle.
*Please get this note the publicity it needs. I don't know what lies the Queen will spread about me: Whether I quit or went missing or died in a freak accident or what. Whatever she says is a lie. They're going to kill me, I'm running because I've found their secret. The reason the Queen has lived so long is*
The female guard comes in, she sees the note. She asks me what it is, and my throat closes up. I can't move my feet and there's a strong feeling, from the top of my skull to the tips of my toenails-- it's fear. She looks at it and all I can do is watch as her face contorts... into shock and anger.
I'm defenseless as she grabs me, pulling me back to the interview room.
I'm defenseless as she hands the note over to the Queen.
I'm defenseless as guards force me into the chair I was sitting in, holding me down as if I could resist.
I'm defenseless as the Queen takes off her spotless, white gloves and delicately places them on her desk.
I'm defenseless as her wrinkled, dirty hands press onto my chest... right near my heart. My eyes widen, there's a sharp pain in my chest-- **GOD, HELP ME!**
The pain leaves as quickly as it came. But, my body becomes rigid and I can't move a finger. My chest feels as light as a feather...my heartbeat is the slowest it's been in my life. Her hands are still there... the room is on its side...darkness clouds my vision and the last thing I hear is the Queen's low voice:
*"Well, there's one thing one has to do... for another to live long. Sacrifice."* | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | Today was going to be the most exciting day of Brandon Grayson's life. The crowning moment of his career, so to speak. True, he said this to himself almost every day, but this one seemed unlikely to be topped. In fact, it seemed almost unreal.
Brandon was a geneticist by trade. Geneticists worked to fight diseases, to improve human health, and ultimately to prolong life itself. Of these, Brandon only stepped in at the end of the line. He worked with the people who *didn't* die when you'd reasonably expect them to, the men and women to took aging to an almost superhuman level, living to be over 110 years old. Befittingly, they were called supercentenarians.
A few years ago, he'd also thought he had the scoop of his life. He'd been working with this woman who lived in a fishing village on a remote Japanese island, for over twelve years. Longer than he had ever worked with anyone. And then the seemingly impossible happened: she celebrated her birthday again. Suddenly the whole world's press was dying (sorry about that) to get an interview with Brandon, for no one in recorded human history had ever lived to be 123 years old. She had broken a streak of half a century, when in 1997 Jeanne Calment of France celebrated her 122nd. Miss Calment was the stuff of legends: she had met Van Gogh as a young girl, she was surprisingly lucid in her advancing years, but perhaps most elusively -- she had died before the middle-aged Brandon was even born. And then one own turned out to the one to one-up her.
She was dead within months, of course.
Well, that was part of the job. Brandon and his co-workers were the kind of people who lived their life in a perpetual state of mid-life crisis. Many had been through some kind of trauma, be it a close shave with death or a childhood memory lodged deep. Others just had a fascination with death, like Brandon. In the office, it was customary to blast "Another One Bites the Dust" whenever it happened, the remix depending on whoever was closest with the deceased (or closest to the speakers).
So naturally, after the pomp and circumstance of the new Calment was over, they'd all assumed this was the one to their grandchildren about. The first person to reach 124 might not even be alive today. The world's oldest skipped from 1923 to '25, and soon to 1926. And then...
Now Brandon found himself in Buckingham Palace. Elizabeth, Queen of the Commonwealth, had always been a bit too off-limits for them. Fourteen years earlier, a young Brandon had gleefully prepared a special invitation letter for Her Majesty, and if she'd like to work with us please, but the Crown returned only a curt refusal. As the years wore on, they pressed for an interview again and again, as the Queen's age rose to ever more ridiculous heights, but she became increasingly private.
Last summer, a BBC Special was broadcast to commemorate her accession as the world's oldest living human. An obituary cleverly disguised as a celebration. Most notable thing about it was the discussion generated by Prince William's comments about the Queen being in the past tense. Conspiracies abounded, some more outlandish than the other. People questioned whether the 67-year old Crown Prince wasn't to old to accede to the throne, and whether his more popular son George wouldn't be a better king.
But the thing everyone was in a real pickle about was the Platinum Jubilee. In two years time, the Queen was to finish the 100th year of her reign. This had been a cause for national celebration since the 1970s, with the latest ones having been small-scale, hastily cobbled-up affairs because of nobody was certain she'd live to see the day. Mourning clothes were expected, especially as those who could remember a time *before* her reign began to die off.
"She's ready, sir."
A huge, ornate door opened before him. Light flooded in. The Queen, THE Queen, The Eternal Queen had finally relented and had made time for an interview. At one-hundred and twenty-four years old. He stood and up and hesitated to go in, it was so much. A small figure appeared out of the looming doorway.
"Come along now, we haven't got all day!" | "-and that is, as they say, *that*."
The crowd errupted in applause. As the queen left the stage, her entourage permitted her some privacy as she recomposed herself in a backroom. In the room, a man stands in the darkness. He was dressed lavishly, yet somewhat disheveled, but his face was still hidden. His hair was wild, explosive, providing his already tall, slender form the illusion of height. But, the Queen, she knew better.
"Siiiiiiiiiiis, are they still buying?"
The queen took off the hat, taking the form of an apparent twentysomething. Her voice and disposition said "Long Island, NY" but her history read "small town in Indiana."
"They are SO still buying it."
"Who knew that posing as the Queen of England was THE BEST IDEA EVER~!."
"UH. THE BEST."
"It was almost the wooooorst~! But, if I can be honest, for a minute, selling our souls to the devil? Nice touch."
"I know right? It just came to me during a Molly trip? And, I said 'table that for later.' Skaboosh!"
"Way better than running off to Tajikistan and starting a casino. That was the wooooooooorst~!"
"The absolute worst."
"A now we're fluuuuush with caaaaash~! So long as they don't get sus-PI-CI-OUS!
"SUS-PI-CI-OUS-AH!"
"Ok, ok. We have to do our chant now, we can't bring that up and not do the chant, it's bad luck"
"Don't. Be."
"SUSPICIOUS"
"DON'T BE SUSPICIOUS. AH-DON'T BE SUSPICIOUS."
"DON'T BE SUSPICIOUS-ICOUS"
And so, the demonic adult-children previously known as Jean Ralphio and Mona Lisa Saperstein, chanted their magic chant deep into the night. A sense of malaise fell over the United Kingdom, and no one thought to even ask how on Earth the Queen had lived for so long, unchanged and undying.
Fin. | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | "Minister?" said the secretary. The minister was much too tired to look at her, to talk to her. He grunted a murmur.
"It's... the Queen. She's taken ill. We have about an hour until this hits the news."
"Taken ill?" It seemed unlikely at this point that anything could get into her immune system. The Iron Lady was after all, just a lady. Even she fell. The Queen on the other hand, she must be made of much stronger stuff. NASA grade material.
"Yes, minister, she's in a medically induced coma." The minster stood up. "Good Lord, a coma?" The minster rushed out the door, leaving his secretary behind.
The minister was the first to arrive, at least after family. He saw his old friend Willy, the next in line to the throne. Willy's wife was there, his brother, a few minor royals. But William, he was the most important man in the room, and perhaps soon to be the most important in the country.
"William, I came I soon as I heard. What's going on?" William, I noticed wasn't looking at me when he told me that she collapsed, fell down a few stairs. He looked towards a TV, the news had caught wind of an ambulance at Windsor.
From the doors of the Royal Wing, a team of nurses, and doctors had came into the lobby. They looked stressed, as if they were to announce bad news. "Prince William, we need you. Please follow us." I'll always remember the look Willy made at me. Not quite confusion, not quite stress.
The Royal Lobby, as it turns out, was much like any other hospital waiting room. The chairs were better, but nicer chairs didn't make the wait of news any easier. William cam back, by himself. He looked towards his wife and his brother. The three huddled together. Whispers.
William looked at me, his face tripping him. "I told them to do anything to save the Queen. They had ideas... but not permission."
Their ideas, it turns out, was to convert some of her organs into machine. Do what God couldn't. The Queen made a full recovery, I'm sure you're aware. She was better than new, upgraded to the best that biomech science could muster. Every year she would get tuned up. Her veins were replaced with wiring, her heart would be swapped for better power cells each year. At 124, she was more machine than human. The Titanium Lady we called her.
| "-and that is, as they say, *that*."
The crowd errupted in applause. As the queen left the stage, her entourage permitted her some privacy as she recomposed herself in a backroom. In the room, a man stands in the darkness. He was dressed lavishly, yet somewhat disheveled, but his face was still hidden. His hair was wild, explosive, providing his already tall, slender form the illusion of height. But, the Queen, she knew better.
"Siiiiiiiiiiis, are they still buying?"
The queen took off the hat, taking the form of an apparent twentysomething. Her voice and disposition said "Long Island, NY" but her history read "small town in Indiana."
"They are SO still buying it."
"Who knew that posing as the Queen of England was THE BEST IDEA EVER~!."
"UH. THE BEST."
"It was almost the wooooorst~! But, if I can be honest, for a minute, selling our souls to the devil? Nice touch."
"I know right? It just came to me during a Molly trip? And, I said 'table that for later.' Skaboosh!"
"Way better than running off to Tajikistan and starting a casino. That was the wooooooooorst~!"
"The absolute worst."
"A now we're fluuuuush with caaaaash~! So long as they don't get sus-PI-CI-OUS!
"SUS-PI-CI-OUS-AH!"
"Ok, ok. We have to do our chant now, we can't bring that up and not do the chant, it's bad luck"
"Don't. Be."
"SUSPICIOUS"
"DON'T BE SUSPICIOUS. AH-DON'T BE SUSPICIOUS."
"DON'T BE SUSPICIOUS-ICOUS"
And so, the demonic adult-children previously known as Jean Ralphio and Mona Lisa Saperstein, chanted their magic chant deep into the night. A sense of malaise fell over the United Kingdom, and no one thought to even ask how on Earth the Queen had lived for so long, unchanged and undying.
Fin. | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | No one questioned it when the national anthem became a mandatory part of the school day for children across the UK in 2020. It seemed like a positive act from parliament, designed to strengthen the bonds between the various cultures who call this island their home.
Five years later this act was extended, to enforce a national anthem break as part of the working day. When rushed through this amendment was initially met with skepticism, however the act did ensure that everyone would receive an extra 20 minute paid break each day. It seemed like a joke to most, 'an easy way to start the day' was the general consensus.
Twenty years later and we have an entire generation who are used to the daily routine, they don't know any different. They've been singing it once a day since their first day at school, this is the norm for them. There are many still alive for whom this hasn't always been the norm, infact they only used to take part for 'the memes'. To get the extra 20 minute paid break, pretend to sing along to the country wide broadcast. After all the anthem didn't last longer than 5 minutes, plenty of time to get outside for some deserved vapourised nicotine whilst also being renumerated.
Five years later and It's those who remebered the way it used to be, the fact that this was never meant to be more than a joke to them. They became suspicious, it didn't help that the queens health was appearing to improve compared to their own, despite her being over 60 years their senior now. So they stopped, refused to sing those words anymore, that's when the mandatory flu shot for those aged 50 or over was introduced. | "-and that is, as they say, *that*."
The crowd errupted in applause. As the queen left the stage, her entourage permitted her some privacy as she recomposed herself in a backroom. In the room, a man stands in the darkness. He was dressed lavishly, yet somewhat disheveled, but his face was still hidden. His hair was wild, explosive, providing his already tall, slender form the illusion of height. But, the Queen, she knew better.
"Siiiiiiiiiiis, are they still buying?"
The queen took off the hat, taking the form of an apparent twentysomething. Her voice and disposition said "Long Island, NY" but her history read "small town in Indiana."
"They are SO still buying it."
"Who knew that posing as the Queen of England was THE BEST IDEA EVER~!."
"UH. THE BEST."
"It was almost the wooooorst~! But, if I can be honest, for a minute, selling our souls to the devil? Nice touch."
"I know right? It just came to me during a Molly trip? And, I said 'table that for later.' Skaboosh!"
"Way better than running off to Tajikistan and starting a casino. That was the wooooooooorst~!"
"The absolute worst."
"A now we're fluuuuush with caaaaash~! So long as they don't get sus-PI-CI-OUS!
"SUS-PI-CI-OUS-AH!"
"Ok, ok. We have to do our chant now, we can't bring that up and not do the chant, it's bad luck"
"Don't. Be."
"SUSPICIOUS"
"DON'T BE SUSPICIOUS. AH-DON'T BE SUSPICIOUS."
"DON'T BE SUSPICIOUS-ICOUS"
And so, the demonic adult-children previously known as Jean Ralphio and Mona Lisa Saperstein, chanted their magic chant deep into the night. A sense of malaise fell over the United Kingdom, and no one thought to even ask how on Earth the Queen had lived for so long, unchanged and undying.
Fin. | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | It's been 15 generations since the legend was passed down to me. That our God mother was truly a vampire. I didn't believe it at first after my mother told me the story. My dad verified it too. He said that his father and his father's father confirmed the same thing. She just never aged past a certain point.
I had my doubts as well. Sometimes I would forget that the Queen had stopped aging. Nobody else acted like it was strange. I've seen housekeepers and servants grow old however. I've seen myself grow older as well.
Still though, as time has passed...she keeps me well clothed and fed. I've always given the time of day with her, and accompany her on long walks around the royal garden. They even recently did a new documentary on the wildlife here. I love this place.
When I am left to ponder about the important things in life, my thoughts usually shift over to the food. Food is delicious, and the Queen provides generously. I also have to thank the datalinks which I used to check up on my messages this morning. Willow the Eighth suggested to me that the Queen might actually be a vampire. Wow. Much suspense. Whoops. I should log off as I see the Queen is coming. I'll have to investigate this new hypothesis from Willow later. Minimize all.
"Who's a good boy? Yes you arrre. Yes youuu arree! Here's your treats! Yum yum yummy!"
ARF ARF ARF YIIPPP I NEED THE TREATS IN MY MOUF.
Damn I love being a Corgi. | "-and that is, as they say, *that*."
The crowd errupted in applause. As the queen left the stage, her entourage permitted her some privacy as she recomposed herself in a backroom. In the room, a man stands in the darkness. He was dressed lavishly, yet somewhat disheveled, but his face was still hidden. His hair was wild, explosive, providing his already tall, slender form the illusion of height. But, the Queen, she knew better.
"Siiiiiiiiiiis, are they still buying?"
The queen took off the hat, taking the form of an apparent twentysomething. Her voice and disposition said "Long Island, NY" but her history read "small town in Indiana."
"They are SO still buying it."
"Who knew that posing as the Queen of England was THE BEST IDEA EVER~!."
"UH. THE BEST."
"It was almost the wooooorst~! But, if I can be honest, for a minute, selling our souls to the devil? Nice touch."
"I know right? It just came to me during a Molly trip? And, I said 'table that for later.' Skaboosh!"
"Way better than running off to Tajikistan and starting a casino. That was the wooooooooorst~!"
"The absolute worst."
"A now we're fluuuuush with caaaaash~! So long as they don't get sus-PI-CI-OUS!
"SUS-PI-CI-OUS-AH!"
"Ok, ok. We have to do our chant now, we can't bring that up and not do the chant, it's bad luck"
"Don't. Be."
"SUSPICIOUS"
"DON'T BE SUSPICIOUS. AH-DON'T BE SUSPICIOUS."
"DON'T BE SUSPICIOUS-ICOUS"
And so, the demonic adult-children previously known as Jean Ralphio and Mona Lisa Saperstein, chanted their magic chant deep into the night. A sense of malaise fell over the United Kingdom, and no one thought to even ask how on Earth the Queen had lived for so long, unchanged and undying.
Fin. | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | Quick edit for readability: a lot of comments are telling me the time skips aren't showing up on mobile, since you can't see the break lines. So I'll just add in dates.
Westminster Palace, 2050
Rodney Bradley eased himself to a stand and felt a series of clicks in his left knee. He straightened his back to a chorus of complaints from his body, and hooked his worn oaken cane with his left hand before shuffling across his office towards the window. The sun was low in the sky in the city high rises beyond Parliament Square. Another day lost to the grind of trying to keep his country moving.
Thirty years in politics could leave a man weathered down to his core. Brexit, the Second and Third Scottish Referendums, the Korean Crisis, Walexit. Rodney's spirit was as weathered and battered as they came, but that weathering revealed a solid stone beneath. Labour's MPs had entrusted him with Prime Minister job three years ago, and he'd aged as much in that time as he had in the other twenty seven years.
Unlike someone else.
When the queen outlived her own son, it had been newsworthy, but not necessary inhuman. Prince Charles had succumbed to a heart attack at the ripe old age of 73. Not quite seeing his mother's hundredth birthday. Rodney quirked half a smile at such a seemingly morbid memory. That had been a day to change his life.
------------------------------------------
Westminster Palace, 2022
He was late, again. Curse it. First year MPs were somewhat frowned upon if they couldn't bother attending meetings, and a face to face with the shadow cabinet secretary of health was by far his most important legislative assignment on the month. Great time to get lost.
He ran a broad hand through the thick brown hair on his head, beginning to grow too long, as his steps carried him through Westminster. His phone buzzed in his pocket, doubtlessly an update on Prince Charles health. The entire nation hung on the man's labored breathing and arrhythmic heartbeat; the national mood as erratic as the dying man's pulse. Charles had been a fixture of Bradley's life, but William had always been his prince. Being of an age to William's younger brother had that certain affect on he and his generation.
Finally his feet carried him before a nondescript door bearing the correct numbers, and pushed it open.
The first shock was that more than one individual awaited him, the second shock was that one of the extras was a prince.
"Sit down, Rodney." Chimed Jon Ashworth, the broad and charming Shadow Secretary of Health. His black hairs fading to gray, "We're glad you're here. It's time to get started."
Prince Phillip leaned forward, his frail body clearly pushed near its limit just to be here in Westminster, "A pleasure to meet you sir, forgive me if we must be brief, but I should be at the Prince's side come the death, so we lack time for proper courtesy." He nodded at Ashworth, his perpetual jovial smile fading to a frown, "With Charles death I'm afraid the work must pass from me directly to William and Harry. They'll need some help," Phillip waved at the sparse handful of politicians in the room, "those in the know have recommended you. So, without further ado, I must ask you: will you help us to stop the love of my life?"
Presumably, the world kept spinning for the next few seconds. Street vendors throughout London continued passing off questionable kebab to unsuspecting tourists, mind the gap messages droned throughout the subways of the United Kingdom. For all the good that knowledge did Rodney it might as well have been a teacup in orbit around Jupiter.
"I'm sorry sir, I can't have heard you correctly." Rodney tried to keep his voice steady, his tone respectful. Phillip was still the Prince Consort, and a nearly hundred year old man. Hardly someone to shout down.
"I'm afraid you did, son." Phillip said, not unkindly, but distracted. "I realized the issue myself some years back, but the queen is a tough one to crack. I'm still not sure how she does it."
Ashworth reached to a neat pile of folders in front of him, pulling from the top one of the meme posters that had risen to prominence in the UK over the past decade. *Long Live the Queen* was scrolled across it in blocky print, an off red rendition of the crown adorning the top of the page. Ashworth put a finger near his lips, "Say the words not. We know that much. Somehow, she draws power from them, longevity. With them she is to be immortal."
Rodney's face must have been a study in confusion as he stared at the men, "But she's... she's old, obviously. Nearing 100. She looks it to."
"A clever bit of vanity," spat Philip. "She hasn't aged a day in thirty years, Charles and I knew that much, at least. What we never could figure out was how to broach the subject without being sent to the looney bin." Philip waved his hand weakly, and a security guard Rodney had barely seen stepped forward, taking grip of the Prince-Consort's wheelchair, "I must be there at the death. Good day gentlemen, hopefully we shall speak further some day."
Ashworth smiled at the retreating pair, then turned his calm gaze onto Rodney, "Welcome to the circus."
-----------------
Westminster Palace 2050
As Rodney gazed out the window leaning heavily on the cane, he heard a slight commotion at the door to his office. But a familiar one. The rasping sounds of old cow leather on carpet, a steel cane tapping out a staccato rhythm before the little wiry man he couldn't yet see. The stopper being pulled on the bottle of gin sitting at his desk, a frown at the sound of the stopper being returned too soon, "Come now Jon, I assume you intend to pour two."
Ashworth's chuckle covered up the sound of the second pour, but a glass was set on his windowsill an appropriate time later, as the ancient and wiry MP took up his standard position just on Bradley's left. They cut an interesting pair, he'd run heavy in his youth, and only grown heavier since. The stress of politicking and secret societies may have weathered his spirit to hard stone, but it had softened his belly to a warm jello. Jon had been the opposite, going days and sometimes weeks with little to no food or rest. Bradley couldn't prove it, but he suspected his friend had turned to darker substances at times to keep him going. But they had fought.
They hadn't won, of course. The queen wouldn't be celebrating her birthday yet again if they had, but the bitch knew she was in a battle.
"Long live the king," muttered Ashworth around his first draw of the gin.
"I'll drink to that, even if it is illegal." Bradley echoed, throwing back the fire as the sun dropped behind the statue of Churchill. Another day indeed.
| "-and that is, as they say, *that*."
The crowd errupted in applause. As the queen left the stage, her entourage permitted her some privacy as she recomposed herself in a backroom. In the room, a man stands in the darkness. He was dressed lavishly, yet somewhat disheveled, but his face was still hidden. His hair was wild, explosive, providing his already tall, slender form the illusion of height. But, the Queen, she knew better.
"Siiiiiiiiiiis, are they still buying?"
The queen took off the hat, taking the form of an apparent twentysomething. Her voice and disposition said "Long Island, NY" but her history read "small town in Indiana."
"They are SO still buying it."
"Who knew that posing as the Queen of England was THE BEST IDEA EVER~!."
"UH. THE BEST."
"It was almost the wooooorst~! But, if I can be honest, for a minute, selling our souls to the devil? Nice touch."
"I know right? It just came to me during a Molly trip? And, I said 'table that for later.' Skaboosh!"
"Way better than running off to Tajikistan and starting a casino. That was the wooooooooorst~!"
"The absolute worst."
"A now we're fluuuuush with caaaaash~! So long as they don't get sus-PI-CI-OUS!
"SUS-PI-CI-OUS-AH!"
"Ok, ok. We have to do our chant now, we can't bring that up and not do the chant, it's bad luck"
"Don't. Be."
"SUSPICIOUS"
"DON'T BE SUSPICIOUS. AH-DON'T BE SUSPICIOUS."
"DON'T BE SUSPICIOUS-ICOUS"
And so, the demonic adult-children previously known as Jean Ralphio and Mona Lisa Saperstein, chanted their magic chant deep into the night. A sense of malaise fell over the United Kingdom, and no one thought to even ask how on Earth the Queen had lived for so long, unchanged and undying.
Fin. | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | Today was going to be the most exciting day of Brandon Grayson's life. The crowning moment of his career, so to speak. True, he said this to himself almost every day, but this one seemed unlikely to be topped. In fact, it seemed almost unreal.
Brandon was a geneticist by trade. Geneticists worked to fight diseases, to improve human health, and ultimately to prolong life itself. Of these, Brandon only stepped in at the end of the line. He worked with the people who *didn't* die when you'd reasonably expect them to, the men and women to took aging to an almost superhuman level, living to be over 110 years old. Befittingly, they were called supercentenarians.
A few years ago, he'd also thought he had the scoop of his life. He'd been working with this woman who lived in a fishing village on a remote Japanese island, for over twelve years. Longer than he had ever worked with anyone. And then the seemingly impossible happened: she celebrated her birthday again. Suddenly the whole world's press was dying (sorry about that) to get an interview with Brandon, for no one in recorded human history had ever lived to be 123 years old. She had broken a streak of half a century, when in 1997 Jeanne Calment of France celebrated her 122nd. Miss Calment was the stuff of legends: she had met Van Gogh as a young girl, she was surprisingly lucid in her advancing years, but perhaps most elusively -- she had died before the middle-aged Brandon was even born. And then one own turned out to the one to one-up her.
She was dead within months, of course.
Well, that was part of the job. Brandon and his co-workers were the kind of people who lived their life in a perpetual state of mid-life crisis. Many had been through some kind of trauma, be it a close shave with death or a childhood memory lodged deep. Others just had a fascination with death, like Brandon. In the office, it was customary to blast "Another One Bites the Dust" whenever it happened, the remix depending on whoever was closest with the deceased (or closest to the speakers).
So naturally, after the pomp and circumstance of the new Calment was over, they'd all assumed this was the one to their grandchildren about. The first person to reach 124 might not even be alive today. The world's oldest skipped from 1923 to '25, and soon to 1926. And then...
Now Brandon found himself in Buckingham Palace. Elizabeth, Queen of the Commonwealth, had always been a bit too off-limits for them. Fourteen years earlier, a young Brandon had gleefully prepared a special invitation letter for Her Majesty, and if she'd like to work with us please, but the Crown returned only a curt refusal. As the years wore on, they pressed for an interview again and again, as the Queen's age rose to ever more ridiculous heights, but she became increasingly private.
Last summer, a BBC Special was broadcast to commemorate her accession as the world's oldest living human. An obituary cleverly disguised as a celebration. Most notable thing about it was the discussion generated by Prince William's comments about the Queen being in the past tense. Conspiracies abounded, some more outlandish than the other. People questioned whether the 67-year old Crown Prince wasn't to old to accede to the throne, and whether his more popular son George wouldn't be a better king.
But the thing everyone was in a real pickle about was the Platinum Jubilee. In two years time, the Queen was to finish the 100th year of her reign. This had been a cause for national celebration since the 1970s, with the latest ones having been small-scale, hastily cobbled-up affairs because of nobody was certain she'd live to see the day. Mourning clothes were expected, especially as those who could remember a time *before* her reign began to die off.
"She's ready, sir."
A huge, ornate door opened before him. Light flooded in. The Queen, THE Queen, The Eternal Queen had finally relented and had made time for an interview. At one-hundred and twenty-four years old. He stood and up and hesitated to go in, it was so much. A small figure appeared out of the looming doorway.
"Come along now, we haven't got all day!" | I am seriously rusty with prompts, but what the heck. Here's my attempt.
 
***
God Save the Queen.
Bitter laughter echoed throughout the room, coarse and loud and booming. It went on and on, until the figure dissolved into hacking, wheezing coughs.
If anyone had heard, they would have assumed that the room's occupant required an asylum. Or, was in one...of sorts.
The dim light filtering through the tiny, four by three window streamed over cobwebs and dust which had accumulated through the passage of time. Mocking and taunting with the promise of freedom (so far, yet so near, the figure mused), no one would ever assume that *she* would be capable of such, but no one knew the truth.
But him.
The wooden chair creaked as he leaned back, stretching, letting out a groan of relief as the tension dissolved. Dry lips thinned in contempt, eyes narrowed in disgust at the sight of the calendar (cruel thy woman) on the wall, the date etched in bold and large in size - probably made as such on purpose, he knew.
*"You could have been like me. A part of my undying legacy."* A gentle whisper speaking insanity. Absurd words and ridiculous notions. Immortality was but a figment of imagination, a useless hope and baseless dream. Sheer naivety.
Even if one could, it was **wrong**. No one deserved to rule forever. The world needed order. Balance. Death was part of that balance.
The sound of a door (the only door, he reminded himself, lips tightening) made itself known, but the man did not move. He refused to. He knew who it was.
"I told you."
He did not speak.
"One hundred and twenty-five years." Her voice, still strong and clear after all this time. "I told you then, and you never believed me. Why?"
"Why?"
He finally asked.
"Why?!"
He whirled around, the surface of his inner fury bubbling over and toppling off the proverbial cliff.
"Because it's not worth it! How long more, Elizabeth? You've ruled this country for more than ninety years. Ninety years of duty, of ceremony, of serving the country. Haven't you had enough?"
"Their lives for yours! And you deem it acceptable! Sacrifice, you call it. For the sake of *good*. What 'good'?! It's murder!"
The Choosing Ceremony, known to the people as the ceremony in which certain individuals would be selected to be accorded with the highest honour and inducted into 'knighthood' was actually a ceremony in which people were picked to be sacrifices for her immortality. It had been introduced more than twenty-five years ago, and had become part of the culture.
Not that people knew what it really was.
"You would do well to mind your words."
And there it was. A warning, weaved in deceptive velvet and iron steel.
"... Are you going to kill me then?"
She smiled. An odd, little smile.
"Goodness, no. You are far too valuable, dear. After all," the queen's smile widened. "You are immortal, as I am."
The cup of water that he had moved to grasp dropped onto the ground.
*Dear God, no.*
"...What?"
"Oh yes. Didn't you know? The sacrifices had been for you, too."
*No, no, no.*
"You have always been a good friend to me, Matthew. Of course I would have you be part of my legacy."
Elizabeth, what have you *done*?
"I also could not have you running around and telling them of your suspicions, so this seemed to be the best solution. You *are* a dear friend."
Why was everything so numb?
"Farewell, Matthew. I look forward to visiting you again."
*-click-*
The door shut behind her. | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | "Minister?" said the secretary. The minister was much too tired to look at her, to talk to her. He grunted a murmur.
"It's... the Queen. She's taken ill. We have about an hour until this hits the news."
"Taken ill?" It seemed unlikely at this point that anything could get into her immune system. The Iron Lady was after all, just a lady. Even she fell. The Queen on the other hand, she must be made of much stronger stuff. NASA grade material.
"Yes, minister, she's in a medically induced coma." The minster stood up. "Good Lord, a coma?" The minster rushed out the door, leaving his secretary behind.
The minister was the first to arrive, at least after family. He saw his old friend Willy, the next in line to the throne. Willy's wife was there, his brother, a few minor royals. But William, he was the most important man in the room, and perhaps soon to be the most important in the country.
"William, I came I soon as I heard. What's going on?" William, I noticed wasn't looking at me when he told me that she collapsed, fell down a few stairs. He looked towards a TV, the news had caught wind of an ambulance at Windsor.
From the doors of the Royal Wing, a team of nurses, and doctors had came into the lobby. They looked stressed, as if they were to announce bad news. "Prince William, we need you. Please follow us." I'll always remember the look Willy made at me. Not quite confusion, not quite stress.
The Royal Lobby, as it turns out, was much like any other hospital waiting room. The chairs were better, but nicer chairs didn't make the wait of news any easier. William cam back, by himself. He looked towards his wife and his brother. The three huddled together. Whispers.
William looked at me, his face tripping him. "I told them to do anything to save the Queen. They had ideas... but not permission."
Their ideas, it turns out, was to convert some of her organs into machine. Do what God couldn't. The Queen made a full recovery, I'm sure you're aware. She was better than new, upgraded to the best that biomech science could muster. Every year she would get tuned up. Her veins were replaced with wiring, her heart would be swapped for better power cells each year. At 124, she was more machine than human. The Titanium Lady we called her.
| I am seriously rusty with prompts, but what the heck. Here's my attempt.
 
***
God Save the Queen.
Bitter laughter echoed throughout the room, coarse and loud and booming. It went on and on, until the figure dissolved into hacking, wheezing coughs.
If anyone had heard, they would have assumed that the room's occupant required an asylum. Or, was in one...of sorts.
The dim light filtering through the tiny, four by three window streamed over cobwebs and dust which had accumulated through the passage of time. Mocking and taunting with the promise of freedom (so far, yet so near, the figure mused), no one would ever assume that *she* would be capable of such, but no one knew the truth.
But him.
The wooden chair creaked as he leaned back, stretching, letting out a groan of relief as the tension dissolved. Dry lips thinned in contempt, eyes narrowed in disgust at the sight of the calendar (cruel thy woman) on the wall, the date etched in bold and large in size - probably made as such on purpose, he knew.
*"You could have been like me. A part of my undying legacy."* A gentle whisper speaking insanity. Absurd words and ridiculous notions. Immortality was but a figment of imagination, a useless hope and baseless dream. Sheer naivety.
Even if one could, it was **wrong**. No one deserved to rule forever. The world needed order. Balance. Death was part of that balance.
The sound of a door (the only door, he reminded himself, lips tightening) made itself known, but the man did not move. He refused to. He knew who it was.
"I told you."
He did not speak.
"One hundred and twenty-five years." Her voice, still strong and clear after all this time. "I told you then, and you never believed me. Why?"
"Why?"
He finally asked.
"Why?!"
He whirled around, the surface of his inner fury bubbling over and toppling off the proverbial cliff.
"Because it's not worth it! How long more, Elizabeth? You've ruled this country for more than ninety years. Ninety years of duty, of ceremony, of serving the country. Haven't you had enough?"
"Their lives for yours! And you deem it acceptable! Sacrifice, you call it. For the sake of *good*. What 'good'?! It's murder!"
The Choosing Ceremony, known to the people as the ceremony in which certain individuals would be selected to be accorded with the highest honour and inducted into 'knighthood' was actually a ceremony in which people were picked to be sacrifices for her immortality. It had been introduced more than twenty-five years ago, and had become part of the culture.
Not that people knew what it really was.
"You would do well to mind your words."
And there it was. A warning, weaved in deceptive velvet and iron steel.
"... Are you going to kill me then?"
She smiled. An odd, little smile.
"Goodness, no. You are far too valuable, dear. After all," the queen's smile widened. "You are immortal, as I am."
The cup of water that he had moved to grasp dropped onto the ground.
*Dear God, no.*
"...What?"
"Oh yes. Didn't you know? The sacrifices had been for you, too."
*No, no, no.*
"You have always been a good friend to me, Matthew. Of course I would have you be part of my legacy."
Elizabeth, what have you *done*?
"I also could not have you running around and telling them of your suspicions, so this seemed to be the best solution. You *are* a dear friend."
Why was everything so numb?
"Farewell, Matthew. I look forward to visiting you again."
*-click-*
The door shut behind her. | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | No one questioned it when the national anthem became a mandatory part of the school day for children across the UK in 2020. It seemed like a positive act from parliament, designed to strengthen the bonds between the various cultures who call this island their home.
Five years later this act was extended, to enforce a national anthem break as part of the working day. When rushed through this amendment was initially met with skepticism, however the act did ensure that everyone would receive an extra 20 minute paid break each day. It seemed like a joke to most, 'an easy way to start the day' was the general consensus.
Twenty years later and we have an entire generation who are used to the daily routine, they don't know any different. They've been singing it once a day since their first day at school, this is the norm for them. There are many still alive for whom this hasn't always been the norm, infact they only used to take part for 'the memes'. To get the extra 20 minute paid break, pretend to sing along to the country wide broadcast. After all the anthem didn't last longer than 5 minutes, plenty of time to get outside for some deserved vapourised nicotine whilst also being renumerated.
Five years later and It's those who remebered the way it used to be, the fact that this was never meant to be more than a joke to them. They became suspicious, it didn't help that the queens health was appearing to improve compared to their own, despite her being over 60 years their senior now. So they stopped, refused to sing those words anymore, that's when the mandatory flu shot for those aged 50 or over was introduced. | I am seriously rusty with prompts, but what the heck. Here's my attempt.
 
***
God Save the Queen.
Bitter laughter echoed throughout the room, coarse and loud and booming. It went on and on, until the figure dissolved into hacking, wheezing coughs.
If anyone had heard, they would have assumed that the room's occupant required an asylum. Or, was in one...of sorts.
The dim light filtering through the tiny, four by three window streamed over cobwebs and dust which had accumulated through the passage of time. Mocking and taunting with the promise of freedom (so far, yet so near, the figure mused), no one would ever assume that *she* would be capable of such, but no one knew the truth.
But him.
The wooden chair creaked as he leaned back, stretching, letting out a groan of relief as the tension dissolved. Dry lips thinned in contempt, eyes narrowed in disgust at the sight of the calendar (cruel thy woman) on the wall, the date etched in bold and large in size - probably made as such on purpose, he knew.
*"You could have been like me. A part of my undying legacy."* A gentle whisper speaking insanity. Absurd words and ridiculous notions. Immortality was but a figment of imagination, a useless hope and baseless dream. Sheer naivety.
Even if one could, it was **wrong**. No one deserved to rule forever. The world needed order. Balance. Death was part of that balance.
The sound of a door (the only door, he reminded himself, lips tightening) made itself known, but the man did not move. He refused to. He knew who it was.
"I told you."
He did not speak.
"One hundred and twenty-five years." Her voice, still strong and clear after all this time. "I told you then, and you never believed me. Why?"
"Why?"
He finally asked.
"Why?!"
He whirled around, the surface of his inner fury bubbling over and toppling off the proverbial cliff.
"Because it's not worth it! How long more, Elizabeth? You've ruled this country for more than ninety years. Ninety years of duty, of ceremony, of serving the country. Haven't you had enough?"
"Their lives for yours! And you deem it acceptable! Sacrifice, you call it. For the sake of *good*. What 'good'?! It's murder!"
The Choosing Ceremony, known to the people as the ceremony in which certain individuals would be selected to be accorded with the highest honour and inducted into 'knighthood' was actually a ceremony in which people were picked to be sacrifices for her immortality. It had been introduced more than twenty-five years ago, and had become part of the culture.
Not that people knew what it really was.
"You would do well to mind your words."
And there it was. A warning, weaved in deceptive velvet and iron steel.
"... Are you going to kill me then?"
She smiled. An odd, little smile.
"Goodness, no. You are far too valuable, dear. After all," the queen's smile widened. "You are immortal, as I am."
The cup of water that he had moved to grasp dropped onto the ground.
*Dear God, no.*
"...What?"
"Oh yes. Didn't you know? The sacrifices had been for you, too."
*No, no, no.*
"You have always been a good friend to me, Matthew. Of course I would have you be part of my legacy."
Elizabeth, what have you *done*?
"I also could not have you running around and telling them of your suspicions, so this seemed to be the best solution. You *are* a dear friend."
Why was everything so numb?
"Farewell, Matthew. I look forward to visiting you again."
*-click-*
The door shut behind her. | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | It's been 15 generations since the legend was passed down to me. That our God mother was truly a vampire. I didn't believe it at first after my mother told me the story. My dad verified it too. He said that his father and his father's father confirmed the same thing. She just never aged past a certain point.
I had my doubts as well. Sometimes I would forget that the Queen had stopped aging. Nobody else acted like it was strange. I've seen housekeepers and servants grow old however. I've seen myself grow older as well.
Still though, as time has passed...she keeps me well clothed and fed. I've always given the time of day with her, and accompany her on long walks around the royal garden. They even recently did a new documentary on the wildlife here. I love this place.
When I am left to ponder about the important things in life, my thoughts usually shift over to the food. Food is delicious, and the Queen provides generously. I also have to thank the datalinks which I used to check up on my messages this morning. Willow the Eighth suggested to me that the Queen might actually be a vampire. Wow. Much suspense. Whoops. I should log off as I see the Queen is coming. I'll have to investigate this new hypothesis from Willow later. Minimize all.
"Who's a good boy? Yes you arrre. Yes youuu arree! Here's your treats! Yum yum yummy!"
ARF ARF ARF YIIPPP I NEED THE TREATS IN MY MOUF.
Damn I love being a Corgi. | I am seriously rusty with prompts, but what the heck. Here's my attempt.
 
***
God Save the Queen.
Bitter laughter echoed throughout the room, coarse and loud and booming. It went on and on, until the figure dissolved into hacking, wheezing coughs.
If anyone had heard, they would have assumed that the room's occupant required an asylum. Or, was in one...of sorts.
The dim light filtering through the tiny, four by three window streamed over cobwebs and dust which had accumulated through the passage of time. Mocking and taunting with the promise of freedom (so far, yet so near, the figure mused), no one would ever assume that *she* would be capable of such, but no one knew the truth.
But him.
The wooden chair creaked as he leaned back, stretching, letting out a groan of relief as the tension dissolved. Dry lips thinned in contempt, eyes narrowed in disgust at the sight of the calendar (cruel thy woman) on the wall, the date etched in bold and large in size - probably made as such on purpose, he knew.
*"You could have been like me. A part of my undying legacy."* A gentle whisper speaking insanity. Absurd words and ridiculous notions. Immortality was but a figment of imagination, a useless hope and baseless dream. Sheer naivety.
Even if one could, it was **wrong**. No one deserved to rule forever. The world needed order. Balance. Death was part of that balance.
The sound of a door (the only door, he reminded himself, lips tightening) made itself known, but the man did not move. He refused to. He knew who it was.
"I told you."
He did not speak.
"One hundred and twenty-five years." Her voice, still strong and clear after all this time. "I told you then, and you never believed me. Why?"
"Why?"
He finally asked.
"Why?!"
He whirled around, the surface of his inner fury bubbling over and toppling off the proverbial cliff.
"Because it's not worth it! How long more, Elizabeth? You've ruled this country for more than ninety years. Ninety years of duty, of ceremony, of serving the country. Haven't you had enough?"
"Their lives for yours! And you deem it acceptable! Sacrifice, you call it. For the sake of *good*. What 'good'?! It's murder!"
The Choosing Ceremony, known to the people as the ceremony in which certain individuals would be selected to be accorded with the highest honour and inducted into 'knighthood' was actually a ceremony in which people were picked to be sacrifices for her immortality. It had been introduced more than twenty-five years ago, and had become part of the culture.
Not that people knew what it really was.
"You would do well to mind your words."
And there it was. A warning, weaved in deceptive velvet and iron steel.
"... Are you going to kill me then?"
She smiled. An odd, little smile.
"Goodness, no. You are far too valuable, dear. After all," the queen's smile widened. "You are immortal, as I am."
The cup of water that he had moved to grasp dropped onto the ground.
*Dear God, no.*
"...What?"
"Oh yes. Didn't you know? The sacrifices had been for you, too."
*No, no, no.*
"You have always been a good friend to me, Matthew. Of course I would have you be part of my legacy."
Elizabeth, what have you *done*?
"I also could not have you running around and telling them of your suspicions, so this seemed to be the best solution. You *are* a dear friend."
Why was everything so numb?
"Farewell, Matthew. I look forward to visiting you again."
*-click-*
The door shut behind her. | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | Quick edit for readability: a lot of comments are telling me the time skips aren't showing up on mobile, since you can't see the break lines. So I'll just add in dates.
Westminster Palace, 2050
Rodney Bradley eased himself to a stand and felt a series of clicks in his left knee. He straightened his back to a chorus of complaints from his body, and hooked his worn oaken cane with his left hand before shuffling across his office towards the window. The sun was low in the sky in the city high rises beyond Parliament Square. Another day lost to the grind of trying to keep his country moving.
Thirty years in politics could leave a man weathered down to his core. Brexit, the Second and Third Scottish Referendums, the Korean Crisis, Walexit. Rodney's spirit was as weathered and battered as they came, but that weathering revealed a solid stone beneath. Labour's MPs had entrusted him with Prime Minister job three years ago, and he'd aged as much in that time as he had in the other twenty seven years.
Unlike someone else.
When the queen outlived her own son, it had been newsworthy, but not necessary inhuman. Prince Charles had succumbed to a heart attack at the ripe old age of 73. Not quite seeing his mother's hundredth birthday. Rodney quirked half a smile at such a seemingly morbid memory. That had been a day to change his life.
------------------------------------------
Westminster Palace, 2022
He was late, again. Curse it. First year MPs were somewhat frowned upon if they couldn't bother attending meetings, and a face to face with the shadow cabinet secretary of health was by far his most important legislative assignment on the month. Great time to get lost.
He ran a broad hand through the thick brown hair on his head, beginning to grow too long, as his steps carried him through Westminster. His phone buzzed in his pocket, doubtlessly an update on Prince Charles health. The entire nation hung on the man's labored breathing and arrhythmic heartbeat; the national mood as erratic as the dying man's pulse. Charles had been a fixture of Bradley's life, but William had always been his prince. Being of an age to William's younger brother had that certain affect on he and his generation.
Finally his feet carried him before a nondescript door bearing the correct numbers, and pushed it open.
The first shock was that more than one individual awaited him, the second shock was that one of the extras was a prince.
"Sit down, Rodney." Chimed Jon Ashworth, the broad and charming Shadow Secretary of Health. His black hairs fading to gray, "We're glad you're here. It's time to get started."
Prince Phillip leaned forward, his frail body clearly pushed near its limit just to be here in Westminster, "A pleasure to meet you sir, forgive me if we must be brief, but I should be at the Prince's side come the death, so we lack time for proper courtesy." He nodded at Ashworth, his perpetual jovial smile fading to a frown, "With Charles death I'm afraid the work must pass from me directly to William and Harry. They'll need some help," Phillip waved at the sparse handful of politicians in the room, "those in the know have recommended you. So, without further ado, I must ask you: will you help us to stop the love of my life?"
Presumably, the world kept spinning for the next few seconds. Street vendors throughout London continued passing off questionable kebab to unsuspecting tourists, mind the gap messages droned throughout the subways of the United Kingdom. For all the good that knowledge did Rodney it might as well have been a teacup in orbit around Jupiter.
"I'm sorry sir, I can't have heard you correctly." Rodney tried to keep his voice steady, his tone respectful. Phillip was still the Prince Consort, and a nearly hundred year old man. Hardly someone to shout down.
"I'm afraid you did, son." Phillip said, not unkindly, but distracted. "I realized the issue myself some years back, but the queen is a tough one to crack. I'm still not sure how she does it."
Ashworth reached to a neat pile of folders in front of him, pulling from the top one of the meme posters that had risen to prominence in the UK over the past decade. *Long Live the Queen* was scrolled across it in blocky print, an off red rendition of the crown adorning the top of the page. Ashworth put a finger near his lips, "Say the words not. We know that much. Somehow, she draws power from them, longevity. With them she is to be immortal."
Rodney's face must have been a study in confusion as he stared at the men, "But she's... she's old, obviously. Nearing 100. She looks it to."
"A clever bit of vanity," spat Philip. "She hasn't aged a day in thirty years, Charles and I knew that much, at least. What we never could figure out was how to broach the subject without being sent to the looney bin." Philip waved his hand weakly, and a security guard Rodney had barely seen stepped forward, taking grip of the Prince-Consort's wheelchair, "I must be there at the death. Good day gentlemen, hopefully we shall speak further some day."
Ashworth smiled at the retreating pair, then turned his calm gaze onto Rodney, "Welcome to the circus."
-----------------
Westminster Palace 2050
As Rodney gazed out the window leaning heavily on the cane, he heard a slight commotion at the door to his office. But a familiar one. The rasping sounds of old cow leather on carpet, a steel cane tapping out a staccato rhythm before the little wiry man he couldn't yet see. The stopper being pulled on the bottle of gin sitting at his desk, a frown at the sound of the stopper being returned too soon, "Come now Jon, I assume you intend to pour two."
Ashworth's chuckle covered up the sound of the second pour, but a glass was set on his windowsill an appropriate time later, as the ancient and wiry MP took up his standard position just on Bradley's left. They cut an interesting pair, he'd run heavy in his youth, and only grown heavier since. The stress of politicking and secret societies may have weathered his spirit to hard stone, but it had softened his belly to a warm jello. Jon had been the opposite, going days and sometimes weeks with little to no food or rest. Bradley couldn't prove it, but he suspected his friend had turned to darker substances at times to keep him going. But they had fought.
They hadn't won, of course. The queen wouldn't be celebrating her birthday yet again if they had, but the bitch knew she was in a battle.
"Long live the king," muttered Ashworth around his first draw of the gin.
"I'll drink to that, even if it is illegal." Bradley echoed, throwing back the fire as the sun dropped behind the statue of Churchill. Another day indeed.
| I am seriously rusty with prompts, but what the heck. Here's my attempt.
 
***
God Save the Queen.
Bitter laughter echoed throughout the room, coarse and loud and booming. It went on and on, until the figure dissolved into hacking, wheezing coughs.
If anyone had heard, they would have assumed that the room's occupant required an asylum. Or, was in one...of sorts.
The dim light filtering through the tiny, four by three window streamed over cobwebs and dust which had accumulated through the passage of time. Mocking and taunting with the promise of freedom (so far, yet so near, the figure mused), no one would ever assume that *she* would be capable of such, but no one knew the truth.
But him.
The wooden chair creaked as he leaned back, stretching, letting out a groan of relief as the tension dissolved. Dry lips thinned in contempt, eyes narrowed in disgust at the sight of the calendar (cruel thy woman) on the wall, the date etched in bold and large in size - probably made as such on purpose, he knew.
*"You could have been like me. A part of my undying legacy."* A gentle whisper speaking insanity. Absurd words and ridiculous notions. Immortality was but a figment of imagination, a useless hope and baseless dream. Sheer naivety.
Even if one could, it was **wrong**. No one deserved to rule forever. The world needed order. Balance. Death was part of that balance.
The sound of a door (the only door, he reminded himself, lips tightening) made itself known, but the man did not move. He refused to. He knew who it was.
"I told you."
He did not speak.
"One hundred and twenty-five years." Her voice, still strong and clear after all this time. "I told you then, and you never believed me. Why?"
"Why?"
He finally asked.
"Why?!"
He whirled around, the surface of his inner fury bubbling over and toppling off the proverbial cliff.
"Because it's not worth it! How long more, Elizabeth? You've ruled this country for more than ninety years. Ninety years of duty, of ceremony, of serving the country. Haven't you had enough?"
"Their lives for yours! And you deem it acceptable! Sacrifice, you call it. For the sake of *good*. What 'good'?! It's murder!"
The Choosing Ceremony, known to the people as the ceremony in which certain individuals would be selected to be accorded with the highest honour and inducted into 'knighthood' was actually a ceremony in which people were picked to be sacrifices for her immortality. It had been introduced more than twenty-five years ago, and had become part of the culture.
Not that people knew what it really was.
"You would do well to mind your words."
And there it was. A warning, weaved in deceptive velvet and iron steel.
"... Are you going to kill me then?"
She smiled. An odd, little smile.
"Goodness, no. You are far too valuable, dear. After all," the queen's smile widened. "You are immortal, as I am."
The cup of water that he had moved to grasp dropped onto the ground.
*Dear God, no.*
"...What?"
"Oh yes. Didn't you know? The sacrifices had been for you, too."
*No, no, no.*
"You have always been a good friend to me, Matthew. Of course I would have you be part of my legacy."
Elizabeth, what have you *done*?
"I also could not have you running around and telling them of your suspicions, so this seemed to be the best solution. You *are* a dear friend."
Why was everything so numb?
"Farewell, Matthew. I look forward to visiting you again."
*-click-*
The door shut behind her. | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | "Minister?" said the secretary. The minister was much too tired to look at her, to talk to her. He grunted a murmur.
"It's... the Queen. She's taken ill. We have about an hour until this hits the news."
"Taken ill?" It seemed unlikely at this point that anything could get into her immune system. The Iron Lady was after all, just a lady. Even she fell. The Queen on the other hand, she must be made of much stronger stuff. NASA grade material.
"Yes, minister, she's in a medically induced coma." The minster stood up. "Good Lord, a coma?" The minster rushed out the door, leaving his secretary behind.
The minister was the first to arrive, at least after family. He saw his old friend Willy, the next in line to the throne. Willy's wife was there, his brother, a few minor royals. But William, he was the most important man in the room, and perhaps soon to be the most important in the country.
"William, I came I soon as I heard. What's going on?" William, I noticed wasn't looking at me when he told me that she collapsed, fell down a few stairs. He looked towards a TV, the news had caught wind of an ambulance at Windsor.
From the doors of the Royal Wing, a team of nurses, and doctors had came into the lobby. They looked stressed, as if they were to announce bad news. "Prince William, we need you. Please follow us." I'll always remember the look Willy made at me. Not quite confusion, not quite stress.
The Royal Lobby, as it turns out, was much like any other hospital waiting room. The chairs were better, but nicer chairs didn't make the wait of news any easier. William cam back, by himself. He looked towards his wife and his brother. The three huddled together. Whispers.
William looked at me, his face tripping him. "I told them to do anything to save the Queen. They had ideas... but not permission."
Their ideas, it turns out, was to convert some of her organs into machine. Do what God couldn't. The Queen made a full recovery, I'm sure you're aware. She was better than new, upgraded to the best that biomech science could muster. Every year she would get tuned up. Her veins were replaced with wiring, her heart would be swapped for better power cells each year. At 124, she was more machine than human. The Titanium Lady we called her.
| "And there you have it, folks, the queen is dead." The newscaster reported on the TV above the bar. "I repeat, the queen is dead. She has passed away at the incredible age of one hundred and twenty four. Surely a sight to beheld, our queen, the majesty of the royal household, after a magnificent wonderful life, has deceased, and is no longer--. I say she is no longer with--. Uhh, please wait a moment. I'm being told to uhh---"
"It's about bloody time." An old man grumbled. As he finished his pint the news reporter scrambled to listen to new information coming over his news piece.
"I'm being told--" The news reporter continued. "I'm being told there's been a mix up of sorts? The queen's status has been changed to stable. I say again, the queen is in stable health and alive. I'm absolutely flummoxed."
"What!?" The old man gargled through his beer.
"It wasn't her time." A waitress said flatly as she served the man another glass of beer.
"A statue fell on 'er head." He blurted out. "We all saw it live on TV. She was deader than cold rabbit porridge."
"Oy, you should be glad your queen is alright." A man yelled from the corner of the bar.
"All hail the queen." A woman added to applause from others holding their drinks in the air.
"She's not the queen. She's the devil!" The old man screamed to laughter just as the reporter began to speak again, "Absolutely astonishing, ladies and gentlemen, we have just been informed the queen is now addressing the people live. We now go live... to the queen."
"Bloody hell." The man said coldly as he stared at the screen frightened.
"Hello all!" The queen screeched followed with a giggle. "I hope you are all well on this happy, pretty day. Well. Some of you may have heard a silly little rumor swirling about. Let us not be so quick with conclusions when clearly the evidence right in front of you contradicts them. I must be going now. G'day mate."
"Wait. What was that she just said?" The bewildered man asked the bar, but no body responded. "She just said _g'day mate_." The man pleaded.
"No I didn't." The queen seemed to respond. "I did not say g'day mate. A queen does not say these things."
"Did she just speak to me?" The man said drunkenly as he squinted at the television.
"Sit down now. Stop making such a fuss. Please, enjoy your pint." The queen said with eerily precision. "Have another delicious pint and relax your mind."
"No, this isn't right. Something's wrong." The man said confused.
"Nothing's wrong." The queen responded plainly as the bar began to go dark.
"This. This isn't real?" The man said as his words seemed to echo in the now empty bar with only a television as the light source.
"What's real?" The queen said condescendingly. "That the queen lived to be one hundred and twenty four? Come now, have another pint."
A state of shock overtook the man who slowly sat down in front of his full beer and began drinking again. The bar came back to light and the queen resumed her address to many instead of one.
"Something wrong with the pint?" The waitress inquired.
"How did the queen live to be one hundred and twenty four?" The man mumbled to himself.
"A hundred and twenty four? Are you daft?" The waitress responded.
"It's 2050 and the queen is 124." The man said louder.
"Alright love, you've had enough." The waitress said as she took the pint from the old man's hands.
"The queen was born 124 years ago. It's 2050! She said g'day mate!" The old man screamed as he was led out of the pub by two men.
"Crazy bloke." The waitress said as she cleaned up the mess. | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | No one questioned it when the national anthem became a mandatory part of the school day for children across the UK in 2020. It seemed like a positive act from parliament, designed to strengthen the bonds between the various cultures who call this island their home.
Five years later this act was extended, to enforce a national anthem break as part of the working day. When rushed through this amendment was initially met with skepticism, however the act did ensure that everyone would receive an extra 20 minute paid break each day. It seemed like a joke to most, 'an easy way to start the day' was the general consensus.
Twenty years later and we have an entire generation who are used to the daily routine, they don't know any different. They've been singing it once a day since their first day at school, this is the norm for them. There are many still alive for whom this hasn't always been the norm, infact they only used to take part for 'the memes'. To get the extra 20 minute paid break, pretend to sing along to the country wide broadcast. After all the anthem didn't last longer than 5 minutes, plenty of time to get outside for some deserved vapourised nicotine whilst also being renumerated.
Five years later and It's those who remebered the way it used to be, the fact that this was never meant to be more than a joke to them. They became suspicious, it didn't help that the queens health was appearing to improve compared to their own, despite her being over 60 years their senior now. So they stopped, refused to sing those words anymore, that's when the mandatory flu shot for those aged 50 or over was introduced. | "And there you have it, folks, the queen is dead." The newscaster reported on the TV above the bar. "I repeat, the queen is dead. She has passed away at the incredible age of one hundred and twenty four. Surely a sight to beheld, our queen, the majesty of the royal household, after a magnificent wonderful life, has deceased, and is no longer--. I say she is no longer with--. Uhh, please wait a moment. I'm being told to uhh---"
"It's about bloody time." An old man grumbled. As he finished his pint the news reporter scrambled to listen to new information coming over his news piece.
"I'm being told--" The news reporter continued. "I'm being told there's been a mix up of sorts? The queen's status has been changed to stable. I say again, the queen is in stable health and alive. I'm absolutely flummoxed."
"What!?" The old man gargled through his beer.
"It wasn't her time." A waitress said flatly as she served the man another glass of beer.
"A statue fell on 'er head." He blurted out. "We all saw it live on TV. She was deader than cold rabbit porridge."
"Oy, you should be glad your queen is alright." A man yelled from the corner of the bar.
"All hail the queen." A woman added to applause from others holding their drinks in the air.
"She's not the queen. She's the devil!" The old man screamed to laughter just as the reporter began to speak again, "Absolutely astonishing, ladies and gentlemen, we have just been informed the queen is now addressing the people live. We now go live... to the queen."
"Bloody hell." The man said coldly as he stared at the screen frightened.
"Hello all!" The queen screeched followed with a giggle. "I hope you are all well on this happy, pretty day. Well. Some of you may have heard a silly little rumor swirling about. Let us not be so quick with conclusions when clearly the evidence right in front of you contradicts them. I must be going now. G'day mate."
"Wait. What was that she just said?" The bewildered man asked the bar, but no body responded. "She just said _g'day mate_." The man pleaded.
"No I didn't." The queen seemed to respond. "I did not say g'day mate. A queen does not say these things."
"Did she just speak to me?" The man said drunkenly as he squinted at the television.
"Sit down now. Stop making such a fuss. Please, enjoy your pint." The queen said with eerily precision. "Have another delicious pint and relax your mind."
"No, this isn't right. Something's wrong." The man said confused.
"Nothing's wrong." The queen responded plainly as the bar began to go dark.
"This. This isn't real?" The man said as his words seemed to echo in the now empty bar with only a television as the light source.
"What's real?" The queen said condescendingly. "That the queen lived to be one hundred and twenty four? Come now, have another pint."
A state of shock overtook the man who slowly sat down in front of his full beer and began drinking again. The bar came back to light and the queen resumed her address to many instead of one.
"Something wrong with the pint?" The waitress inquired.
"How did the queen live to be one hundred and twenty four?" The man mumbled to himself.
"A hundred and twenty four? Are you daft?" The waitress responded.
"It's 2050 and the queen is 124." The man said louder.
"Alright love, you've had enough." The waitress said as she took the pint from the old man's hands.
"The queen was born 124 years ago. It's 2050! She said g'day mate!" The old man screamed as he was led out of the pub by two men.
"Crazy bloke." The waitress said as she cleaned up the mess. | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | It's been 15 generations since the legend was passed down to me. That our God mother was truly a vampire. I didn't believe it at first after my mother told me the story. My dad verified it too. He said that his father and his father's father confirmed the same thing. She just never aged past a certain point.
I had my doubts as well. Sometimes I would forget that the Queen had stopped aging. Nobody else acted like it was strange. I've seen housekeepers and servants grow old however. I've seen myself grow older as well.
Still though, as time has passed...she keeps me well clothed and fed. I've always given the time of day with her, and accompany her on long walks around the royal garden. They even recently did a new documentary on the wildlife here. I love this place.
When I am left to ponder about the important things in life, my thoughts usually shift over to the food. Food is delicious, and the Queen provides generously. I also have to thank the datalinks which I used to check up on my messages this morning. Willow the Eighth suggested to me that the Queen might actually be a vampire. Wow. Much suspense. Whoops. I should log off as I see the Queen is coming. I'll have to investigate this new hypothesis from Willow later. Minimize all.
"Who's a good boy? Yes you arrre. Yes youuu arree! Here's your treats! Yum yum yummy!"
ARF ARF ARF YIIPPP I NEED THE TREATS IN MY MOUF.
Damn I love being a Corgi. | "And there you have it, folks, the queen is dead." The newscaster reported on the TV above the bar. "I repeat, the queen is dead. She has passed away at the incredible age of one hundred and twenty four. Surely a sight to beheld, our queen, the majesty of the royal household, after a magnificent wonderful life, has deceased, and is no longer--. I say she is no longer with--. Uhh, please wait a moment. I'm being told to uhh---"
"It's about bloody time." An old man grumbled. As he finished his pint the news reporter scrambled to listen to new information coming over his news piece.
"I'm being told--" The news reporter continued. "I'm being told there's been a mix up of sorts? The queen's status has been changed to stable. I say again, the queen is in stable health and alive. I'm absolutely flummoxed."
"What!?" The old man gargled through his beer.
"It wasn't her time." A waitress said flatly as she served the man another glass of beer.
"A statue fell on 'er head." He blurted out. "We all saw it live on TV. She was deader than cold rabbit porridge."
"Oy, you should be glad your queen is alright." A man yelled from the corner of the bar.
"All hail the queen." A woman added to applause from others holding their drinks in the air.
"She's not the queen. She's the devil!" The old man screamed to laughter just as the reporter began to speak again, "Absolutely astonishing, ladies and gentlemen, we have just been informed the queen is now addressing the people live. We now go live... to the queen."
"Bloody hell." The man said coldly as he stared at the screen frightened.
"Hello all!" The queen screeched followed with a giggle. "I hope you are all well on this happy, pretty day. Well. Some of you may have heard a silly little rumor swirling about. Let us not be so quick with conclusions when clearly the evidence right in front of you contradicts them. I must be going now. G'day mate."
"Wait. What was that she just said?" The bewildered man asked the bar, but no body responded. "She just said _g'day mate_." The man pleaded.
"No I didn't." The queen seemed to respond. "I did not say g'day mate. A queen does not say these things."
"Did she just speak to me?" The man said drunkenly as he squinted at the television.
"Sit down now. Stop making such a fuss. Please, enjoy your pint." The queen said with eerily precision. "Have another delicious pint and relax your mind."
"No, this isn't right. Something's wrong." The man said confused.
"Nothing's wrong." The queen responded plainly as the bar began to go dark.
"This. This isn't real?" The man said as his words seemed to echo in the now empty bar with only a television as the light source.
"What's real?" The queen said condescendingly. "That the queen lived to be one hundred and twenty four? Come now, have another pint."
A state of shock overtook the man who slowly sat down in front of his full beer and began drinking again. The bar came back to light and the queen resumed her address to many instead of one.
"Something wrong with the pint?" The waitress inquired.
"How did the queen live to be one hundred and twenty four?" The man mumbled to himself.
"A hundred and twenty four? Are you daft?" The waitress responded.
"It's 2050 and the queen is 124." The man said louder.
"Alright love, you've had enough." The waitress said as she took the pint from the old man's hands.
"The queen was born 124 years ago. It's 2050! She said g'day mate!" The old man screamed as he was led out of the pub by two men.
"Crazy bloke." The waitress said as she cleaned up the mess. | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | Quick edit for readability: a lot of comments are telling me the time skips aren't showing up on mobile, since you can't see the break lines. So I'll just add in dates.
Westminster Palace, 2050
Rodney Bradley eased himself to a stand and felt a series of clicks in his left knee. He straightened his back to a chorus of complaints from his body, and hooked his worn oaken cane with his left hand before shuffling across his office towards the window. The sun was low in the sky in the city high rises beyond Parliament Square. Another day lost to the grind of trying to keep his country moving.
Thirty years in politics could leave a man weathered down to his core. Brexit, the Second and Third Scottish Referendums, the Korean Crisis, Walexit. Rodney's spirit was as weathered and battered as they came, but that weathering revealed a solid stone beneath. Labour's MPs had entrusted him with Prime Minister job three years ago, and he'd aged as much in that time as he had in the other twenty seven years.
Unlike someone else.
When the queen outlived her own son, it had been newsworthy, but not necessary inhuman. Prince Charles had succumbed to a heart attack at the ripe old age of 73. Not quite seeing his mother's hundredth birthday. Rodney quirked half a smile at such a seemingly morbid memory. That had been a day to change his life.
------------------------------------------
Westminster Palace, 2022
He was late, again. Curse it. First year MPs were somewhat frowned upon if they couldn't bother attending meetings, and a face to face with the shadow cabinet secretary of health was by far his most important legislative assignment on the month. Great time to get lost.
He ran a broad hand through the thick brown hair on his head, beginning to grow too long, as his steps carried him through Westminster. His phone buzzed in his pocket, doubtlessly an update on Prince Charles health. The entire nation hung on the man's labored breathing and arrhythmic heartbeat; the national mood as erratic as the dying man's pulse. Charles had been a fixture of Bradley's life, but William had always been his prince. Being of an age to William's younger brother had that certain affect on he and his generation.
Finally his feet carried him before a nondescript door bearing the correct numbers, and pushed it open.
The first shock was that more than one individual awaited him, the second shock was that one of the extras was a prince.
"Sit down, Rodney." Chimed Jon Ashworth, the broad and charming Shadow Secretary of Health. His black hairs fading to gray, "We're glad you're here. It's time to get started."
Prince Phillip leaned forward, his frail body clearly pushed near its limit just to be here in Westminster, "A pleasure to meet you sir, forgive me if we must be brief, but I should be at the Prince's side come the death, so we lack time for proper courtesy." He nodded at Ashworth, his perpetual jovial smile fading to a frown, "With Charles death I'm afraid the work must pass from me directly to William and Harry. They'll need some help," Phillip waved at the sparse handful of politicians in the room, "those in the know have recommended you. So, without further ado, I must ask you: will you help us to stop the love of my life?"
Presumably, the world kept spinning for the next few seconds. Street vendors throughout London continued passing off questionable kebab to unsuspecting tourists, mind the gap messages droned throughout the subways of the United Kingdom. For all the good that knowledge did Rodney it might as well have been a teacup in orbit around Jupiter.
"I'm sorry sir, I can't have heard you correctly." Rodney tried to keep his voice steady, his tone respectful. Phillip was still the Prince Consort, and a nearly hundred year old man. Hardly someone to shout down.
"I'm afraid you did, son." Phillip said, not unkindly, but distracted. "I realized the issue myself some years back, but the queen is a tough one to crack. I'm still not sure how she does it."
Ashworth reached to a neat pile of folders in front of him, pulling from the top one of the meme posters that had risen to prominence in the UK over the past decade. *Long Live the Queen* was scrolled across it in blocky print, an off red rendition of the crown adorning the top of the page. Ashworth put a finger near his lips, "Say the words not. We know that much. Somehow, she draws power from them, longevity. With them she is to be immortal."
Rodney's face must have been a study in confusion as he stared at the men, "But she's... she's old, obviously. Nearing 100. She looks it to."
"A clever bit of vanity," spat Philip. "She hasn't aged a day in thirty years, Charles and I knew that much, at least. What we never could figure out was how to broach the subject without being sent to the looney bin." Philip waved his hand weakly, and a security guard Rodney had barely seen stepped forward, taking grip of the Prince-Consort's wheelchair, "I must be there at the death. Good day gentlemen, hopefully we shall speak further some day."
Ashworth smiled at the retreating pair, then turned his calm gaze onto Rodney, "Welcome to the circus."
-----------------
Westminster Palace 2050
As Rodney gazed out the window leaning heavily on the cane, he heard a slight commotion at the door to his office. But a familiar one. The rasping sounds of old cow leather on carpet, a steel cane tapping out a staccato rhythm before the little wiry man he couldn't yet see. The stopper being pulled on the bottle of gin sitting at his desk, a frown at the sound of the stopper being returned too soon, "Come now Jon, I assume you intend to pour two."
Ashworth's chuckle covered up the sound of the second pour, but a glass was set on his windowsill an appropriate time later, as the ancient and wiry MP took up his standard position just on Bradley's left. They cut an interesting pair, he'd run heavy in his youth, and only grown heavier since. The stress of politicking and secret societies may have weathered his spirit to hard stone, but it had softened his belly to a warm jello. Jon had been the opposite, going days and sometimes weeks with little to no food or rest. Bradley couldn't prove it, but he suspected his friend had turned to darker substances at times to keep him going. But they had fought.
They hadn't won, of course. The queen wouldn't be celebrating her birthday yet again if they had, but the bitch knew she was in a battle.
"Long live the king," muttered Ashworth around his first draw of the gin.
"I'll drink to that, even if it is illegal." Bradley echoed, throwing back the fire as the sun dropped behind the statue of Churchill. Another day indeed.
| "And there you have it, folks, the queen is dead." The newscaster reported on the TV above the bar. "I repeat, the queen is dead. She has passed away at the incredible age of one hundred and twenty four. Surely a sight to beheld, our queen, the majesty of the royal household, after a magnificent wonderful life, has deceased, and is no longer--. I say she is no longer with--. Uhh, please wait a moment. I'm being told to uhh---"
"It's about bloody time." An old man grumbled. As he finished his pint the news reporter scrambled to listen to new information coming over his news piece.
"I'm being told--" The news reporter continued. "I'm being told there's been a mix up of sorts? The queen's status has been changed to stable. I say again, the queen is in stable health and alive. I'm absolutely flummoxed."
"What!?" The old man gargled through his beer.
"It wasn't her time." A waitress said flatly as she served the man another glass of beer.
"A statue fell on 'er head." He blurted out. "We all saw it live on TV. She was deader than cold rabbit porridge."
"Oy, you should be glad your queen is alright." A man yelled from the corner of the bar.
"All hail the queen." A woman added to applause from others holding their drinks in the air.
"She's not the queen. She's the devil!" The old man screamed to laughter just as the reporter began to speak again, "Absolutely astonishing, ladies and gentlemen, we have just been informed the queen is now addressing the people live. We now go live... to the queen."
"Bloody hell." The man said coldly as he stared at the screen frightened.
"Hello all!" The queen screeched followed with a giggle. "I hope you are all well on this happy, pretty day. Well. Some of you may have heard a silly little rumor swirling about. Let us not be so quick with conclusions when clearly the evidence right in front of you contradicts them. I must be going now. G'day mate."
"Wait. What was that she just said?" The bewildered man asked the bar, but no body responded. "She just said _g'day mate_." The man pleaded.
"No I didn't." The queen seemed to respond. "I did not say g'day mate. A queen does not say these things."
"Did she just speak to me?" The man said drunkenly as he squinted at the television.
"Sit down now. Stop making such a fuss. Please, enjoy your pint." The queen said with eerily precision. "Have another delicious pint and relax your mind."
"No, this isn't right. Something's wrong." The man said confused.
"Nothing's wrong." The queen responded plainly as the bar began to go dark.
"This. This isn't real?" The man said as his words seemed to echo in the now empty bar with only a television as the light source.
"What's real?" The queen said condescendingly. "That the queen lived to be one hundred and twenty four? Come now, have another pint."
A state of shock overtook the man who slowly sat down in front of his full beer and began drinking again. The bar came back to light and the queen resumed her address to many instead of one.
"Something wrong with the pint?" The waitress inquired.
"How did the queen live to be one hundred and twenty four?" The man mumbled to himself.
"A hundred and twenty four? Are you daft?" The waitress responded.
"It's 2050 and the queen is 124." The man said louder.
"Alright love, you've had enough." The waitress said as she took the pint from the old man's hands.
"The queen was born 124 years ago. It's 2050! She said g'day mate!" The old man screamed as he was led out of the pub by two men.
"Crazy bloke." The waitress said as she cleaned up the mess. | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | Today was going to be the most exciting day of Brandon Grayson's life. The crowning moment of his career, so to speak. True, he said this to himself almost every day, but this one seemed unlikely to be topped. In fact, it seemed almost unreal.
Brandon was a geneticist by trade. Geneticists worked to fight diseases, to improve human health, and ultimately to prolong life itself. Of these, Brandon only stepped in at the end of the line. He worked with the people who *didn't* die when you'd reasonably expect them to, the men and women to took aging to an almost superhuman level, living to be over 110 years old. Befittingly, they were called supercentenarians.
A few years ago, he'd also thought he had the scoop of his life. He'd been working with this woman who lived in a fishing village on a remote Japanese island, for over twelve years. Longer than he had ever worked with anyone. And then the seemingly impossible happened: she celebrated her birthday again. Suddenly the whole world's press was dying (sorry about that) to get an interview with Brandon, for no one in recorded human history had ever lived to be 123 years old. She had broken a streak of half a century, when in 1997 Jeanne Calment of France celebrated her 122nd. Miss Calment was the stuff of legends: she had met Van Gogh as a young girl, she was surprisingly lucid in her advancing years, but perhaps most elusively -- she had died before the middle-aged Brandon was even born. And then one own turned out to the one to one-up her.
She was dead within months, of course.
Well, that was part of the job. Brandon and his co-workers were the kind of people who lived their life in a perpetual state of mid-life crisis. Many had been through some kind of trauma, be it a close shave with death or a childhood memory lodged deep. Others just had a fascination with death, like Brandon. In the office, it was customary to blast "Another One Bites the Dust" whenever it happened, the remix depending on whoever was closest with the deceased (or closest to the speakers).
So naturally, after the pomp and circumstance of the new Calment was over, they'd all assumed this was the one to their grandchildren about. The first person to reach 124 might not even be alive today. The world's oldest skipped from 1923 to '25, and soon to 1926. And then...
Now Brandon found himself in Buckingham Palace. Elizabeth, Queen of the Commonwealth, had always been a bit too off-limits for them. Fourteen years earlier, a young Brandon had gleefully prepared a special invitation letter for Her Majesty, and if she'd like to work with us please, but the Crown returned only a curt refusal. As the years wore on, they pressed for an interview again and again, as the Queen's age rose to ever more ridiculous heights, but she became increasingly private.
Last summer, a BBC Special was broadcast to commemorate her accession as the world's oldest living human. An obituary cleverly disguised as a celebration. Most notable thing about it was the discussion generated by Prince William's comments about the Queen being in the past tense. Conspiracies abounded, some more outlandish than the other. People questioned whether the 67-year old Crown Prince wasn't to old to accede to the throne, and whether his more popular son George wouldn't be a better king.
But the thing everyone was in a real pickle about was the Platinum Jubilee. In two years time, the Queen was to finish the 100th year of her reign. This had been a cause for national celebration since the 1970s, with the latest ones having been small-scale, hastily cobbled-up affairs because of nobody was certain she'd live to see the day. Mourning clothes were expected, especially as those who could remember a time *before* her reign began to die off.
"She's ready, sir."
A huge, ornate door opened before him. Light flooded in. The Queen, THE Queen, The Eternal Queen had finally relented and had made time for an interview. At one-hundred and twenty-four years old. He stood and up and hesitated to go in, it was so much. A small figure appeared out of the looming doorway.
"Come along now, we haven't got all day!" | "It is not my time yet" the Queen said in resignation. Her Majesty stared into the distance, her staff going on about their duties around her, oblivious that she spoke. Yet someone heard. Something did.
"He is not ready yet, it will break him." she said sadly. "It has to be the girl. There is no other way." She nodded in response to a voice only she heard. "Yes, I will make the arrangements. It still stands."
"Duchess Kate, it seems like being a grandmother suits you," the Queen said with a fond smile. She still looks so strong. She has it, I'm sure of it the Queen thought to herself. "Thank you ma'am. You called for me?" Kate asked with a smile and polite nod. "Yes, I'm sure you wonder why I called you to the Garden. You will learn with time, you are strong," Kate frowned, "I'm not sure I understand ma'am."
The air started to vibrate, a dull sound rose and a rotting stench permeated the air. "There must be balance. I will not permit this." Kate turned around, eyes widening, a light sheen on her forehead. "What's happening? Did you hear that ma'am? I'm sure something isn't right and what is that god awful smell?" The Queen remained seated, staring at Kate. "I am sorry for doing this to you." the Queen sighed and exploded. The Queen's body sprayed the area and bits of flesh and bone struck Kate. The vibrations increased and a groaning could be heard from the ground. Kate's face turned white and a scream rose to her mouth. As time slowed down, the Queen spirit emerged from the gore and moved towards Kate.
A dark blue whole appeared on the side and a gloved hand reached out. "No, I will not permit this," | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | "Minister?" said the secretary. The minister was much too tired to look at her, to talk to her. He grunted a murmur.
"It's... the Queen. She's taken ill. We have about an hour until this hits the news."
"Taken ill?" It seemed unlikely at this point that anything could get into her immune system. The Iron Lady was after all, just a lady. Even she fell. The Queen on the other hand, she must be made of much stronger stuff. NASA grade material.
"Yes, minister, she's in a medically induced coma." The minster stood up. "Good Lord, a coma?" The minster rushed out the door, leaving his secretary behind.
The minister was the first to arrive, at least after family. He saw his old friend Willy, the next in line to the throne. Willy's wife was there, his brother, a few minor royals. But William, he was the most important man in the room, and perhaps soon to be the most important in the country.
"William, I came I soon as I heard. What's going on?" William, I noticed wasn't looking at me when he told me that she collapsed, fell down a few stairs. He looked towards a TV, the news had caught wind of an ambulance at Windsor.
From the doors of the Royal Wing, a team of nurses, and doctors had came into the lobby. They looked stressed, as if they were to announce bad news. "Prince William, we need you. Please follow us." I'll always remember the look Willy made at me. Not quite confusion, not quite stress.
The Royal Lobby, as it turns out, was much like any other hospital waiting room. The chairs were better, but nicer chairs didn't make the wait of news any easier. William cam back, by himself. He looked towards his wife and his brother. The three huddled together. Whispers.
William looked at me, his face tripping him. "I told them to do anything to save the Queen. They had ideas... but not permission."
Their ideas, it turns out, was to convert some of her organs into machine. Do what God couldn't. The Queen made a full recovery, I'm sure you're aware. She was better than new, upgraded to the best that biomech science could muster. Every year she would get tuned up. Her veins were replaced with wiring, her heart would be swapped for better power cells each year. At 124, she was more machine than human. The Titanium Lady we called her.
| "It is not my time yet" the Queen said in resignation. Her Majesty stared into the distance, her staff going on about their duties around her, oblivious that she spoke. Yet someone heard. Something did.
"He is not ready yet, it will break him." she said sadly. "It has to be the girl. There is no other way." She nodded in response to a voice only she heard. "Yes, I will make the arrangements. It still stands."
"Duchess Kate, it seems like being a grandmother suits you," the Queen said with a fond smile. She still looks so strong. She has it, I'm sure of it the Queen thought to herself. "Thank you ma'am. You called for me?" Kate asked with a smile and polite nod. "Yes, I'm sure you wonder why I called you to the Garden. You will learn with time, you are strong," Kate frowned, "I'm not sure I understand ma'am."
The air started to vibrate, a dull sound rose and a rotting stench permeated the air. "There must be balance. I will not permit this." Kate turned around, eyes widening, a light sheen on her forehead. "What's happening? Did you hear that ma'am? I'm sure something isn't right and what is that god awful smell?" The Queen remained seated, staring at Kate. "I am sorry for doing this to you." the Queen sighed and exploded. The Queen's body sprayed the area and bits of flesh and bone struck Kate. The vibrations increased and a groaning could be heard from the ground. Kate's face turned white and a scream rose to her mouth. As time slowed down, the Queen spirit emerged from the gore and moved towards Kate.
A dark blue whole appeared on the side and a gloved hand reached out. "No, I will not permit this," | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | James Wright tapped his finger on the desk absently.
Another dead end. He had made a career out of following the royal families movements and reporting any peculiarities.
Why they never seem to age was easily waved away in the way of Hollywood stars. Lotions, potions and the best doctors money could buy.
However there were certain things he could never explain. Why you'd never see any of them in public during a full moon. Why their clothes were so conservative at certain times to be called almost Mormon. Why they choose to marry unknown women only from families the queen approved of.
The Queen...
His musings always ended up there, the Queen.
Forty years of hounding her around and yet she never seemed to age a day.
A few clicks on his old fashioned iPod brought up the images for comparison. The very first on he had taken of her in 2010 side by side with her most recent one. Not even a wrinkle added or a hair lost during all that time.
James smiled at the remembrance. He was fresh out of collage then with a head full of dreams, not to mention dark black hair he thought wistfully. He had established himself in the industry, met his wife during a conference and she had gaven him thirty years and two strong boys.
All that was gone now, He was alone in his apartment surrounded by the ghosts of the past. Yet here was the Queen, His Queen. The same as ever. Unchanged by the passage of time. Didn't seem right somehow.
Theories popped up now and again but the media did it's best to either bury or ridicule them.
As he checked the forums for the latest gossip on the topic he got a little ding alerting him to receiving new mail.
Checking the sender's name he raised an eyebrow. He hadn't thought he'd hear from that young lady again, she was at best a long shot but...
He quickly opened the message and started reading.
**James Wright age 67 was found dead in his apartment on the 13th. Police suspect that the man walked in while a robbery was taking place and had a heart attack on the spot. All electronics and valuables were removed.**
| "It is not my time yet" the Queen said in resignation. Her Majesty stared into the distance, her staff going on about their duties around her, oblivious that she spoke. Yet someone heard. Something did.
"He is not ready yet, it will break him." she said sadly. "It has to be the girl. There is no other way." She nodded in response to a voice only she heard. "Yes, I will make the arrangements. It still stands."
"Duchess Kate, it seems like being a grandmother suits you," the Queen said with a fond smile. She still looks so strong. She has it, I'm sure of it the Queen thought to herself. "Thank you ma'am. You called for me?" Kate asked with a smile and polite nod. "Yes, I'm sure you wonder why I called you to the Garden. You will learn with time, you are strong," Kate frowned, "I'm not sure I understand ma'am."
The air started to vibrate, a dull sound rose and a rotting stench permeated the air. "There must be balance. I will not permit this." Kate turned around, eyes widening, a light sheen on her forehead. "What's happening? Did you hear that ma'am? I'm sure something isn't right and what is that god awful smell?" The Queen remained seated, staring at Kate. "I am sorry for doing this to you." the Queen sighed and exploded. The Queen's body sprayed the area and bits of flesh and bone struck Kate. The vibrations increased and a groaning could be heard from the ground. Kate's face turned white and a scream rose to her mouth. As time slowed down, the Queen spirit emerged from the gore and moved towards Kate.
A dark blue whole appeared on the side and a gloved hand reached out. "No, I will not permit this," | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | No one questioned it when the national anthem became a mandatory part of the school day for children across the UK in 2020. It seemed like a positive act from parliament, designed to strengthen the bonds between the various cultures who call this island their home.
Five years later this act was extended, to enforce a national anthem break as part of the working day. When rushed through this amendment was initially met with skepticism, however the act did ensure that everyone would receive an extra 20 minute paid break each day. It seemed like a joke to most, 'an easy way to start the day' was the general consensus.
Twenty years later and we have an entire generation who are used to the daily routine, they don't know any different. They've been singing it once a day since their first day at school, this is the norm for them. There are many still alive for whom this hasn't always been the norm, infact they only used to take part for 'the memes'. To get the extra 20 minute paid break, pretend to sing along to the country wide broadcast. After all the anthem didn't last longer than 5 minutes, plenty of time to get outside for some deserved vapourised nicotine whilst also being renumerated.
Five years later and It's those who remebered the way it used to be, the fact that this was never meant to be more than a joke to them. They became suspicious, it didn't help that the queens health was appearing to improve compared to their own, despite her being over 60 years their senior now. So they stopped, refused to sing those words anymore, that's when the mandatory flu shot for those aged 50 or over was introduced. | "It is not my time yet" the Queen said in resignation. Her Majesty stared into the distance, her staff going on about their duties around her, oblivious that she spoke. Yet someone heard. Something did.
"He is not ready yet, it will break him." she said sadly. "It has to be the girl. There is no other way." She nodded in response to a voice only she heard. "Yes, I will make the arrangements. It still stands."
"Duchess Kate, it seems like being a grandmother suits you," the Queen said with a fond smile. She still looks so strong. She has it, I'm sure of it the Queen thought to herself. "Thank you ma'am. You called for me?" Kate asked with a smile and polite nod. "Yes, I'm sure you wonder why I called you to the Garden. You will learn with time, you are strong," Kate frowned, "I'm not sure I understand ma'am."
The air started to vibrate, a dull sound rose and a rotting stench permeated the air. "There must be balance. I will not permit this." Kate turned around, eyes widening, a light sheen on her forehead. "What's happening? Did you hear that ma'am? I'm sure something isn't right and what is that god awful smell?" The Queen remained seated, staring at Kate. "I am sorry for doing this to you." the Queen sighed and exploded. The Queen's body sprayed the area and bits of flesh and bone struck Kate. The vibrations increased and a groaning could be heard from the ground. Kate's face turned white and a scream rose to her mouth. As time slowed down, the Queen spirit emerged from the gore and moved towards Kate.
A dark blue whole appeared on the side and a gloved hand reached out. "No, I will not permit this," | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | It's been 15 generations since the legend was passed down to me. That our God mother was truly a vampire. I didn't believe it at first after my mother told me the story. My dad verified it too. He said that his father and his father's father confirmed the same thing. She just never aged past a certain point.
I had my doubts as well. Sometimes I would forget that the Queen had stopped aging. Nobody else acted like it was strange. I've seen housekeepers and servants grow old however. I've seen myself grow older as well.
Still though, as time has passed...she keeps me well clothed and fed. I've always given the time of day with her, and accompany her on long walks around the royal garden. They even recently did a new documentary on the wildlife here. I love this place.
When I am left to ponder about the important things in life, my thoughts usually shift over to the food. Food is delicious, and the Queen provides generously. I also have to thank the datalinks which I used to check up on my messages this morning. Willow the Eighth suggested to me that the Queen might actually be a vampire. Wow. Much suspense. Whoops. I should log off as I see the Queen is coming. I'll have to investigate this new hypothesis from Willow later. Minimize all.
"Who's a good boy? Yes you arrre. Yes youuu arree! Here's your treats! Yum yum yummy!"
ARF ARF ARF YIIPPP I NEED THE TREATS IN MY MOUF.
Damn I love being a Corgi. | "It is not my time yet" the Queen said in resignation. Her Majesty stared into the distance, her staff going on about their duties around her, oblivious that she spoke. Yet someone heard. Something did.
"He is not ready yet, it will break him." she said sadly. "It has to be the girl. There is no other way." She nodded in response to a voice only she heard. "Yes, I will make the arrangements. It still stands."
"Duchess Kate, it seems like being a grandmother suits you," the Queen said with a fond smile. She still looks so strong. She has it, I'm sure of it the Queen thought to herself. "Thank you ma'am. You called for me?" Kate asked with a smile and polite nod. "Yes, I'm sure you wonder why I called you to the Garden. You will learn with time, you are strong," Kate frowned, "I'm not sure I understand ma'am."
The air started to vibrate, a dull sound rose and a rotting stench permeated the air. "There must be balance. I will not permit this." Kate turned around, eyes widening, a light sheen on her forehead. "What's happening? Did you hear that ma'am? I'm sure something isn't right and what is that god awful smell?" The Queen remained seated, staring at Kate. "I am sorry for doing this to you." the Queen sighed and exploded. The Queen's body sprayed the area and bits of flesh and bone struck Kate. The vibrations increased and a groaning could be heard from the ground. Kate's face turned white and a scream rose to her mouth. As time slowed down, the Queen spirit emerged from the gore and moved towards Kate.
A dark blue whole appeared on the side and a gloved hand reached out. "No, I will not permit this," | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | Quick edit for readability: a lot of comments are telling me the time skips aren't showing up on mobile, since you can't see the break lines. So I'll just add in dates.
Westminster Palace, 2050
Rodney Bradley eased himself to a stand and felt a series of clicks in his left knee. He straightened his back to a chorus of complaints from his body, and hooked his worn oaken cane with his left hand before shuffling across his office towards the window. The sun was low in the sky in the city high rises beyond Parliament Square. Another day lost to the grind of trying to keep his country moving.
Thirty years in politics could leave a man weathered down to his core. Brexit, the Second and Third Scottish Referendums, the Korean Crisis, Walexit. Rodney's spirit was as weathered and battered as they came, but that weathering revealed a solid stone beneath. Labour's MPs had entrusted him with Prime Minister job three years ago, and he'd aged as much in that time as he had in the other twenty seven years.
Unlike someone else.
When the queen outlived her own son, it had been newsworthy, but not necessary inhuman. Prince Charles had succumbed to a heart attack at the ripe old age of 73. Not quite seeing his mother's hundredth birthday. Rodney quirked half a smile at such a seemingly morbid memory. That had been a day to change his life.
------------------------------------------
Westminster Palace, 2022
He was late, again. Curse it. First year MPs were somewhat frowned upon if they couldn't bother attending meetings, and a face to face with the shadow cabinet secretary of health was by far his most important legislative assignment on the month. Great time to get lost.
He ran a broad hand through the thick brown hair on his head, beginning to grow too long, as his steps carried him through Westminster. His phone buzzed in his pocket, doubtlessly an update on Prince Charles health. The entire nation hung on the man's labored breathing and arrhythmic heartbeat; the national mood as erratic as the dying man's pulse. Charles had been a fixture of Bradley's life, but William had always been his prince. Being of an age to William's younger brother had that certain affect on he and his generation.
Finally his feet carried him before a nondescript door bearing the correct numbers, and pushed it open.
The first shock was that more than one individual awaited him, the second shock was that one of the extras was a prince.
"Sit down, Rodney." Chimed Jon Ashworth, the broad and charming Shadow Secretary of Health. His black hairs fading to gray, "We're glad you're here. It's time to get started."
Prince Phillip leaned forward, his frail body clearly pushed near its limit just to be here in Westminster, "A pleasure to meet you sir, forgive me if we must be brief, but I should be at the Prince's side come the death, so we lack time for proper courtesy." He nodded at Ashworth, his perpetual jovial smile fading to a frown, "With Charles death I'm afraid the work must pass from me directly to William and Harry. They'll need some help," Phillip waved at the sparse handful of politicians in the room, "those in the know have recommended you. So, without further ado, I must ask you: will you help us to stop the love of my life?"
Presumably, the world kept spinning for the next few seconds. Street vendors throughout London continued passing off questionable kebab to unsuspecting tourists, mind the gap messages droned throughout the subways of the United Kingdom. For all the good that knowledge did Rodney it might as well have been a teacup in orbit around Jupiter.
"I'm sorry sir, I can't have heard you correctly." Rodney tried to keep his voice steady, his tone respectful. Phillip was still the Prince Consort, and a nearly hundred year old man. Hardly someone to shout down.
"I'm afraid you did, son." Phillip said, not unkindly, but distracted. "I realized the issue myself some years back, but the queen is a tough one to crack. I'm still not sure how she does it."
Ashworth reached to a neat pile of folders in front of him, pulling from the top one of the meme posters that had risen to prominence in the UK over the past decade. *Long Live the Queen* was scrolled across it in blocky print, an off red rendition of the crown adorning the top of the page. Ashworth put a finger near his lips, "Say the words not. We know that much. Somehow, she draws power from them, longevity. With them she is to be immortal."
Rodney's face must have been a study in confusion as he stared at the men, "But she's... she's old, obviously. Nearing 100. She looks it to."
"A clever bit of vanity," spat Philip. "She hasn't aged a day in thirty years, Charles and I knew that much, at least. What we never could figure out was how to broach the subject without being sent to the looney bin." Philip waved his hand weakly, and a security guard Rodney had barely seen stepped forward, taking grip of the Prince-Consort's wheelchair, "I must be there at the death. Good day gentlemen, hopefully we shall speak further some day."
Ashworth smiled at the retreating pair, then turned his calm gaze onto Rodney, "Welcome to the circus."
-----------------
Westminster Palace 2050
As Rodney gazed out the window leaning heavily on the cane, he heard a slight commotion at the door to his office. But a familiar one. The rasping sounds of old cow leather on carpet, a steel cane tapping out a staccato rhythm before the little wiry man he couldn't yet see. The stopper being pulled on the bottle of gin sitting at his desk, a frown at the sound of the stopper being returned too soon, "Come now Jon, I assume you intend to pour two."
Ashworth's chuckle covered up the sound of the second pour, but a glass was set on his windowsill an appropriate time later, as the ancient and wiry MP took up his standard position just on Bradley's left. They cut an interesting pair, he'd run heavy in his youth, and only grown heavier since. The stress of politicking and secret societies may have weathered his spirit to hard stone, but it had softened his belly to a warm jello. Jon had been the opposite, going days and sometimes weeks with little to no food or rest. Bradley couldn't prove it, but he suspected his friend had turned to darker substances at times to keep him going. But they had fought.
They hadn't won, of course. The queen wouldn't be celebrating her birthday yet again if they had, but the bitch knew she was in a battle.
"Long live the king," muttered Ashworth around his first draw of the gin.
"I'll drink to that, even if it is illegal." Bradley echoed, throwing back the fire as the sun dropped behind the statue of Churchill. Another day indeed.
| "It is not my time yet" the Queen said in resignation. Her Majesty stared into the distance, her staff going on about their duties around her, oblivious that she spoke. Yet someone heard. Something did.
"He is not ready yet, it will break him." she said sadly. "It has to be the girl. There is no other way." She nodded in response to a voice only she heard. "Yes, I will make the arrangements. It still stands."
"Duchess Kate, it seems like being a grandmother suits you," the Queen said with a fond smile. She still looks so strong. She has it, I'm sure of it the Queen thought to herself. "Thank you ma'am. You called for me?" Kate asked with a smile and polite nod. "Yes, I'm sure you wonder why I called you to the Garden. You will learn with time, you are strong," Kate frowned, "I'm not sure I understand ma'am."
The air started to vibrate, a dull sound rose and a rotting stench permeated the air. "There must be balance. I will not permit this." Kate turned around, eyes widening, a light sheen on her forehead. "What's happening? Did you hear that ma'am? I'm sure something isn't right and what is that god awful smell?" The Queen remained seated, staring at Kate. "I am sorry for doing this to you." the Queen sighed and exploded. The Queen's body sprayed the area and bits of flesh and bone struck Kate. The vibrations increased and a groaning could be heard from the ground. Kate's face turned white and a scream rose to her mouth. As time slowed down, the Queen spirit emerged from the gore and moved towards Kate.
A dark blue whole appeared on the side and a gloved hand reached out. "No, I will not permit this," | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | "Minister?" said the secretary. The minister was much too tired to look at her, to talk to her. He grunted a murmur.
"It's... the Queen. She's taken ill. We have about an hour until this hits the news."
"Taken ill?" It seemed unlikely at this point that anything could get into her immune system. The Iron Lady was after all, just a lady. Even she fell. The Queen on the other hand, she must be made of much stronger stuff. NASA grade material.
"Yes, minister, she's in a medically induced coma." The minster stood up. "Good Lord, a coma?" The minster rushed out the door, leaving his secretary behind.
The minister was the first to arrive, at least after family. He saw his old friend Willy, the next in line to the throne. Willy's wife was there, his brother, a few minor royals. But William, he was the most important man in the room, and perhaps soon to be the most important in the country.
"William, I came I soon as I heard. What's going on?" William, I noticed wasn't looking at me when he told me that she collapsed, fell down a few stairs. He looked towards a TV, the news had caught wind of an ambulance at Windsor.
From the doors of the Royal Wing, a team of nurses, and doctors had came into the lobby. They looked stressed, as if they were to announce bad news. "Prince William, we need you. Please follow us." I'll always remember the look Willy made at me. Not quite confusion, not quite stress.
The Royal Lobby, as it turns out, was much like any other hospital waiting room. The chairs were better, but nicer chairs didn't make the wait of news any easier. William cam back, by himself. He looked towards his wife and his brother. The three huddled together. Whispers.
William looked at me, his face tripping him. "I told them to do anything to save the Queen. They had ideas... but not permission."
Their ideas, it turns out, was to convert some of her organs into machine. Do what God couldn't. The Queen made a full recovery, I'm sure you're aware. She was better than new, upgraded to the best that biomech science could muster. Every year she would get tuned up. Her veins were replaced with wiring, her heart would be swapped for better power cells each year. At 124, she was more machine than human. The Titanium Lady we called her.
| Today was going to be the most exciting day of Brandon Grayson's life. The crowning moment of his career, so to speak. True, he said this to himself almost every day, but this one seemed unlikely to be topped. In fact, it seemed almost unreal.
Brandon was a geneticist by trade. Geneticists worked to fight diseases, to improve human health, and ultimately to prolong life itself. Of these, Brandon only stepped in at the end of the line. He worked with the people who *didn't* die when you'd reasonably expect them to, the men and women to took aging to an almost superhuman level, living to be over 110 years old. Befittingly, they were called supercentenarians.
A few years ago, he'd also thought he had the scoop of his life. He'd been working with this woman who lived in a fishing village on a remote Japanese island, for over twelve years. Longer than he had ever worked with anyone. And then the seemingly impossible happened: she celebrated her birthday again. Suddenly the whole world's press was dying (sorry about that) to get an interview with Brandon, for no one in recorded human history had ever lived to be 123 years old. She had broken a streak of half a century, when in 1997 Jeanne Calment of France celebrated her 122nd. Miss Calment was the stuff of legends: she had met Van Gogh as a young girl, she was surprisingly lucid in her advancing years, but perhaps most elusively -- she had died before the middle-aged Brandon was even born. And then one own turned out to the one to one-up her.
She was dead within months, of course.
Well, that was part of the job. Brandon and his co-workers were the kind of people who lived their life in a perpetual state of mid-life crisis. Many had been through some kind of trauma, be it a close shave with death or a childhood memory lodged deep. Others just had a fascination with death, like Brandon. In the office, it was customary to blast "Another One Bites the Dust" whenever it happened, the remix depending on whoever was closest with the deceased (or closest to the speakers).
So naturally, after the pomp and circumstance of the new Calment was over, they'd all assumed this was the one to their grandchildren about. The first person to reach 124 might not even be alive today. The world's oldest skipped from 1923 to '25, and soon to 1926. And then...
Now Brandon found himself in Buckingham Palace. Elizabeth, Queen of the Commonwealth, had always been a bit too off-limits for them. Fourteen years earlier, a young Brandon had gleefully prepared a special invitation letter for Her Majesty, and if she'd like to work with us please, but the Crown returned only a curt refusal. As the years wore on, they pressed for an interview again and again, as the Queen's age rose to ever more ridiculous heights, but she became increasingly private.
Last summer, a BBC Special was broadcast to commemorate her accession as the world's oldest living human. An obituary cleverly disguised as a celebration. Most notable thing about it was the discussion generated by Prince William's comments about the Queen being in the past tense. Conspiracies abounded, some more outlandish than the other. People questioned whether the 67-year old Crown Prince wasn't to old to accede to the throne, and whether his more popular son George wouldn't be a better king.
But the thing everyone was in a real pickle about was the Platinum Jubilee. In two years time, the Queen was to finish the 100th year of her reign. This had been a cause for national celebration since the 1970s, with the latest ones having been small-scale, hastily cobbled-up affairs because of nobody was certain she'd live to see the day. Mourning clothes were expected, especially as those who could remember a time *before* her reign began to die off.
"She's ready, sir."
A huge, ornate door opened before him. Light flooded in. The Queen, THE Queen, The Eternal Queen had finally relented and had made time for an interview. At one-hundred and twenty-four years old. He stood and up and hesitated to go in, it was so much. A small figure appeared out of the looming doorway.
"Come along now, we haven't got all day!" | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | No one questioned it when the national anthem became a mandatory part of the school day for children across the UK in 2020. It seemed like a positive act from parliament, designed to strengthen the bonds between the various cultures who call this island their home.
Five years later this act was extended, to enforce a national anthem break as part of the working day. When rushed through this amendment was initially met with skepticism, however the act did ensure that everyone would receive an extra 20 minute paid break each day. It seemed like a joke to most, 'an easy way to start the day' was the general consensus.
Twenty years later and we have an entire generation who are used to the daily routine, they don't know any different. They've been singing it once a day since their first day at school, this is the norm for them. There are many still alive for whom this hasn't always been the norm, infact they only used to take part for 'the memes'. To get the extra 20 minute paid break, pretend to sing along to the country wide broadcast. After all the anthem didn't last longer than 5 minutes, plenty of time to get outside for some deserved vapourised nicotine whilst also being renumerated.
Five years later and It's those who remebered the way it used to be, the fact that this was never meant to be more than a joke to them. They became suspicious, it didn't help that the queens health was appearing to improve compared to their own, despite her being over 60 years their senior now. So they stopped, refused to sing those words anymore, that's when the mandatory flu shot for those aged 50 or over was introduced. | Today was going to be the most exciting day of Brandon Grayson's life. The crowning moment of his career, so to speak. True, he said this to himself almost every day, but this one seemed unlikely to be topped. In fact, it seemed almost unreal.
Brandon was a geneticist by trade. Geneticists worked to fight diseases, to improve human health, and ultimately to prolong life itself. Of these, Brandon only stepped in at the end of the line. He worked with the people who *didn't* die when you'd reasonably expect them to, the men and women to took aging to an almost superhuman level, living to be over 110 years old. Befittingly, they were called supercentenarians.
A few years ago, he'd also thought he had the scoop of his life. He'd been working with this woman who lived in a fishing village on a remote Japanese island, for over twelve years. Longer than he had ever worked with anyone. And then the seemingly impossible happened: she celebrated her birthday again. Suddenly the whole world's press was dying (sorry about that) to get an interview with Brandon, for no one in recorded human history had ever lived to be 123 years old. She had broken a streak of half a century, when in 1997 Jeanne Calment of France celebrated her 122nd. Miss Calment was the stuff of legends: she had met Van Gogh as a young girl, she was surprisingly lucid in her advancing years, but perhaps most elusively -- she had died before the middle-aged Brandon was even born. And then one own turned out to the one to one-up her.
She was dead within months, of course.
Well, that was part of the job. Brandon and his co-workers were the kind of people who lived their life in a perpetual state of mid-life crisis. Many had been through some kind of trauma, be it a close shave with death or a childhood memory lodged deep. Others just had a fascination with death, like Brandon. In the office, it was customary to blast "Another One Bites the Dust" whenever it happened, the remix depending on whoever was closest with the deceased (or closest to the speakers).
So naturally, after the pomp and circumstance of the new Calment was over, they'd all assumed this was the one to their grandchildren about. The first person to reach 124 might not even be alive today. The world's oldest skipped from 1923 to '25, and soon to 1926. And then...
Now Brandon found himself in Buckingham Palace. Elizabeth, Queen of the Commonwealth, had always been a bit too off-limits for them. Fourteen years earlier, a young Brandon had gleefully prepared a special invitation letter for Her Majesty, and if she'd like to work with us please, but the Crown returned only a curt refusal. As the years wore on, they pressed for an interview again and again, as the Queen's age rose to ever more ridiculous heights, but she became increasingly private.
Last summer, a BBC Special was broadcast to commemorate her accession as the world's oldest living human. An obituary cleverly disguised as a celebration. Most notable thing about it was the discussion generated by Prince William's comments about the Queen being in the past tense. Conspiracies abounded, some more outlandish than the other. People questioned whether the 67-year old Crown Prince wasn't to old to accede to the throne, and whether his more popular son George wouldn't be a better king.
But the thing everyone was in a real pickle about was the Platinum Jubilee. In two years time, the Queen was to finish the 100th year of her reign. This had been a cause for national celebration since the 1970s, with the latest ones having been small-scale, hastily cobbled-up affairs because of nobody was certain she'd live to see the day. Mourning clothes were expected, especially as those who could remember a time *before* her reign began to die off.
"She's ready, sir."
A huge, ornate door opened before him. Light flooded in. The Queen, THE Queen, The Eternal Queen had finally relented and had made time for an interview. At one-hundred and twenty-four years old. He stood and up and hesitated to go in, it was so much. A small figure appeared out of the looming doorway.
"Come along now, we haven't got all day!" | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | It's been 15 generations since the legend was passed down to me. That our God mother was truly a vampire. I didn't believe it at first after my mother told me the story. My dad verified it too. He said that his father and his father's father confirmed the same thing. She just never aged past a certain point.
I had my doubts as well. Sometimes I would forget that the Queen had stopped aging. Nobody else acted like it was strange. I've seen housekeepers and servants grow old however. I've seen myself grow older as well.
Still though, as time has passed...she keeps me well clothed and fed. I've always given the time of day with her, and accompany her on long walks around the royal garden. They even recently did a new documentary on the wildlife here. I love this place.
When I am left to ponder about the important things in life, my thoughts usually shift over to the food. Food is delicious, and the Queen provides generously. I also have to thank the datalinks which I used to check up on my messages this morning. Willow the Eighth suggested to me that the Queen might actually be a vampire. Wow. Much suspense. Whoops. I should log off as I see the Queen is coming. I'll have to investigate this new hypothesis from Willow later. Minimize all.
"Who's a good boy? Yes you arrre. Yes youuu arree! Here's your treats! Yum yum yummy!"
ARF ARF ARF YIIPPP I NEED THE TREATS IN MY MOUF.
Damn I love being a Corgi. | Today was going to be the most exciting day of Brandon Grayson's life. The crowning moment of his career, so to speak. True, he said this to himself almost every day, but this one seemed unlikely to be topped. In fact, it seemed almost unreal.
Brandon was a geneticist by trade. Geneticists worked to fight diseases, to improve human health, and ultimately to prolong life itself. Of these, Brandon only stepped in at the end of the line. He worked with the people who *didn't* die when you'd reasonably expect them to, the men and women to took aging to an almost superhuman level, living to be over 110 years old. Befittingly, they were called supercentenarians.
A few years ago, he'd also thought he had the scoop of his life. He'd been working with this woman who lived in a fishing village on a remote Japanese island, for over twelve years. Longer than he had ever worked with anyone. And then the seemingly impossible happened: she celebrated her birthday again. Suddenly the whole world's press was dying (sorry about that) to get an interview with Brandon, for no one in recorded human history had ever lived to be 123 years old. She had broken a streak of half a century, when in 1997 Jeanne Calment of France celebrated her 122nd. Miss Calment was the stuff of legends: she had met Van Gogh as a young girl, she was surprisingly lucid in her advancing years, but perhaps most elusively -- she had died before the middle-aged Brandon was even born. And then one own turned out to the one to one-up her.
She was dead within months, of course.
Well, that was part of the job. Brandon and his co-workers were the kind of people who lived their life in a perpetual state of mid-life crisis. Many had been through some kind of trauma, be it a close shave with death or a childhood memory lodged deep. Others just had a fascination with death, like Brandon. In the office, it was customary to blast "Another One Bites the Dust" whenever it happened, the remix depending on whoever was closest with the deceased (or closest to the speakers).
So naturally, after the pomp and circumstance of the new Calment was over, they'd all assumed this was the one to their grandchildren about. The first person to reach 124 might not even be alive today. The world's oldest skipped from 1923 to '25, and soon to 1926. And then...
Now Brandon found himself in Buckingham Palace. Elizabeth, Queen of the Commonwealth, had always been a bit too off-limits for them. Fourteen years earlier, a young Brandon had gleefully prepared a special invitation letter for Her Majesty, and if she'd like to work with us please, but the Crown returned only a curt refusal. As the years wore on, they pressed for an interview again and again, as the Queen's age rose to ever more ridiculous heights, but she became increasingly private.
Last summer, a BBC Special was broadcast to commemorate her accession as the world's oldest living human. An obituary cleverly disguised as a celebration. Most notable thing about it was the discussion generated by Prince William's comments about the Queen being in the past tense. Conspiracies abounded, some more outlandish than the other. People questioned whether the 67-year old Crown Prince wasn't to old to accede to the throne, and whether his more popular son George wouldn't be a better king.
But the thing everyone was in a real pickle about was the Platinum Jubilee. In two years time, the Queen was to finish the 100th year of her reign. This had been a cause for national celebration since the 1970s, with the latest ones having been small-scale, hastily cobbled-up affairs because of nobody was certain she'd live to see the day. Mourning clothes were expected, especially as those who could remember a time *before* her reign began to die off.
"She's ready, sir."
A huge, ornate door opened before him. Light flooded in. The Queen, THE Queen, The Eternal Queen had finally relented and had made time for an interview. At one-hundred and twenty-four years old. He stood and up and hesitated to go in, it was so much. A small figure appeared out of the looming doorway.
"Come along now, we haven't got all day!" | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | Quick edit for readability: a lot of comments are telling me the time skips aren't showing up on mobile, since you can't see the break lines. So I'll just add in dates.
Westminster Palace, 2050
Rodney Bradley eased himself to a stand and felt a series of clicks in his left knee. He straightened his back to a chorus of complaints from his body, and hooked his worn oaken cane with his left hand before shuffling across his office towards the window. The sun was low in the sky in the city high rises beyond Parliament Square. Another day lost to the grind of trying to keep his country moving.
Thirty years in politics could leave a man weathered down to his core. Brexit, the Second and Third Scottish Referendums, the Korean Crisis, Walexit. Rodney's spirit was as weathered and battered as they came, but that weathering revealed a solid stone beneath. Labour's MPs had entrusted him with Prime Minister job three years ago, and he'd aged as much in that time as he had in the other twenty seven years.
Unlike someone else.
When the queen outlived her own son, it had been newsworthy, but not necessary inhuman. Prince Charles had succumbed to a heart attack at the ripe old age of 73. Not quite seeing his mother's hundredth birthday. Rodney quirked half a smile at such a seemingly morbid memory. That had been a day to change his life.
------------------------------------------
Westminster Palace, 2022
He was late, again. Curse it. First year MPs were somewhat frowned upon if they couldn't bother attending meetings, and a face to face with the shadow cabinet secretary of health was by far his most important legislative assignment on the month. Great time to get lost.
He ran a broad hand through the thick brown hair on his head, beginning to grow too long, as his steps carried him through Westminster. His phone buzzed in his pocket, doubtlessly an update on Prince Charles health. The entire nation hung on the man's labored breathing and arrhythmic heartbeat; the national mood as erratic as the dying man's pulse. Charles had been a fixture of Bradley's life, but William had always been his prince. Being of an age to William's younger brother had that certain affect on he and his generation.
Finally his feet carried him before a nondescript door bearing the correct numbers, and pushed it open.
The first shock was that more than one individual awaited him, the second shock was that one of the extras was a prince.
"Sit down, Rodney." Chimed Jon Ashworth, the broad and charming Shadow Secretary of Health. His black hairs fading to gray, "We're glad you're here. It's time to get started."
Prince Phillip leaned forward, his frail body clearly pushed near its limit just to be here in Westminster, "A pleasure to meet you sir, forgive me if we must be brief, but I should be at the Prince's side come the death, so we lack time for proper courtesy." He nodded at Ashworth, his perpetual jovial smile fading to a frown, "With Charles death I'm afraid the work must pass from me directly to William and Harry. They'll need some help," Phillip waved at the sparse handful of politicians in the room, "those in the know have recommended you. So, without further ado, I must ask you: will you help us to stop the love of my life?"
Presumably, the world kept spinning for the next few seconds. Street vendors throughout London continued passing off questionable kebab to unsuspecting tourists, mind the gap messages droned throughout the subways of the United Kingdom. For all the good that knowledge did Rodney it might as well have been a teacup in orbit around Jupiter.
"I'm sorry sir, I can't have heard you correctly." Rodney tried to keep his voice steady, his tone respectful. Phillip was still the Prince Consort, and a nearly hundred year old man. Hardly someone to shout down.
"I'm afraid you did, son." Phillip said, not unkindly, but distracted. "I realized the issue myself some years back, but the queen is a tough one to crack. I'm still not sure how she does it."
Ashworth reached to a neat pile of folders in front of him, pulling from the top one of the meme posters that had risen to prominence in the UK over the past decade. *Long Live the Queen* was scrolled across it in blocky print, an off red rendition of the crown adorning the top of the page. Ashworth put a finger near his lips, "Say the words not. We know that much. Somehow, she draws power from them, longevity. With them she is to be immortal."
Rodney's face must have been a study in confusion as he stared at the men, "But she's... she's old, obviously. Nearing 100. She looks it to."
"A clever bit of vanity," spat Philip. "She hasn't aged a day in thirty years, Charles and I knew that much, at least. What we never could figure out was how to broach the subject without being sent to the looney bin." Philip waved his hand weakly, and a security guard Rodney had barely seen stepped forward, taking grip of the Prince-Consort's wheelchair, "I must be there at the death. Good day gentlemen, hopefully we shall speak further some day."
Ashworth smiled at the retreating pair, then turned his calm gaze onto Rodney, "Welcome to the circus."
-----------------
Westminster Palace 2050
As Rodney gazed out the window leaning heavily on the cane, he heard a slight commotion at the door to his office. But a familiar one. The rasping sounds of old cow leather on carpet, a steel cane tapping out a staccato rhythm before the little wiry man he couldn't yet see. The stopper being pulled on the bottle of gin sitting at his desk, a frown at the sound of the stopper being returned too soon, "Come now Jon, I assume you intend to pour two."
Ashworth's chuckle covered up the sound of the second pour, but a glass was set on his windowsill an appropriate time later, as the ancient and wiry MP took up his standard position just on Bradley's left. They cut an interesting pair, he'd run heavy in his youth, and only grown heavier since. The stress of politicking and secret societies may have weathered his spirit to hard stone, but it had softened his belly to a warm jello. Jon had been the opposite, going days and sometimes weeks with little to no food or rest. Bradley couldn't prove it, but he suspected his friend had turned to darker substances at times to keep him going. But they had fought.
They hadn't won, of course. The queen wouldn't be celebrating her birthday yet again if they had, but the bitch knew she was in a battle.
"Long live the king," muttered Ashworth around his first draw of the gin.
"I'll drink to that, even if it is illegal." Bradley echoed, throwing back the fire as the sun dropped behind the statue of Churchill. Another day indeed.
| Today was going to be the most exciting day of Brandon Grayson's life. The crowning moment of his career, so to speak. True, he said this to himself almost every day, but this one seemed unlikely to be topped. In fact, it seemed almost unreal.
Brandon was a geneticist by trade. Geneticists worked to fight diseases, to improve human health, and ultimately to prolong life itself. Of these, Brandon only stepped in at the end of the line. He worked with the people who *didn't* die when you'd reasonably expect them to, the men and women to took aging to an almost superhuman level, living to be over 110 years old. Befittingly, they were called supercentenarians.
A few years ago, he'd also thought he had the scoop of his life. He'd been working with this woman who lived in a fishing village on a remote Japanese island, for over twelve years. Longer than he had ever worked with anyone. And then the seemingly impossible happened: she celebrated her birthday again. Suddenly the whole world's press was dying (sorry about that) to get an interview with Brandon, for no one in recorded human history had ever lived to be 123 years old. She had broken a streak of half a century, when in 1997 Jeanne Calment of France celebrated her 122nd. Miss Calment was the stuff of legends: she had met Van Gogh as a young girl, she was surprisingly lucid in her advancing years, but perhaps most elusively -- she had died before the middle-aged Brandon was even born. And then one own turned out to the one to one-up her.
She was dead within months, of course.
Well, that was part of the job. Brandon and his co-workers were the kind of people who lived their life in a perpetual state of mid-life crisis. Many had been through some kind of trauma, be it a close shave with death or a childhood memory lodged deep. Others just had a fascination with death, like Brandon. In the office, it was customary to blast "Another One Bites the Dust" whenever it happened, the remix depending on whoever was closest with the deceased (or closest to the speakers).
So naturally, after the pomp and circumstance of the new Calment was over, they'd all assumed this was the one to their grandchildren about. The first person to reach 124 might not even be alive today. The world's oldest skipped from 1923 to '25, and soon to 1926. And then...
Now Brandon found himself in Buckingham Palace. Elizabeth, Queen of the Commonwealth, had always been a bit too off-limits for them. Fourteen years earlier, a young Brandon had gleefully prepared a special invitation letter for Her Majesty, and if she'd like to work with us please, but the Crown returned only a curt refusal. As the years wore on, they pressed for an interview again and again, as the Queen's age rose to ever more ridiculous heights, but she became increasingly private.
Last summer, a BBC Special was broadcast to commemorate her accession as the world's oldest living human. An obituary cleverly disguised as a celebration. Most notable thing about it was the discussion generated by Prince William's comments about the Queen being in the past tense. Conspiracies abounded, some more outlandish than the other. People questioned whether the 67-year old Crown Prince wasn't to old to accede to the throne, and whether his more popular son George wouldn't be a better king.
But the thing everyone was in a real pickle about was the Platinum Jubilee. In two years time, the Queen was to finish the 100th year of her reign. This had been a cause for national celebration since the 1970s, with the latest ones having been small-scale, hastily cobbled-up affairs because of nobody was certain she'd live to see the day. Mourning clothes were expected, especially as those who could remember a time *before* her reign began to die off.
"She's ready, sir."
A huge, ornate door opened before him. Light flooded in. The Queen, THE Queen, The Eternal Queen had finally relented and had made time for an interview. At one-hundred and twenty-four years old. He stood and up and hesitated to go in, it was so much. A small figure appeared out of the looming doorway.
"Come along now, we haven't got all day!" | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | "Minister?" said the secretary. The minister was much too tired to look at her, to talk to her. He grunted a murmur.
"It's... the Queen. She's taken ill. We have about an hour until this hits the news."
"Taken ill?" It seemed unlikely at this point that anything could get into her immune system. The Iron Lady was after all, just a lady. Even she fell. The Queen on the other hand, she must be made of much stronger stuff. NASA grade material.
"Yes, minister, she's in a medically induced coma." The minster stood up. "Good Lord, a coma?" The minster rushed out the door, leaving his secretary behind.
The minister was the first to arrive, at least after family. He saw his old friend Willy, the next in line to the throne. Willy's wife was there, his brother, a few minor royals. But William, he was the most important man in the room, and perhaps soon to be the most important in the country.
"William, I came I soon as I heard. What's going on?" William, I noticed wasn't looking at me when he told me that she collapsed, fell down a few stairs. He looked towards a TV, the news had caught wind of an ambulance at Windsor.
From the doors of the Royal Wing, a team of nurses, and doctors had came into the lobby. They looked stressed, as if they were to announce bad news. "Prince William, we need you. Please follow us." I'll always remember the look Willy made at me. Not quite confusion, not quite stress.
The Royal Lobby, as it turns out, was much like any other hospital waiting room. The chairs were better, but nicer chairs didn't make the wait of news any easier. William cam back, by himself. He looked towards his wife and his brother. The three huddled together. Whispers.
William looked at me, his face tripping him. "I told them to do anything to save the Queen. They had ideas... but not permission."
Their ideas, it turns out, was to convert some of her organs into machine. Do what God couldn't. The Queen made a full recovery, I'm sure you're aware. She was better than new, upgraded to the best that biomech science could muster. Every year she would get tuned up. Her veins were replaced with wiring, her heart would be swapped for better power cells each year. At 124, she was more machine than human. The Titanium Lady we called her.
| "They're starting to figure out... We've been alive too long"
"Nonsense" The Queen spoke. "This is going just the way I wanted it to"
"Listen, we've both lived our grand lives. It's about time we went and lived one more humble. We could hide away in the mountains, or maybe in a small village in Asia. "
"Let's not get careless now. The world is within my grasp. While you've been out accruing 'popularity' for pretending to be some old harlet, I've been slowly manipulating the powers of each of the nations"
"That's not fair! I was once a kind old woman from the Midwest "
"Only because there was another old woman to take your place. "
"This is irrelevant! I demand that we go into hiding."
"After 120 years, I really expected more of you. Such a shame poor Betty was cut down in her prime." | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | James Wright tapped his finger on the desk absently.
Another dead end. He had made a career out of following the royal families movements and reporting any peculiarities.
Why they never seem to age was easily waved away in the way of Hollywood stars. Lotions, potions and the best doctors money could buy.
However there were certain things he could never explain. Why you'd never see any of them in public during a full moon. Why their clothes were so conservative at certain times to be called almost Mormon. Why they choose to marry unknown women only from families the queen approved of.
The Queen...
His musings always ended up there, the Queen.
Forty years of hounding her around and yet she never seemed to age a day.
A few clicks on his old fashioned iPod brought up the images for comparison. The very first on he had taken of her in 2010 side by side with her most recent one. Not even a wrinkle added or a hair lost during all that time.
James smiled at the remembrance. He was fresh out of collage then with a head full of dreams, not to mention dark black hair he thought wistfully. He had established himself in the industry, met his wife during a conference and she had gaven him thirty years and two strong boys.
All that was gone now, He was alone in his apartment surrounded by the ghosts of the past. Yet here was the Queen, His Queen. The same as ever. Unchanged by the passage of time. Didn't seem right somehow.
Theories popped up now and again but the media did it's best to either bury or ridicule them.
As he checked the forums for the latest gossip on the topic he got a little ding alerting him to receiving new mail.
Checking the sender's name he raised an eyebrow. He hadn't thought he'd hear from that young lady again, she was at best a long shot but...
He quickly opened the message and started reading.
**James Wright age 67 was found dead in his apartment on the 13th. Police suspect that the man walked in while a robbery was taking place and had a heart attack on the spot. All electronics and valuables were removed.**
| "They're starting to figure out... We've been alive too long"
"Nonsense" The Queen spoke. "This is going just the way I wanted it to"
"Listen, we've both lived our grand lives. It's about time we went and lived one more humble. We could hide away in the mountains, or maybe in a small village in Asia. "
"Let's not get careless now. The world is within my grasp. While you've been out accruing 'popularity' for pretending to be some old harlet, I've been slowly manipulating the powers of each of the nations"
"That's not fair! I was once a kind old woman from the Midwest "
"Only because there was another old woman to take your place. "
"This is irrelevant! I demand that we go into hiding."
"After 120 years, I really expected more of you. Such a shame poor Betty was cut down in her prime." | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | No one questioned it when the national anthem became a mandatory part of the school day for children across the UK in 2020. It seemed like a positive act from parliament, designed to strengthen the bonds between the various cultures who call this island their home.
Five years later this act was extended, to enforce a national anthem break as part of the working day. When rushed through this amendment was initially met with skepticism, however the act did ensure that everyone would receive an extra 20 minute paid break each day. It seemed like a joke to most, 'an easy way to start the day' was the general consensus.
Twenty years later and we have an entire generation who are used to the daily routine, they don't know any different. They've been singing it once a day since their first day at school, this is the norm for them. There are many still alive for whom this hasn't always been the norm, infact they only used to take part for 'the memes'. To get the extra 20 minute paid break, pretend to sing along to the country wide broadcast. After all the anthem didn't last longer than 5 minutes, plenty of time to get outside for some deserved vapourised nicotine whilst also being renumerated.
Five years later and It's those who remebered the way it used to be, the fact that this was never meant to be more than a joke to them. They became suspicious, it didn't help that the queens health was appearing to improve compared to their own, despite her being over 60 years their senior now. So they stopped, refused to sing those words anymore, that's when the mandatory flu shot for those aged 50 or over was introduced. | "They're starting to figure out... We've been alive too long"
"Nonsense" The Queen spoke. "This is going just the way I wanted it to"
"Listen, we've both lived our grand lives. It's about time we went and lived one more humble. We could hide away in the mountains, or maybe in a small village in Asia. "
"Let's not get careless now. The world is within my grasp. While you've been out accruing 'popularity' for pretending to be some old harlet, I've been slowly manipulating the powers of each of the nations"
"That's not fair! I was once a kind old woman from the Midwest "
"Only because there was another old woman to take your place. "
"This is irrelevant! I demand that we go into hiding."
"After 120 years, I really expected more of you. Such a shame poor Betty was cut down in her prime." | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | About 30 years ago Prince Charles died a very mysterious death. Some had said he was trying to overthrow the Queen only months before he died but most put that down to tabloid rumours.
30 years on and the Queen still reigns at the ripe old age of 122 with what seems like the enthusiasm of someone in peak physical condition.
My name is Alan Reef, I am a journalist and for the last 10 years I've made it my life's work to uncovering the secrets of the royal family. I do not publish these stories as I do not want end up like some of the royal families enemies. Namely, dead. So I've kept a low profile and made my name as a regular journalist just trying to get the real news out there to the masses. Today however is the day that I have been invite to a royal party and will receive an OBE for my contribution to my field.
My crisp new pin striped suit feels good on me as enter the palace grounds, the guards doing their usual rounds with their silly hats and uniforms that make them stand out like a rugby player on a tennis court. I'm can feel the excitement rising in me the closer I get to the ceremony. I'm so giddy I could giggle like a little school girl. Before I go in I have a quick double check that my trusty microphone, concealed within my thin spectacles is working. All I have to do click a small button on the side while I'm "cleaning" them and I record what I see and hear. I've been using this trick for years now and have never been caught. As a fail safe I've even had a wi-fi connection built in so I can upload the videos online if I have no other options. The world must see the truth after all.
During the ceremony the Queen is sat there in all her finery looking as regal as ever while each person receives whatever award they came to get. It's all very drab and very boring and I'm simply waiting for a moment that I can slip away to do some super sleuthing. My moment finally comes when I inform another boring award winner that I must relieve myself during the buffet section of the party.
I head towards the bathroom but instead take a different corridor and sneak through a door into a small courtyard, marble pillars holding up each corner of the room, a small square patch of grass with a circular fountain in the middle the only other things I can see. Alone by the looks of it. I decide it's time to start recording.
I'm not the only one that believes there's something up with the Queen. There are many others and many who actually work for the Royal family themselves. Which is why befriending some of these people has allowed me to gain access to the guards rotations and the placement of the cameras within the palace. I didn't get to where I am without being good at my job after all.
After many twists and turns and some real heart pounding moments I make it to my final destination, the queens bedroom! The giddy school girl feeling returns as I make my way into the room. At first glance it all looks normal but on closer inspection I can see some things are off. Too much dust on a make up drawer, a side table that looks almost new, as if it has never been opened and a book shelf that doesn't quite fit. I scan the shelf but see nothing out of place until I come to the end where a worn candle holder reveals some scuff marks on the wall. I check the candle holder and sure enough there is a catch on the back. I pull it back and pull the holder like a lever. The book shelf swings back to reveal a real life secret stair case. I'll be damned. An actual hidden pathway. I chuckle to myself at the absurdity of it all as I make my way down the stairs, recording everything as I go.
At the bottom of the stair case I am shocked and appalled to find bodies. Hundreds of them lined up with heart monitoring equipment. The bodies seem to be enclosed in some sort of vacuum packing plastic. I walk to the closest body, lying down on a cold steel gurney and find myself staring into the unseeing eyes of the dead Prince Charles himself.
A scuffle behind me alerts me too late to the danger I'm in, there's a sharp pain in my head and I black out.
End of part 1.
Hope you like it. I haven't proof read it so sorry if there's some bad mistakes in there.
[More?] | "They're starting to figure out... We've been alive too long"
"Nonsense" The Queen spoke. "This is going just the way I wanted it to"
"Listen, we've both lived our grand lives. It's about time we went and lived one more humble. We could hide away in the mountains, or maybe in a small village in Asia. "
"Let's not get careless now. The world is within my grasp. While you've been out accruing 'popularity' for pretending to be some old harlet, I've been slowly manipulating the powers of each of the nations"
"That's not fair! I was once a kind old woman from the Midwest "
"Only because there was another old woman to take your place. "
"This is irrelevant! I demand that we go into hiding."
"After 120 years, I really expected more of you. Such a shame poor Betty was cut down in her prime." | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | It's been 15 generations since the legend was passed down to me. That our God mother was truly a vampire. I didn't believe it at first after my mother told me the story. My dad verified it too. He said that his father and his father's father confirmed the same thing. She just never aged past a certain point.
I had my doubts as well. Sometimes I would forget that the Queen had stopped aging. Nobody else acted like it was strange. I've seen housekeepers and servants grow old however. I've seen myself grow older as well.
Still though, as time has passed...she keeps me well clothed and fed. I've always given the time of day with her, and accompany her on long walks around the royal garden. They even recently did a new documentary on the wildlife here. I love this place.
When I am left to ponder about the important things in life, my thoughts usually shift over to the food. Food is delicious, and the Queen provides generously. I also have to thank the datalinks which I used to check up on my messages this morning. Willow the Eighth suggested to me that the Queen might actually be a vampire. Wow. Much suspense. Whoops. I should log off as I see the Queen is coming. I'll have to investigate this new hypothesis from Willow later. Minimize all.
"Who's a good boy? Yes you arrre. Yes youuu arree! Here's your treats! Yum yum yummy!"
ARF ARF ARF YIIPPP I NEED THE TREATS IN MY MOUF.
Damn I love being a Corgi. | "They're starting to figure out... We've been alive too long"
"Nonsense" The Queen spoke. "This is going just the way I wanted it to"
"Listen, we've both lived our grand lives. It's about time we went and lived one more humble. We could hide away in the mountains, or maybe in a small village in Asia. "
"Let's not get careless now. The world is within my grasp. While you've been out accruing 'popularity' for pretending to be some old harlet, I've been slowly manipulating the powers of each of the nations"
"That's not fair! I was once a kind old woman from the Midwest "
"Only because there was another old woman to take your place. "
"This is irrelevant! I demand that we go into hiding."
"After 120 years, I really expected more of you. Such a shame poor Betty was cut down in her prime." | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | Quick edit for readability: a lot of comments are telling me the time skips aren't showing up on mobile, since you can't see the break lines. So I'll just add in dates.
Westminster Palace, 2050
Rodney Bradley eased himself to a stand and felt a series of clicks in his left knee. He straightened his back to a chorus of complaints from his body, and hooked his worn oaken cane with his left hand before shuffling across his office towards the window. The sun was low in the sky in the city high rises beyond Parliament Square. Another day lost to the grind of trying to keep his country moving.
Thirty years in politics could leave a man weathered down to his core. Brexit, the Second and Third Scottish Referendums, the Korean Crisis, Walexit. Rodney's spirit was as weathered and battered as they came, but that weathering revealed a solid stone beneath. Labour's MPs had entrusted him with Prime Minister job three years ago, and he'd aged as much in that time as he had in the other twenty seven years.
Unlike someone else.
When the queen outlived her own son, it had been newsworthy, but not necessary inhuman. Prince Charles had succumbed to a heart attack at the ripe old age of 73. Not quite seeing his mother's hundredth birthday. Rodney quirked half a smile at such a seemingly morbid memory. That had been a day to change his life.
------------------------------------------
Westminster Palace, 2022
He was late, again. Curse it. First year MPs were somewhat frowned upon if they couldn't bother attending meetings, and a face to face with the shadow cabinet secretary of health was by far his most important legislative assignment on the month. Great time to get lost.
He ran a broad hand through the thick brown hair on his head, beginning to grow too long, as his steps carried him through Westminster. His phone buzzed in his pocket, doubtlessly an update on Prince Charles health. The entire nation hung on the man's labored breathing and arrhythmic heartbeat; the national mood as erratic as the dying man's pulse. Charles had been a fixture of Bradley's life, but William had always been his prince. Being of an age to William's younger brother had that certain affect on he and his generation.
Finally his feet carried him before a nondescript door bearing the correct numbers, and pushed it open.
The first shock was that more than one individual awaited him, the second shock was that one of the extras was a prince.
"Sit down, Rodney." Chimed Jon Ashworth, the broad and charming Shadow Secretary of Health. His black hairs fading to gray, "We're glad you're here. It's time to get started."
Prince Phillip leaned forward, his frail body clearly pushed near its limit just to be here in Westminster, "A pleasure to meet you sir, forgive me if we must be brief, but I should be at the Prince's side come the death, so we lack time for proper courtesy." He nodded at Ashworth, his perpetual jovial smile fading to a frown, "With Charles death I'm afraid the work must pass from me directly to William and Harry. They'll need some help," Phillip waved at the sparse handful of politicians in the room, "those in the know have recommended you. So, without further ado, I must ask you: will you help us to stop the love of my life?"
Presumably, the world kept spinning for the next few seconds. Street vendors throughout London continued passing off questionable kebab to unsuspecting tourists, mind the gap messages droned throughout the subways of the United Kingdom. For all the good that knowledge did Rodney it might as well have been a teacup in orbit around Jupiter.
"I'm sorry sir, I can't have heard you correctly." Rodney tried to keep his voice steady, his tone respectful. Phillip was still the Prince Consort, and a nearly hundred year old man. Hardly someone to shout down.
"I'm afraid you did, son." Phillip said, not unkindly, but distracted. "I realized the issue myself some years back, but the queen is a tough one to crack. I'm still not sure how she does it."
Ashworth reached to a neat pile of folders in front of him, pulling from the top one of the meme posters that had risen to prominence in the UK over the past decade. *Long Live the Queen* was scrolled across it in blocky print, an off red rendition of the crown adorning the top of the page. Ashworth put a finger near his lips, "Say the words not. We know that much. Somehow, she draws power from them, longevity. With them she is to be immortal."
Rodney's face must have been a study in confusion as he stared at the men, "But she's... she's old, obviously. Nearing 100. She looks it to."
"A clever bit of vanity," spat Philip. "She hasn't aged a day in thirty years, Charles and I knew that much, at least. What we never could figure out was how to broach the subject without being sent to the looney bin." Philip waved his hand weakly, and a security guard Rodney had barely seen stepped forward, taking grip of the Prince-Consort's wheelchair, "I must be there at the death. Good day gentlemen, hopefully we shall speak further some day."
Ashworth smiled at the retreating pair, then turned his calm gaze onto Rodney, "Welcome to the circus."
-----------------
Westminster Palace 2050
As Rodney gazed out the window leaning heavily on the cane, he heard a slight commotion at the door to his office. But a familiar one. The rasping sounds of old cow leather on carpet, a steel cane tapping out a staccato rhythm before the little wiry man he couldn't yet see. The stopper being pulled on the bottle of gin sitting at his desk, a frown at the sound of the stopper being returned too soon, "Come now Jon, I assume you intend to pour two."
Ashworth's chuckle covered up the sound of the second pour, but a glass was set on his windowsill an appropriate time later, as the ancient and wiry MP took up his standard position just on Bradley's left. They cut an interesting pair, he'd run heavy in his youth, and only grown heavier since. The stress of politicking and secret societies may have weathered his spirit to hard stone, but it had softened his belly to a warm jello. Jon had been the opposite, going days and sometimes weeks with little to no food or rest. Bradley couldn't prove it, but he suspected his friend had turned to darker substances at times to keep him going. But they had fought.
They hadn't won, of course. The queen wouldn't be celebrating her birthday yet again if they had, but the bitch knew she was in a battle.
"Long live the king," muttered Ashworth around his first draw of the gin.
"I'll drink to that, even if it is illegal." Bradley echoed, throwing back the fire as the sun dropped behind the statue of Churchill. Another day indeed.
| "They're starting to figure out... We've been alive too long"
"Nonsense" The Queen spoke. "This is going just the way I wanted it to"
"Listen, we've both lived our grand lives. It's about time we went and lived one more humble. We could hide away in the mountains, or maybe in a small village in Asia. "
"Let's not get careless now. The world is within my grasp. While you've been out accruing 'popularity' for pretending to be some old harlet, I've been slowly manipulating the powers of each of the nations"
"That's not fair! I was once a kind old woman from the Midwest "
"Only because there was another old woman to take your place. "
"This is irrelevant! I demand that we go into hiding."
"After 120 years, I really expected more of you. Such a shame poor Betty was cut down in her prime." | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | No one questioned it when the national anthem became a mandatory part of the school day for children across the UK in 2020. It seemed like a positive act from parliament, designed to strengthen the bonds between the various cultures who call this island their home.
Five years later this act was extended, to enforce a national anthem break as part of the working day. When rushed through this amendment was initially met with skepticism, however the act did ensure that everyone would receive an extra 20 minute paid break each day. It seemed like a joke to most, 'an easy way to start the day' was the general consensus.
Twenty years later and we have an entire generation who are used to the daily routine, they don't know any different. They've been singing it once a day since their first day at school, this is the norm for them. There are many still alive for whom this hasn't always been the norm, infact they only used to take part for 'the memes'. To get the extra 20 minute paid break, pretend to sing along to the country wide broadcast. After all the anthem didn't last longer than 5 minutes, plenty of time to get outside for some deserved vapourised nicotine whilst also being renumerated.
Five years later and It's those who remebered the way it used to be, the fact that this was never meant to be more than a joke to them. They became suspicious, it didn't help that the queens health was appearing to improve compared to their own, despite her being over 60 years their senior now. So they stopped, refused to sing those words anymore, that's when the mandatory flu shot for those aged 50 or over was introduced. | James Wright tapped his finger on the desk absently.
Another dead end. He had made a career out of following the royal families movements and reporting any peculiarities.
Why they never seem to age was easily waved away in the way of Hollywood stars. Lotions, potions and the best doctors money could buy.
However there were certain things he could never explain. Why you'd never see any of them in public during a full moon. Why their clothes were so conservative at certain times to be called almost Mormon. Why they choose to marry unknown women only from families the queen approved of.
The Queen...
His musings always ended up there, the Queen.
Forty years of hounding her around and yet she never seemed to age a day.
A few clicks on his old fashioned iPod brought up the images for comparison. The very first on he had taken of her in 2010 side by side with her most recent one. Not even a wrinkle added or a hair lost during all that time.
James smiled at the remembrance. He was fresh out of collage then with a head full of dreams, not to mention dark black hair he thought wistfully. He had established himself in the industry, met his wife during a conference and she had gaven him thirty years and two strong boys.
All that was gone now, He was alone in his apartment surrounded by the ghosts of the past. Yet here was the Queen, His Queen. The same as ever. Unchanged by the passage of time. Didn't seem right somehow.
Theories popped up now and again but the media did it's best to either bury or ridicule them.
As he checked the forums for the latest gossip on the topic he got a little ding alerting him to receiving new mail.
Checking the sender's name he raised an eyebrow. He hadn't thought he'd hear from that young lady again, she was at best a long shot but...
He quickly opened the message and started reading.
**James Wright age 67 was found dead in his apartment on the 13th. Police suspect that the man walked in while a robbery was taking place and had a heart attack on the spot. All electronics and valuables were removed.**
| |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | It's been 15 generations since the legend was passed down to me. That our God mother was truly a vampire. I didn't believe it at first after my mother told me the story. My dad verified it too. He said that his father and his father's father confirmed the same thing. She just never aged past a certain point.
I had my doubts as well. Sometimes I would forget that the Queen had stopped aging. Nobody else acted like it was strange. I've seen housekeepers and servants grow old however. I've seen myself grow older as well.
Still though, as time has passed...she keeps me well clothed and fed. I've always given the time of day with her, and accompany her on long walks around the royal garden. They even recently did a new documentary on the wildlife here. I love this place.
When I am left to ponder about the important things in life, my thoughts usually shift over to the food. Food is delicious, and the Queen provides generously. I also have to thank the datalinks which I used to check up on my messages this morning. Willow the Eighth suggested to me that the Queen might actually be a vampire. Wow. Much suspense. Whoops. I should log off as I see the Queen is coming. I'll have to investigate this new hypothesis from Willow later. Minimize all.
"Who's a good boy? Yes you arrre. Yes youuu arree! Here's your treats! Yum yum yummy!"
ARF ARF ARF YIIPPP I NEED THE TREATS IN MY MOUF.
Damn I love being a Corgi. | James Wright tapped his finger on the desk absently.
Another dead end. He had made a career out of following the royal families movements and reporting any peculiarities.
Why they never seem to age was easily waved away in the way of Hollywood stars. Lotions, potions and the best doctors money could buy.
However there were certain things he could never explain. Why you'd never see any of them in public during a full moon. Why their clothes were so conservative at certain times to be called almost Mormon. Why they choose to marry unknown women only from families the queen approved of.
The Queen...
His musings always ended up there, the Queen.
Forty years of hounding her around and yet she never seemed to age a day.
A few clicks on his old fashioned iPod brought up the images for comparison. The very first on he had taken of her in 2010 side by side with her most recent one. Not even a wrinkle added or a hair lost during all that time.
James smiled at the remembrance. He was fresh out of collage then with a head full of dreams, not to mention dark black hair he thought wistfully. He had established himself in the industry, met his wife during a conference and she had gaven him thirty years and two strong boys.
All that was gone now, He was alone in his apartment surrounded by the ghosts of the past. Yet here was the Queen, His Queen. The same as ever. Unchanged by the passage of time. Didn't seem right somehow.
Theories popped up now and again but the media did it's best to either bury or ridicule them.
As he checked the forums for the latest gossip on the topic he got a little ding alerting him to receiving new mail.
Checking the sender's name he raised an eyebrow. He hadn't thought he'd hear from that young lady again, she was at best a long shot but...
He quickly opened the message and started reading.
**James Wright age 67 was found dead in his apartment on the 13th. Police suspect that the man walked in while a robbery was taking place and had a heart attack on the spot. All electronics and valuables were removed.**
| |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | Quick edit for readability: a lot of comments are telling me the time skips aren't showing up on mobile, since you can't see the break lines. So I'll just add in dates.
Westminster Palace, 2050
Rodney Bradley eased himself to a stand and felt a series of clicks in his left knee. He straightened his back to a chorus of complaints from his body, and hooked his worn oaken cane with his left hand before shuffling across his office towards the window. The sun was low in the sky in the city high rises beyond Parliament Square. Another day lost to the grind of trying to keep his country moving.
Thirty years in politics could leave a man weathered down to his core. Brexit, the Second and Third Scottish Referendums, the Korean Crisis, Walexit. Rodney's spirit was as weathered and battered as they came, but that weathering revealed a solid stone beneath. Labour's MPs had entrusted him with Prime Minister job three years ago, and he'd aged as much in that time as he had in the other twenty seven years.
Unlike someone else.
When the queen outlived her own son, it had been newsworthy, but not necessary inhuman. Prince Charles had succumbed to a heart attack at the ripe old age of 73. Not quite seeing his mother's hundredth birthday. Rodney quirked half a smile at such a seemingly morbid memory. That had been a day to change his life.
------------------------------------------
Westminster Palace, 2022
He was late, again. Curse it. First year MPs were somewhat frowned upon if they couldn't bother attending meetings, and a face to face with the shadow cabinet secretary of health was by far his most important legislative assignment on the month. Great time to get lost.
He ran a broad hand through the thick brown hair on his head, beginning to grow too long, as his steps carried him through Westminster. His phone buzzed in his pocket, doubtlessly an update on Prince Charles health. The entire nation hung on the man's labored breathing and arrhythmic heartbeat; the national mood as erratic as the dying man's pulse. Charles had been a fixture of Bradley's life, but William had always been his prince. Being of an age to William's younger brother had that certain affect on he and his generation.
Finally his feet carried him before a nondescript door bearing the correct numbers, and pushed it open.
The first shock was that more than one individual awaited him, the second shock was that one of the extras was a prince.
"Sit down, Rodney." Chimed Jon Ashworth, the broad and charming Shadow Secretary of Health. His black hairs fading to gray, "We're glad you're here. It's time to get started."
Prince Phillip leaned forward, his frail body clearly pushed near its limit just to be here in Westminster, "A pleasure to meet you sir, forgive me if we must be brief, but I should be at the Prince's side come the death, so we lack time for proper courtesy." He nodded at Ashworth, his perpetual jovial smile fading to a frown, "With Charles death I'm afraid the work must pass from me directly to William and Harry. They'll need some help," Phillip waved at the sparse handful of politicians in the room, "those in the know have recommended you. So, without further ado, I must ask you: will you help us to stop the love of my life?"
Presumably, the world kept spinning for the next few seconds. Street vendors throughout London continued passing off questionable kebab to unsuspecting tourists, mind the gap messages droned throughout the subways of the United Kingdom. For all the good that knowledge did Rodney it might as well have been a teacup in orbit around Jupiter.
"I'm sorry sir, I can't have heard you correctly." Rodney tried to keep his voice steady, his tone respectful. Phillip was still the Prince Consort, and a nearly hundred year old man. Hardly someone to shout down.
"I'm afraid you did, son." Phillip said, not unkindly, but distracted. "I realized the issue myself some years back, but the queen is a tough one to crack. I'm still not sure how she does it."
Ashworth reached to a neat pile of folders in front of him, pulling from the top one of the meme posters that had risen to prominence in the UK over the past decade. *Long Live the Queen* was scrolled across it in blocky print, an off red rendition of the crown adorning the top of the page. Ashworth put a finger near his lips, "Say the words not. We know that much. Somehow, she draws power from them, longevity. With them she is to be immortal."
Rodney's face must have been a study in confusion as he stared at the men, "But she's... she's old, obviously. Nearing 100. She looks it to."
"A clever bit of vanity," spat Philip. "She hasn't aged a day in thirty years, Charles and I knew that much, at least. What we never could figure out was how to broach the subject without being sent to the looney bin." Philip waved his hand weakly, and a security guard Rodney had barely seen stepped forward, taking grip of the Prince-Consort's wheelchair, "I must be there at the death. Good day gentlemen, hopefully we shall speak further some day."
Ashworth smiled at the retreating pair, then turned his calm gaze onto Rodney, "Welcome to the circus."
-----------------
Westminster Palace 2050
As Rodney gazed out the window leaning heavily on the cane, he heard a slight commotion at the door to his office. But a familiar one. The rasping sounds of old cow leather on carpet, a steel cane tapping out a staccato rhythm before the little wiry man he couldn't yet see. The stopper being pulled on the bottle of gin sitting at his desk, a frown at the sound of the stopper being returned too soon, "Come now Jon, I assume you intend to pour two."
Ashworth's chuckle covered up the sound of the second pour, but a glass was set on his windowsill an appropriate time later, as the ancient and wiry MP took up his standard position just on Bradley's left. They cut an interesting pair, he'd run heavy in his youth, and only grown heavier since. The stress of politicking and secret societies may have weathered his spirit to hard stone, but it had softened his belly to a warm jello. Jon had been the opposite, going days and sometimes weeks with little to no food or rest. Bradley couldn't prove it, but he suspected his friend had turned to darker substances at times to keep him going. But they had fought.
They hadn't won, of course. The queen wouldn't be celebrating her birthday yet again if they had, but the bitch knew she was in a battle.
"Long live the king," muttered Ashworth around his first draw of the gin.
"I'll drink to that, even if it is illegal." Bradley echoed, throwing back the fire as the sun dropped behind the statue of Churchill. Another day indeed.
| James Wright tapped his finger on the desk absently.
Another dead end. He had made a career out of following the royal families movements and reporting any peculiarities.
Why they never seem to age was easily waved away in the way of Hollywood stars. Lotions, potions and the best doctors money could buy.
However there were certain things he could never explain. Why you'd never see any of them in public during a full moon. Why their clothes were so conservative at certain times to be called almost Mormon. Why they choose to marry unknown women only from families the queen approved of.
The Queen...
His musings always ended up there, the Queen.
Forty years of hounding her around and yet she never seemed to age a day.
A few clicks on his old fashioned iPod brought up the images for comparison. The very first on he had taken of her in 2010 side by side with her most recent one. Not even a wrinkle added or a hair lost during all that time.
James smiled at the remembrance. He was fresh out of collage then with a head full of dreams, not to mention dark black hair he thought wistfully. He had established himself in the industry, met his wife during a conference and she had gaven him thirty years and two strong boys.
All that was gone now, He was alone in his apartment surrounded by the ghosts of the past. Yet here was the Queen, His Queen. The same as ever. Unchanged by the passage of time. Didn't seem right somehow.
Theories popped up now and again but the media did it's best to either bury or ridicule them.
As he checked the forums for the latest gossip on the topic he got a little ding alerting him to receiving new mail.
Checking the sender's name he raised an eyebrow. He hadn't thought he'd hear from that young lady again, she was at best a long shot but...
He quickly opened the message and started reading.
**James Wright age 67 was found dead in his apartment on the 13th. Police suspect that the man walked in while a robbery was taking place and had a heart attack on the spot. All electronics and valuables were removed.**
| |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | It's been 15 generations since the legend was passed down to me. That our God mother was truly a vampire. I didn't believe it at first after my mother told me the story. My dad verified it too. He said that his father and his father's father confirmed the same thing. She just never aged past a certain point.
I had my doubts as well. Sometimes I would forget that the Queen had stopped aging. Nobody else acted like it was strange. I've seen housekeepers and servants grow old however. I've seen myself grow older as well.
Still though, as time has passed...she keeps me well clothed and fed. I've always given the time of day with her, and accompany her on long walks around the royal garden. They even recently did a new documentary on the wildlife here. I love this place.
When I am left to ponder about the important things in life, my thoughts usually shift over to the food. Food is delicious, and the Queen provides generously. I also have to thank the datalinks which I used to check up on my messages this morning. Willow the Eighth suggested to me that the Queen might actually be a vampire. Wow. Much suspense. Whoops. I should log off as I see the Queen is coming. I'll have to investigate this new hypothesis from Willow later. Minimize all.
"Who's a good boy? Yes you arrre. Yes youuu arree! Here's your treats! Yum yum yummy!"
ARF ARF ARF YIIPPP I NEED THE TREATS IN MY MOUF.
Damn I love being a Corgi. | About 30 years ago Prince Charles died a very mysterious death. Some had said he was trying to overthrow the Queen only months before he died but most put that down to tabloid rumours.
30 years on and the Queen still reigns at the ripe old age of 122 with what seems like the enthusiasm of someone in peak physical condition.
My name is Alan Reef, I am a journalist and for the last 10 years I've made it my life's work to uncovering the secrets of the royal family. I do not publish these stories as I do not want end up like some of the royal families enemies. Namely, dead. So I've kept a low profile and made my name as a regular journalist just trying to get the real news out there to the masses. Today however is the day that I have been invite to a royal party and will receive an OBE for my contribution to my field.
My crisp new pin striped suit feels good on me as enter the palace grounds, the guards doing their usual rounds with their silly hats and uniforms that make them stand out like a rugby player on a tennis court. I'm can feel the excitement rising in me the closer I get to the ceremony. I'm so giddy I could giggle like a little school girl. Before I go in I have a quick double check that my trusty microphone, concealed within my thin spectacles is working. All I have to do click a small button on the side while I'm "cleaning" them and I record what I see and hear. I've been using this trick for years now and have never been caught. As a fail safe I've even had a wi-fi connection built in so I can upload the videos online if I have no other options. The world must see the truth after all.
During the ceremony the Queen is sat there in all her finery looking as regal as ever while each person receives whatever award they came to get. It's all very drab and very boring and I'm simply waiting for a moment that I can slip away to do some super sleuthing. My moment finally comes when I inform another boring award winner that I must relieve myself during the buffet section of the party.
I head towards the bathroom but instead take a different corridor and sneak through a door into a small courtyard, marble pillars holding up each corner of the room, a small square patch of grass with a circular fountain in the middle the only other things I can see. Alone by the looks of it. I decide it's time to start recording.
I'm not the only one that believes there's something up with the Queen. There are many others and many who actually work for the Royal family themselves. Which is why befriending some of these people has allowed me to gain access to the guards rotations and the placement of the cameras within the palace. I didn't get to where I am without being good at my job after all.
After many twists and turns and some real heart pounding moments I make it to my final destination, the queens bedroom! The giddy school girl feeling returns as I make my way into the room. At first glance it all looks normal but on closer inspection I can see some things are off. Too much dust on a make up drawer, a side table that looks almost new, as if it has never been opened and a book shelf that doesn't quite fit. I scan the shelf but see nothing out of place until I come to the end where a worn candle holder reveals some scuff marks on the wall. I check the candle holder and sure enough there is a catch on the back. I pull it back and pull the holder like a lever. The book shelf swings back to reveal a real life secret stair case. I'll be damned. An actual hidden pathway. I chuckle to myself at the absurdity of it all as I make my way down the stairs, recording everything as I go.
At the bottom of the stair case I am shocked and appalled to find bodies. Hundreds of them lined up with heart monitoring equipment. The bodies seem to be enclosed in some sort of vacuum packing plastic. I walk to the closest body, lying down on a cold steel gurney and find myself staring into the unseeing eyes of the dead Prince Charles himself.
A scuffle behind me alerts me too late to the danger I'm in, there's a sharp pain in my head and I black out.
End of part 1.
Hope you like it. I haven't proof read it so sorry if there's some bad mistakes in there.
[More?] | |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | Quick edit for readability: a lot of comments are telling me the time skips aren't showing up on mobile, since you can't see the break lines. So I'll just add in dates.
Westminster Palace, 2050
Rodney Bradley eased himself to a stand and felt a series of clicks in his left knee. He straightened his back to a chorus of complaints from his body, and hooked his worn oaken cane with his left hand before shuffling across his office towards the window. The sun was low in the sky in the city high rises beyond Parliament Square. Another day lost to the grind of trying to keep his country moving.
Thirty years in politics could leave a man weathered down to his core. Brexit, the Second and Third Scottish Referendums, the Korean Crisis, Walexit. Rodney's spirit was as weathered and battered as they came, but that weathering revealed a solid stone beneath. Labour's MPs had entrusted him with Prime Minister job three years ago, and he'd aged as much in that time as he had in the other twenty seven years.
Unlike someone else.
When the queen outlived her own son, it had been newsworthy, but not necessary inhuman. Prince Charles had succumbed to a heart attack at the ripe old age of 73. Not quite seeing his mother's hundredth birthday. Rodney quirked half a smile at such a seemingly morbid memory. That had been a day to change his life.
------------------------------------------
Westminster Palace, 2022
He was late, again. Curse it. First year MPs were somewhat frowned upon if they couldn't bother attending meetings, and a face to face with the shadow cabinet secretary of health was by far his most important legislative assignment on the month. Great time to get lost.
He ran a broad hand through the thick brown hair on his head, beginning to grow too long, as his steps carried him through Westminster. His phone buzzed in his pocket, doubtlessly an update on Prince Charles health. The entire nation hung on the man's labored breathing and arrhythmic heartbeat; the national mood as erratic as the dying man's pulse. Charles had been a fixture of Bradley's life, but William had always been his prince. Being of an age to William's younger brother had that certain affect on he and his generation.
Finally his feet carried him before a nondescript door bearing the correct numbers, and pushed it open.
The first shock was that more than one individual awaited him, the second shock was that one of the extras was a prince.
"Sit down, Rodney." Chimed Jon Ashworth, the broad and charming Shadow Secretary of Health. His black hairs fading to gray, "We're glad you're here. It's time to get started."
Prince Phillip leaned forward, his frail body clearly pushed near its limit just to be here in Westminster, "A pleasure to meet you sir, forgive me if we must be brief, but I should be at the Prince's side come the death, so we lack time for proper courtesy." He nodded at Ashworth, his perpetual jovial smile fading to a frown, "With Charles death I'm afraid the work must pass from me directly to William and Harry. They'll need some help," Phillip waved at the sparse handful of politicians in the room, "those in the know have recommended you. So, without further ado, I must ask you: will you help us to stop the love of my life?"
Presumably, the world kept spinning for the next few seconds. Street vendors throughout London continued passing off questionable kebab to unsuspecting tourists, mind the gap messages droned throughout the subways of the United Kingdom. For all the good that knowledge did Rodney it might as well have been a teacup in orbit around Jupiter.
"I'm sorry sir, I can't have heard you correctly." Rodney tried to keep his voice steady, his tone respectful. Phillip was still the Prince Consort, and a nearly hundred year old man. Hardly someone to shout down.
"I'm afraid you did, son." Phillip said, not unkindly, but distracted. "I realized the issue myself some years back, but the queen is a tough one to crack. I'm still not sure how she does it."
Ashworth reached to a neat pile of folders in front of him, pulling from the top one of the meme posters that had risen to prominence in the UK over the past decade. *Long Live the Queen* was scrolled across it in blocky print, an off red rendition of the crown adorning the top of the page. Ashworth put a finger near his lips, "Say the words not. We know that much. Somehow, she draws power from them, longevity. With them she is to be immortal."
Rodney's face must have been a study in confusion as he stared at the men, "But she's... she's old, obviously. Nearing 100. She looks it to."
"A clever bit of vanity," spat Philip. "She hasn't aged a day in thirty years, Charles and I knew that much, at least. What we never could figure out was how to broach the subject without being sent to the looney bin." Philip waved his hand weakly, and a security guard Rodney had barely seen stepped forward, taking grip of the Prince-Consort's wheelchair, "I must be there at the death. Good day gentlemen, hopefully we shall speak further some day."
Ashworth smiled at the retreating pair, then turned his calm gaze onto Rodney, "Welcome to the circus."
-----------------
Westminster Palace 2050
As Rodney gazed out the window leaning heavily on the cane, he heard a slight commotion at the door to his office. But a familiar one. The rasping sounds of old cow leather on carpet, a steel cane tapping out a staccato rhythm before the little wiry man he couldn't yet see. The stopper being pulled on the bottle of gin sitting at his desk, a frown at the sound of the stopper being returned too soon, "Come now Jon, I assume you intend to pour two."
Ashworth's chuckle covered up the sound of the second pour, but a glass was set on his windowsill an appropriate time later, as the ancient and wiry MP took up his standard position just on Bradley's left. They cut an interesting pair, he'd run heavy in his youth, and only grown heavier since. The stress of politicking and secret societies may have weathered his spirit to hard stone, but it had softened his belly to a warm jello. Jon had been the opposite, going days and sometimes weeks with little to no food or rest. Bradley couldn't prove it, but he suspected his friend had turned to darker substances at times to keep him going. But they had fought.
They hadn't won, of course. The queen wouldn't be celebrating her birthday yet again if they had, but the bitch knew she was in a battle.
"Long live the king," muttered Ashworth around his first draw of the gin.
"I'll drink to that, even if it is illegal." Bradley echoed, throwing back the fire as the sun dropped behind the statue of Churchill. Another day indeed.
| About 30 years ago Prince Charles died a very mysterious death. Some had said he was trying to overthrow the Queen only months before he died but most put that down to tabloid rumours.
30 years on and the Queen still reigns at the ripe old age of 122 with what seems like the enthusiasm of someone in peak physical condition.
My name is Alan Reef, I am a journalist and for the last 10 years I've made it my life's work to uncovering the secrets of the royal family. I do not publish these stories as I do not want end up like some of the royal families enemies. Namely, dead. So I've kept a low profile and made my name as a regular journalist just trying to get the real news out there to the masses. Today however is the day that I have been invite to a royal party and will receive an OBE for my contribution to my field.
My crisp new pin striped suit feels good on me as enter the palace grounds, the guards doing their usual rounds with their silly hats and uniforms that make them stand out like a rugby player on a tennis court. I'm can feel the excitement rising in me the closer I get to the ceremony. I'm so giddy I could giggle like a little school girl. Before I go in I have a quick double check that my trusty microphone, concealed within my thin spectacles is working. All I have to do click a small button on the side while I'm "cleaning" them and I record what I see and hear. I've been using this trick for years now and have never been caught. As a fail safe I've even had a wi-fi connection built in so I can upload the videos online if I have no other options. The world must see the truth after all.
During the ceremony the Queen is sat there in all her finery looking as regal as ever while each person receives whatever award they came to get. It's all very drab and very boring and I'm simply waiting for a moment that I can slip away to do some super sleuthing. My moment finally comes when I inform another boring award winner that I must relieve myself during the buffet section of the party.
I head towards the bathroom but instead take a different corridor and sneak through a door into a small courtyard, marble pillars holding up each corner of the room, a small square patch of grass with a circular fountain in the middle the only other things I can see. Alone by the looks of it. I decide it's time to start recording.
I'm not the only one that believes there's something up with the Queen. There are many others and many who actually work for the Royal family themselves. Which is why befriending some of these people has allowed me to gain access to the guards rotations and the placement of the cameras within the palace. I didn't get to where I am without being good at my job after all.
After many twists and turns and some real heart pounding moments I make it to my final destination, the queens bedroom! The giddy school girl feeling returns as I make my way into the room. At first glance it all looks normal but on closer inspection I can see some things are off. Too much dust on a make up drawer, a side table that looks almost new, as if it has never been opened and a book shelf that doesn't quite fit. I scan the shelf but see nothing out of place until I come to the end where a worn candle holder reveals some scuff marks on the wall. I check the candle holder and sure enough there is a catch on the back. I pull it back and pull the holder like a lever. The book shelf swings back to reveal a real life secret stair case. I'll be damned. An actual hidden pathway. I chuckle to myself at the absurdity of it all as I make my way down the stairs, recording everything as I go.
At the bottom of the stair case I am shocked and appalled to find bodies. Hundreds of them lined up with heart monitoring equipment. The bodies seem to be enclosed in some sort of vacuum packing plastic. I walk to the closest body, lying down on a cold steel gurney and find myself staring into the unseeing eyes of the dead Prince Charles himself.
A scuffle behind me alerts me too late to the danger I'm in, there's a sharp pain in my head and I black out.
End of part 1.
Hope you like it. I haven't proof read it so sorry if there's some bad mistakes in there.
[More?] | |
[WP] One day, the sun just disappeared. |
My eyes flash open at the sound of my alarm. I check the time, it is 9 a.m. Apparently I have been snoozing my phone’s alarm for the past hour. It’s not the first time I have snoozed alarms in my sleep.
The moment I take my hand out to open my curtains I feel the cold. It permeates the flesh of my hand within seconds. I quickly push the curtains aside and return my hand to the warmth of my bed. I look out the window, instead of a birds eye view of the city, all I see is a darkness so heavy and thick you would think a blanket has been thrown over the earth.
A deafening silence permeates my apartment. The sounds of traffic and humanity that lull me to sleep and form the backdrop to my life are conspicuously absent. There is no pale, white moon, there is no bright, shining sun. Only the stars wink in the distance, holding the secret of what has happened, unwilling to relinquish the gossip. I imagine them laughing at me in the heavens, silly, stupid, confused human, clueless to what has happened. And something *has* happened. That I am sure of. I do not know what, but my feeling of uneasiness has become panic. Something is very wrong. Still the stars twinkle knowingly, higher up in the darkness, the only indication that the night sky is still separate from the earth.
My heart beats rapidly as I consider possible explanations. Perhaps it is an eclipse? The screaming silence tells me that it is something else. I am dreaming, this is not real, I have gone insane. Insanity is preferable to the reality. The reality is this *is* what is, and I do not know why it is.
I take out my phone and dial my mother's number. There is no answer. I call my boyfriend, my sister, anyone, everyone but there is no answer. I get out of bed and attempt to switch on the light, but there is no power. I switch on the torch function on my phone and as quickly as I can, don layers of my warmest clothes: a bomber jacket, anorak, fur lined coat, three pairs of warm pants,3 pairs of thick socks and my winter boots. I have no time to worry about how comically large I probably look.
I meet no one as I shuffle down the flights of stairs. Outside, some cars are in the middle of the road, some are parked on the sides. There is frost everywhere. Thick frost, it glistens beautifully in the light of my torch. But I can only see where the light of my torch touches.
The first person I see is a homeless person. Crouched at the corner of the street. He or she appears to be shivering, I shuffle towards him and touch his shoulder, only to find his eyes glassy and unseeing. It must have been the wind, moving his clothes to and fro, instilling the imitation of life into a corpse.
Then, as if the veil has been lifted, I see them everywhere. People. Corpses. One man on a bicycle, a woman in a car with her head turned unnaturally backwards and a look of panic on her face. A father leaning over his fearful daughter in the process of buckling her seat. They are all frozen in action. Frozen in time.
They must have been fleeing, it seems all are frozen in hiding or in flight. Whatever has happened, it seems that I am the only survivor. I am no longer panicking, but I am in such splendid shock . I feel no grief for people I may have lost. I don’t know if anyone I love is lost, yet I am convinced that they are. What I feel is what I can only describe as a calm terror at the prospect of being the only one left. I walk back to my apartment, the eerie silence seeping into me faster than the cold.
I am not a survivor. I have never been a survivor. If I try to live, I will die soon. I do not want to be a survivor. I don’t know why it is so cold, or why I cannot find the sun. I don't know why it is so silent and whether I am alone or not. I can control nothing. I can predict nothing, except for what to do with myself. So, I do the only thing I can do. I take the bottle of sleeping pills I have hidden in the cabinet under the sink with the razors and the matches. I lie down in bed. I take two pills at a time for as long as I can and chew and chew, until I lose all feeling, and disappear.
*Critique is welcome :)*
| With a sharp suck and then a squish, the heavy observatory door closed behind Dr Maura Hannigan. She collapsed at her chair, immediately launching into keystroke after keystroke at her module. Jonathan lifted his head slowly to look at her go. She hadn’t even said hello.
“Are you seeing this shit?” She finally asked.
“Seeing what?”
“Look at the time. What time is it?”
“Its uhh.” Jonathan reached over to peer at the cracked screen on his iPhone.
“6:42 AM” he answered back to Maura.
“Exactly. 6:42. Sunrise was supposed to be at 6:35 today.”
“Well, I mean, it’s likely my phone is off by a few minutes anyway- “
“Sun*rise*, Jon. Sunrise. Not first light. The sun is supposed to above the horizon by now.” Jonathan peered through the window at the dark horizon.
“Wait, what?”
“Unless all our clocks are off by at least twenty minutes - unless the internet is somehow off by twenty minutes- fuck, I don’t know.”
“Wait, no, slow down, what the hell?”
“Exactly.”
“The sun’s late?”
“Well, I mean it’s late, or- “
“Or?”
Maura’s cell started moving across her desk as it buzzed. She caught it before it slipped off the edge.
“Yes? Mmh. You’re seeing it too? Yeah not showing up on anything. Did you call Tokyo?” Maura paused for a long while as the voice at the other end prattled on. “You’re fucking with me.” She said finally.
“What is it?” Jonathan asked.
“Okay, thanks Laura, get back to me as soon as you learn anything new. We’ll keep observing. Might want to contact Dr Benson. Or someone higher up. Christ, see if you can get this to the bloody president.” As soon as she hung up, she got up and rushed over to the fridge.
“What was it?”
“Its gone.” Maura said as she picked out a bottle of Heineken. She threw one to Jonathan, who barely caught it. “It’s bloody gone.”
“What is?”
“The Sun.”
“The Sun? As in our Sun?”
“Which Sun do you think?”
“Big yellow orb in the sky? Source of all life on this planet?”
“Mmh”
“Just gone?”
“Yep.” Maura drank a long gulp of beer.
“How in the hell…?” Maura shrugged and continued drinking. The sky seemed darker somehow. But Jonathan couldn’t see any stars.
“What happens now?”
“We can only theorize.” Maura sat back at her desk. “Not that we’ll have to for long. But that amount of gravity and heat just…. missing… first it’s going to get cold. Very fast. Then we’re gonna se all kinds of freaky weather anomalies…And then we’re gonna hurtle through empty space for all eternity. Oh fucking fucking fuck. Is this a dream? This has to be a dream.”
“Wait, is this just it?” Tears had begun to form in Jonathan’s eyes. He was finding it hard to breathe. “We’re all going to just die? And we wont even know why? Just, fuck…” He didn’t dare turn on the TV. Surely people would know by now. Surely there would be mass panic. People waking up to a dark morning only to freeze to death.
Maura got up from her desk. She walked slowly over to the whiteboard.
“Not…necessarily.” She began to write cautious words and calculations onto the board.
“What do you mean?”
“This…this doesn’t need to be it. Okay, so, the Sun is gone, but presumably…Yes…mmh. Okay, okay. We need to act fast.”
“Please, stop to explain at least a second so I can help.”
“Sorry, but I don’t know how long we have.. But I think…I think I can save us.”
| |
[WP] One day, the sun just disappeared. |
My eyes flash open at the sound of my alarm. I check the time, it is 9 a.m. Apparently I have been snoozing my phone’s alarm for the past hour. It’s not the first time I have snoozed alarms in my sleep.
The moment I take my hand out to open my curtains I feel the cold. It permeates the flesh of my hand within seconds. I quickly push the curtains aside and return my hand to the warmth of my bed. I look out the window, instead of a birds eye view of the city, all I see is a darkness so heavy and thick you would think a blanket has been thrown over the earth.
A deafening silence permeates my apartment. The sounds of traffic and humanity that lull me to sleep and form the backdrop to my life are conspicuously absent. There is no pale, white moon, there is no bright, shining sun. Only the stars wink in the distance, holding the secret of what has happened, unwilling to relinquish the gossip. I imagine them laughing at me in the heavens, silly, stupid, confused human, clueless to what has happened. And something *has* happened. That I am sure of. I do not know what, but my feeling of uneasiness has become panic. Something is very wrong. Still the stars twinkle knowingly, higher up in the darkness, the only indication that the night sky is still separate from the earth.
My heart beats rapidly as I consider possible explanations. Perhaps it is an eclipse? The screaming silence tells me that it is something else. I am dreaming, this is not real, I have gone insane. Insanity is preferable to the reality. The reality is this *is* what is, and I do not know why it is.
I take out my phone and dial my mother's number. There is no answer. I call my boyfriend, my sister, anyone, everyone but there is no answer. I get out of bed and attempt to switch on the light, but there is no power. I switch on the torch function on my phone and as quickly as I can, don layers of my warmest clothes: a bomber jacket, anorak, fur lined coat, three pairs of warm pants,3 pairs of thick socks and my winter boots. I have no time to worry about how comically large I probably look.
I meet no one as I shuffle down the flights of stairs. Outside, some cars are in the middle of the road, some are parked on the sides. There is frost everywhere. Thick frost, it glistens beautifully in the light of my torch. But I can only see where the light of my torch touches.
The first person I see is a homeless person. Crouched at the corner of the street. He or she appears to be shivering, I shuffle towards him and touch his shoulder, only to find his eyes glassy and unseeing. It must have been the wind, moving his clothes to and fro, instilling the imitation of life into a corpse.
Then, as if the veil has been lifted, I see them everywhere. People. Corpses. One man on a bicycle, a woman in a car with her head turned unnaturally backwards and a look of panic on her face. A father leaning over his fearful daughter in the process of buckling her seat. They are all frozen in action. Frozen in time.
They must have been fleeing, it seems all are frozen in hiding or in flight. Whatever has happened, it seems that I am the only survivor. I am no longer panicking, but I am in such splendid shock . I feel no grief for people I may have lost. I don’t know if anyone I love is lost, yet I am convinced that they are. What I feel is what I can only describe as a calm terror at the prospect of being the only one left. I walk back to my apartment, the eerie silence seeping into me faster than the cold.
I am not a survivor. I have never been a survivor. If I try to live, I will die soon. I do not want to be a survivor. I don’t know why it is so cold, or why I cannot find the sun. I don't know why it is so silent and whether I am alone or not. I can control nothing. I can predict nothing, except for what to do with myself. So, I do the only thing I can do. I take the bottle of sleeping pills I have hidden in the cabinet under the sink with the razors and the matches. I lie down in bed. I take two pills at a time for as long as I can and chew and chew, until I lose all feeling, and disappear.
*Critique is welcome :)*
| *Cyganus AT5 was a small planet roughly bigger than the moon, it was located at the perfect distance between two stars, it never revolved around any of the stars, it was held in place by their two powerful opposing gravitational forces, each struggling to pull Cyganus AT5 into its orbit, in an unrelenting cosmic battle of wills. The small brown planet only rotated on its axis, and it did so slowly, day lasted 76 hours and night was barely 21 hours on Cyganus AT5. The plants had leaves with bright green colors and stems that shimmered in a dark brown hue, there were entirely alien species of animals and plants on Cyganus, some them so alien you couldn't understand their purpose of existence, some of them with colors so intense and vivid they looked like something out of bicycle day.*
*On Cyganus AT5, our two suns hung in the sky blazing fiercely, like two great glaring eyes, scorching the planet and seering away any substance that wasn't tough enough to withstand their combined might. Inhabitants of Cyganus AT5 had evolved and adapted to the cycles of light and darkness, of hot and cold and emerged the dominant specie, we are called Cygans and like most living organisms on Cyganus AT5, we live underground, in massive labyrinths and huge complexes, like an highly evolved ant colony. We a humanoid shape, with powerful legs, that could propel us several feet in the air, we evolved that way to overcome the heavy gravitational pull on Cyganus.*
*We also have a thick layer of skin, covered with scales that reflected heat, this gave us the ability to withstand tremendous amounts of heat, we were wanted by fire stations all over the constellation. A typical Cygan can stay awake for 2 straight days , we are quite strong and most have a dark skin. Our fate changed suddenly one day, i will try to write down all that transpired on that night -*
It happened so quickly, it was a cold long night, on the Cyganus Deep Space observation station. Alarms went off all of a sudden, and warning lights flashed; the satellites and long scanners had discovered an unknown object that appeared seemingly out of no where. It heading straight for Cyganus AT5, at slightly over the speed of light. According to the planetary news commission: All long range scans on the object yielded no results.
Whatever it was, it came from a place beyond ours, it yielded negative results when a comparison scan was done, to compare its component elements with the know 1748 known elements on the Constellar periodic table. It was still a long way off, but our scientists quickly did the math. It would take this object 8 hours to get to Cyganus at the current speed. There was tension on the ground, the object was getting closer with each passing minute, and efforts to communicate with it proved abortive, it had no observable shape, and it absorbed light.
Authorities on had no choice but to send broadcasts to every other planet in the constellation, just in case any of them knew about the origins of the object, after over 3 hours, most of the planets who responded had no explanation or clues to what the object might be, some had even begun sending in their news crews to get good coverage of the Object when it got to Cyganus (from a safe distance of course).
Two hours to the expected arrival of the object, we deployed our Planetary Asteroid Defense (PAD) rig. It was a complicated device which operated around the Cyganus orbit, its function was to destroy very massive objects that might put the planet at risk, it was invented centuries ago, after we lost 30% of its planetary population to an asteroid impact.
The Planetary Asteroid Defense (PAD) worked by amplifying the heat from Cyganus AT5's two suns, and channeling it into a single beam of light, no one knows for sure how much energy is generated by the beam or if the PAD rig would still be functional after centuries of orbiting the planet. The fact that it had not been properly tested in reality didn't inspire much confidence.
The PAD rig Experts set to work, and to their relief the systems were still online and responding after more than 2 centuries of hibernation, they maneuvered the device to the optimum position and initiated the execution protocols. Slowly the heat reflective panels began to fold in and it began to absorb the sun's.
Meanwhile the Authorities continued to send broadcasts to the unknown object that defied technology and modern physics at the time. We clustered around our broadcast sets and peered into our telescopes, the object was now visible from the planet, and it looked like a black disc, it looked darker than the surrounding space, like it was more real than the world itself. People could only stare as the PAD rig orbited into position to intercept the object. The PAD began to glow as it absorbed more and more heat, and it's energy amplification mechanism (which the Cygans kept very secret ) began to excite the already heated up atoms creating greater pressure. The black disc grew bigger as it approached Cyganus AT5 and soon there were two objects visible in the skies both contrasting with themselves, and the background of space behind them.
The PAD continued to absorb heat from the two Suns, the Rig scientists needed to get as much impact from the first strike (since it takes over 12 hrs before the PAD can be reused), soon it became the brightest object in the sky, while the two suns gradually dimmed - Day time was quickly turning into darkness. The engineers targeted the beam at the very centered of the disc, where they felt it would do the most harm, and fired. The PAD released all the heat it had absorbed and amplified from the Suns into a single beam, and sent it hurling towards the disc at light speed. In a few short seconds the beam and the disc collided. People watched the skies to see what would happen next, and to their disappointment, the disc simply absorbed all the energy without even slowing down.
All hell broke loose as we realized that our last line of defense had been beaten aside like it wasn't even there. Darkness spread all over the bi-solar system as our two suns hung limply in the sky growing dimmer by the minute. The tension on the whole planet was palpable, temples were filled to capacity and some Cygans with good self preservation instincts began to go deep down underground.
*I am heading underground, to wait and see how things unfold. Even we survive meeting with this unknown mass, we might have inadvertently destroyed our two suns. Until i can write again, this might be my last story.*
*- Kelechi EO, Son of Vincent of District 7, Cyganus AT5* | |
[WP] For years the Queen of England bestowed knighthood on everyone from Patrick Stewart to Bill Gates. Everyone thought it was just a symbol of Honor and nothing more. Yesterday the English monarch called for all knights to serve her country in a time of war. | There was a great ringing of the bells and London stopped, entirely and fully, as it happened. The clanging shook the foundation of cathedrals and carried the heaviest weight.
"Mama, what's that?" a small girl clutched at her mother's hand, her mother covering her mouth with her free hand as it sank in. "Why are they all ringing?"
Her mother knelt, took her daughter's face in her hands.
"Little one, the Queen has died."
The bells continued to ring and the heaviness became more foreboding as they did. Something wasn't right. It spread through the city until one had to shout just to be heard.
Underneath the bells was another noise. Something that grew as well, swelling under the chiming bells and giving voice to concern.
The mother picked up her daughter and began to run, when she finally understood what that growing noise was.
It was screaming.
Thousands of people were screaming.
*****
"Your Majesty!" The Queen did not like being interrupted during lunch but her aide was not one to do so lightly. A dozen armed men in full combat uniform accompanying him were a first for her, even after all these years.
"What is this?" She asked, gracefully setting down her fork.
"We're...we're not entirely sure yet but it's not good. Something is taking the city to madness!" The aide said, while the armed men took positions in the room, facing outward. They stood stoic beside windows and secured doors. And they looked shaken.
"We have to go, there's helicopters coming." The Captain was a serious man with serious reservations about how long this was taking. "We need to be out the door five minutes ago. Your Majesty."
The last was an afterthought. He would deal with the punishment later, if there was a later.
On the move at last, they rushed at the best pace they could manage through the halls, more armed men joining the group as they did. Outside on the grounds there were still more, taking positions along the fence and perimeter. Tourists and citizens were turned away.
With horror, as they moved across the grounds, the Queen heard gunshots and the screams of civilians. Panic was taking hold in her city. In her country. The helicopter had barely touched the ground when she was bundled aboard, as delicately as possible, only the Captain and a handful of others joining her. Two more helicopters followed, filled with SAS troops. A personal guard.
They took off as quickly as they had touched down, the pilot raising up from the grounds. From the window she saw it happening. Thousands of people rushing through the streets and overwhelming the armed police. Then climbing the fence. Men opened fire and it made no difference. They poured over as a tide of water might and drowned the soldiers when they did.
She watched in horror as the historic building was rushed by a mindless swarm of people. Soldiers and police joining the swarm from where they had fallen.
"Captain." She said, as grim as she had ever been. "It's time to call on the Knights."
*****
Far from the English chaos, in a Brooklyn apartment, a man sat and enjoyed himself a cup of tea. Far removed from any worries, from any concerns, he listened to a record play and enjoyed a slow start to the morning. It was only nine in the morning and he had little to worry about.
For now.
Then his phone rang. He set down the cup and answered. It was a recording.
"You, Sir Knight, are hereby called to the service of the Queen. All must answer the call."
And it ended. He looked at the phone, puzzled. Knight, called to service? It was an honorific and nothing more, an outdated title that garnered respect for accomplishments but did not require service of any kind. Heaven's, most of the Knights didn't even have a sword.
Still, there was a power to the words. Some sort of need to respond to the call stirred in him.
The phone rang again. He answered, cautious, but was rewarded with a live voice.
"Did you get a strange call?" The voice asked. "A recording?"
"Yes. What does it mean?"
"Turn on the news."
"Oh come on, that is ridiculous. You can't just turn on a channel and see exactly what-" He was wrong.
Coverage was complete of the events unfolding. London had fallen to some virus and the Queen had not been heard from. That was only the beginning. Dozens of cities were reporting similar events, unknown events, raging through their streets.
The call had been made. He would answer. They must answer.
"Bill has helicopters coming for everyone. Then we fly to England. See you soon, my friend."
The call ended.
Sir Patrick Stewart's locked display case, to which the key had been lost many years ago, was broken when he left. Leaving behind an empty setting for a sword.
*****
As Knights and Dames answered the call from wherever they were, rushing to fulfill some strange notion of service that stirred in each of them, something yet stranger was happening.
Dirt stirred in a calm field where the ringing of bells and screaming crowds had not touched. It stirred before a stone marker until the earth was pushed aside and a hand clutched freedom. The stone read Moore. Still others equally stirred. Attenborough, Hicks, Forsyth, Guinness, Sindon. This is the forgotten promise of Knighthood, the solemn vow that is made and cannot be broken. Where the call will push aside the fear of the living and bring them to service, it will also call to those in death.
For Knighthood does not end on death.
It is an eternal promise to the Monarch that does not end when the last breath is drawn. When the call is made, the Knights shall answer.
And answer, the Knights did. | Dear mother and father,
Today was difficult, to say the least. Though I cant say everything here that I'd like to (there's a war on, after all!), I just wanted you to hear from me that everything they say about the knight leading my regiment is true. Sir Elton is simultaneously a brilliant strategist (who would have thought that outfitting us in sequins would have blinded the enemy?) and one of the gentlest men I have ever known. And I have never served under am officer--knight or not--who has been willing to lead the men in song after a victory. (I do have to admit, though, I liked the original "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" better when the bricks in question weren't c4.)
But they promise that sometime in the next week we will be leaving here, being relieved and moving to the rear. I promise to write again when I have a chance.
--Your Loving Son | |
[WP] You are a flat-earther living on the first Moon colony. | > Bro, the Earth isn't flat!
Yes it is.
> Fucking look at it! It's right there!
That's not the Earth. That's a projection we see on the colony's dome for ambiance. The dome can't be clear; it would let in too many sun particles and we would die. So they came up with the projection and just made it fit their narrative.
> What the fuck dude. You were just outside the dome yesterday.
You can't prove that.
> What...?
You can't prove that.
> Fuck you, you're an idiot.
Look, I don't know why you keep cursing at me. I've been nothing but civil to you, and now you're calling me names. If you can't make your point without resulting to ad homonyms, then you don't need to make an argument at all.
> Ad Hominem.
That's what I said.
> No... ugh. Nevermind.
What? You give up?
> Sure dude. You win.
Just like an Earther. giving up as soon as their fancy elitist education fails them.
| As I look out at the Earth deep in wonder about how the flat surface is moving as it does. I think some old thoughts for me but in a new light. It is like a treadmill? Maybe it's working like some sort of movie projector that slowly changes the image on the flat screen!? Who made this movie and screen? It has to be some sort of realistic hologram. I know because I have scaled Everest to see the horizon. But from up here even those mountains seem flat.
Finally a new thought pops into my head. My heart begins to race. Maybe I have only ever been on one surface in my whole life. Maybe all this, even my being on the moon is an illusion. I have always been on my flat Earth and will always be. I can't help but smile as I feel cuddled by God. I am held tight with equilibrium no matter what. Just then the woman who sat next to me on the shuttle taps me on my shoulder. My mind struggles grasping at the fleating serenity. My eyes are fixed on here round beauty her curves seem to drain every bit of focus from my internal joy, like dry ice in the sun, my conciousness feel sublimated. | |
[WP] A plague wiped out the entire human race except for you. There are still remaining people, but turns out they are not human, but just creatures such as vampires and werewolves hiding in disguise as humans this whole time. | A final record from the last human.
When it started, there was of course wide spread panic. The governments of the world all tried to stop the plague from spreading, but country after country fell. Nobody understood what the plague was and scientists were all baffled by it's ability to infect no matter what precautions were taken.
Amidst all the chaos, few noticed the increase in strange murders. The things that are unexplainable without believing in fairy tales. The terrors of old suddenly seeing their food source dying out and getting their last meals in. The smartest of them made attempts to keep humanity alive, but the plague was relentless.
Of course, for centuries there had been a careful balance. It used to be that hunters were the only line of defense, but once it became apparent humans would soon be able to wipe the monsters out, they changed their habits. After all, they all started as human and there is no trait more human than survival.
By now, there's no true humans left. Except for me. I've been holed up for weeks, working to ensure humans can make a comeback. It's taken all my considerable resources, but I think I've completed my task. It was honestly easier to find the necessary magics to seal away enough people to reseed our race now that nobody is focused on protecting the artifacts I required. Just in time too. The forces of evil are slowly breaching my fortress. Soon, they will find me and I'm debating between fighting to the last breath or flat out denying them their last meal.
It wont be much longer so this will be my final entry. I'll be sending this and the various texts you'll need into the Place Outside of Time momentarily. Don't worry, I made sure there was no way they'd find any of you and by the time you're back, they'll all have died out. I just thought it fair you get some answers. By now you have probably realized it.
My name is Tiberius Lorn and I'm the hunter that restarted humanity to wipe out the evil that plagued it. Good luck and farewell. | The Plague had destroyed them all. Nobody knew quite what it was, or why it was effecting most of us and not others; whole families were spared randomly, towns immune without any medical explination; there was a complete refusal from The Immune to cooperate with research efforts. When the number of survivors shrank to one percent of the human population, they came out of the closet. Monsters. Demons, werewolves, vampires, all our worst nightmares. Some people blamed Them for the plague, but most of us were too exhausted from grieving to care.
Slowly, inevitably, The Plague closed in on us. There was no cure, no vaccine, no hope. One in a thousand left. We knew it was the end; we moved into the cities, huddling together. One in a hundred thousand. The whole province living in one apartment building. One in a million. My whole country could fit in the apartment building with room to spare; not that we could reach eachother by then. The gas stations were closed, the radios dead, the planes and trains abandoned without anyone to tend to them. One in a billion. And then, one in seven billion.
Me.
I waited. I could have lost my mind from the lonliness and the waiting. Nobody escaped The Plague. I wanted death, then; to join my friends, my family, my lover. The Immune watched me from afar; they brought me food and news when they could. I think they pitied me: doomed, alone, soaked in my grief.
When weeks passed and it became clear I would not die, they went further. They brought me anything I asked for. Gas, for my generators; dry ice; freezers; all the equipment I could have dreamed of. They make pilgrimages from far off places to see me. They call me by many names. The Undying. The Survivor. The Last of the Prey. The Last of the Humans. The Last.
I could have gone insane then. Last of my kind. But my research saved me. They think my research is to understand how I was the one to survive, but 'how' is irrelevant to me. I realized why, instead. Someone of my capabilities as the only survivor- there could only be one reason. So quietly, with each test tube and tissue sample they bring me, I got closer to the Why.
The poor, pitying fools. It's nearly done now, the failsafes in place. How could they have looked at our history and thought Humanity could go quietly into that good night? All of the grasping, greedy life on this planet- from the bugs to the fish to the monsters who hid among us- were our funeral pyre. Mother Earth will be at peace once more; stagnant, sterile, beautiful. She's almost there now.
All that's left to go is me. | |
[WP] A plague wiped out the entire human race except for you. There are still remaining people, but turns out they are not human, but just creatures such as vampires and werewolves hiding in disguise as humans this whole time. | We knew the virus was out of control - the airborne strain had impossible survibility outside of the human body, and , victims collapsed within days upon first contact. We didn't knew that it was capable of wiping out most of humanity within weeks. Before countermeasure were found, society had collapsed. A few of us, through many circimstances, were able to survive a bit longer. We formed a lab. We developed a vaccine. Yet there were no time left for testing ,so we became the test subjects.
Only I survived. I intended to give everyone else a proper burial, before joining them. That is, until radio contact, came from outside. There were survivers. It was not over, for humanity.
There was hope.
Yet my hope was soon dashed. The survivers, were certainly of the Homo genus, yet, they were no Homo Sapiens. They were our predators, so well adapted to hunting humans, that they manage to camouflage right under our eyes. They were the mystical vampires and werewolves of legends. They were the new master of this planet -until they all starved to death, that is. They too were at the end of their rope, and they had no solution.
But I did.
I was the only one left in this world with enough knowledge to clone another human being. There were enough DNAs from my deceased collegues.
They had the resources I need.
Thus, I struck a deal with these devils. They would have their food.
And I would have my chance of making things right.
It is not over.
Humanity, is not over.
| The Plague had destroyed them all. Nobody knew quite what it was, or why it was effecting most of us and not others; whole families were spared randomly, towns immune without any medical explination; there was a complete refusal from The Immune to cooperate with research efforts. When the number of survivors shrank to one percent of the human population, they came out of the closet. Monsters. Demons, werewolves, vampires, all our worst nightmares. Some people blamed Them for the plague, but most of us were too exhausted from grieving to care.
Slowly, inevitably, The Plague closed in on us. There was no cure, no vaccine, no hope. One in a thousand left. We knew it was the end; we moved into the cities, huddling together. One in a hundred thousand. The whole province living in one apartment building. One in a million. My whole country could fit in the apartment building with room to spare; not that we could reach eachother by then. The gas stations were closed, the radios dead, the planes and trains abandoned without anyone to tend to them. One in a billion. And then, one in seven billion.
Me.
I waited. I could have lost my mind from the lonliness and the waiting. Nobody escaped The Plague. I wanted death, then; to join my friends, my family, my lover. The Immune watched me from afar; they brought me food and news when they could. I think they pitied me: doomed, alone, soaked in my grief.
When weeks passed and it became clear I would not die, they went further. They brought me anything I asked for. Gas, for my generators; dry ice; freezers; all the equipment I could have dreamed of. They make pilgrimages from far off places to see me. They call me by many names. The Undying. The Survivor. The Last of the Prey. The Last of the Humans. The Last.
I could have gone insane then. Last of my kind. But my research saved me. They think my research is to understand how I was the one to survive, but 'how' is irrelevant to me. I realized why, instead. Someone of my capabilities as the only survivor- there could only be one reason. So quietly, with each test tube and tissue sample they bring me, I got closer to the Why.
The poor, pitying fools. It's nearly done now, the failsafes in place. How could they have looked at our history and thought Humanity could go quietly into that good night? All of the grasping, greedy life on this planet- from the bugs to the fish to the monsters who hid among us- were our funeral pyre. Mother Earth will be at peace once more; stagnant, sterile, beautiful. She's almost there now.
All that's left to go is me. | |
[WP] A plague wiped out the entire human race except for you. There are still remaining people, but turns out they are not human, but just creatures such as vampires and werewolves hiding in disguise as humans this whole time. | I, Norag the Great, was sitting in my Sherlock Holmes style apartment, with my trusted sidekick Peepo. I looked out of the window. It was daytime, yet surprisingly hardly anyone was outside.
Me: Peepo, didn't there used to be more ... people around here?
Peepo: Yes, I'd say so.
Me: Wasn't there some sort of virus 10 years ago that was supposed to wipe out humanity?
Peepo: Yes, indeed there was.
I laughed.
Me: So how many did it wind up taking.
Peepo: I'd say, present company excluded... all of it.
Me: What?
Peepo: You are the last human. I mean I'm sort of human since I'm half centaur, half merman and got the human halves both times.
Me: Huh... I would have thought you were half Winnie the Pooh and half Tigger too. So you mean those people who I see usually walking around at night...
Peepo: Yes, they are monsters in disguise.
Me: Huh. So why am I still alive?
Peepo: Are you kidding? Without humans, these monsters are doomed to starvation...or celibacy in some cases.
Me: Ewww
Peepo: Yeah and you don't even know the half of it. In any case, they are working their asses off trying to repopulate the human race. You're a celebrity.
Me: I'm a celebrity? Then why am I not having more sex?
Peepo: Oh, monsters are finding various ways to extract your DNA, believe you me
Me: This has taken a dark turn, Peepo
Peepo: It started out pretty dark to be fair.
We both stopped talking and went back to reading our newspapers and smoking our pipes. We never spoke of this again. | The Plague had destroyed them all. Nobody knew quite what it was, or why it was effecting most of us and not others; whole families were spared randomly, towns immune without any medical explination; there was a complete refusal from The Immune to cooperate with research efforts. When the number of survivors shrank to one percent of the human population, they came out of the closet. Monsters. Demons, werewolves, vampires, all our worst nightmares. Some people blamed Them for the plague, but most of us were too exhausted from grieving to care.
Slowly, inevitably, The Plague closed in on us. There was no cure, no vaccine, no hope. One in a thousand left. We knew it was the end; we moved into the cities, huddling together. One in a hundred thousand. The whole province living in one apartment building. One in a million. My whole country could fit in the apartment building with room to spare; not that we could reach eachother by then. The gas stations were closed, the radios dead, the planes and trains abandoned without anyone to tend to them. One in a billion. And then, one in seven billion.
Me.
I waited. I could have lost my mind from the lonliness and the waiting. Nobody escaped The Plague. I wanted death, then; to join my friends, my family, my lover. The Immune watched me from afar; they brought me food and news when they could. I think they pitied me: doomed, alone, soaked in my grief.
When weeks passed and it became clear I would not die, they went further. They brought me anything I asked for. Gas, for my generators; dry ice; freezers; all the equipment I could have dreamed of. They make pilgrimages from far off places to see me. They call me by many names. The Undying. The Survivor. The Last of the Prey. The Last of the Humans. The Last.
I could have gone insane then. Last of my kind. But my research saved me. They think my research is to understand how I was the one to survive, but 'how' is irrelevant to me. I realized why, instead. Someone of my capabilities as the only survivor- there could only be one reason. So quietly, with each test tube and tissue sample they bring me, I got closer to the Why.
The poor, pitying fools. It's nearly done now, the failsafes in place. How could they have looked at our history and thought Humanity could go quietly into that good night? All of the grasping, greedy life on this planet- from the bugs to the fish to the monsters who hid among us- were our funeral pyre. Mother Earth will be at peace once more; stagnant, sterile, beautiful. She's almost there now.
All that's left to go is me. | |
[WP] A plague wiped out the entire human race except for you. There are still remaining people, but turns out they are not human, but just creatures such as vampires and werewolves hiding in disguise as humans this whole time. | I, Norag the Great, was sitting in my Sherlock Holmes style apartment, with my trusted sidekick Peepo. I looked out of the window. It was daytime, yet surprisingly hardly anyone was outside.
Me: Peepo, didn't there used to be more ... people around here?
Peepo: Yes, I'd say so.
Me: Wasn't there some sort of virus 10 years ago that was supposed to wipe out humanity?
Peepo: Yes, indeed there was.
I laughed.
Me: So how many did it wind up taking.
Peepo: I'd say, present company excluded... all of it.
Me: What?
Peepo: You are the last human. I mean I'm sort of human since I'm half centaur, half merman and got the human halves both times.
Me: Huh... I would have thought you were half Winnie the Pooh and half Tigger too. So you mean those people who I see usually walking around at night...
Peepo: Yes, they are monsters in disguise.
Me: Huh. So why am I still alive?
Peepo: Are you kidding? Without humans, these monsters are doomed to starvation...or celibacy in some cases.
Me: Ewww
Peepo: Yeah and you don't even know the half of it. In any case, they are working their asses off trying to repopulate the human race. You're a celebrity.
Me: I'm a celebrity? Then why am I not having more sex?
Peepo: Oh, monsters are finding various ways to extract your DNA, believe you me
Me: This has taken a dark turn, Peepo
Peepo: It started out pretty dark to be fair.
We both stopped talking and went back to reading our newspapers and smoking our pipes. We never spoke of this again. | A final record from the last human.
When it started, there was of course wide spread panic. The governments of the world all tried to stop the plague from spreading, but country after country fell. Nobody understood what the plague was and scientists were all baffled by it's ability to infect no matter what precautions were taken.
Amidst all the chaos, few noticed the increase in strange murders. The things that are unexplainable without believing in fairy tales. The terrors of old suddenly seeing their food source dying out and getting their last meals in. The smartest of them made attempts to keep humanity alive, but the plague was relentless.
Of course, for centuries there had been a careful balance. It used to be that hunters were the only line of defense, but once it became apparent humans would soon be able to wipe the monsters out, they changed their habits. After all, they all started as human and there is no trait more human than survival.
By now, there's no true humans left. Except for me. I've been holed up for weeks, working to ensure humans can make a comeback. It's taken all my considerable resources, but I think I've completed my task. It was honestly easier to find the necessary magics to seal away enough people to reseed our race now that nobody is focused on protecting the artifacts I required. Just in time too. The forces of evil are slowly breaching my fortress. Soon, they will find me and I'm debating between fighting to the last breath or flat out denying them their last meal.
It wont be much longer so this will be my final entry. I'll be sending this and the various texts you'll need into the Place Outside of Time momentarily. Don't worry, I made sure there was no way they'd find any of you and by the time you're back, they'll all have died out. I just thought it fair you get some answers. By now you have probably realized it.
My name is Tiberius Lorn and I'm the hunter that restarted humanity to wipe out the evil that plagued it. Good luck and farewell. | |
[WP] A plague wiped out the entire human race except for you. There are still remaining people, but turns out they are not human, but just creatures such as vampires and werewolves hiding in disguise as humans this whole time. |
I sat crying in the tiny room I've been locked in. Voices out side screamed at each other.
"I say we kill her and be done with it," yelled a man with an unnaturally deep growl to his voice.
"And doom us too extinction along with the human child!" Hissed another man.
"No one is going to kill the child. Much to our distaste to the fact that we need humankind to survive. For all our species! The plague has seamlessly eliminated all humans on earth. But there might be a chance that others have survived, like this child," said a man who seem to command everybody in the room.
"Not to be presumptuous but if there is no more survivors what then?" said the man with the hiss.
"Well then I believe the vampires will starve first. Seeing one human cannot feed hundreds," said the man with the commanding voice.
"You'll die before we starve!"
"We all can make threats to each other Von but that won't bring back our food source. That goes for you too Garrett."
Garrett growled not happy to be talked down to.
"There has to be a way to bring back the human race and maybe this child is the key to it," said Von.
"And how do you suppose that?" said Garrett.
"When werewolves breed there young is seamlessly human until made in to werewolves." said Von.
"So your saying we should us our young as building blocks to bring back the human race. That's vulgar! To use our blood lines to bring back Humanity, never!" Growled Garrett.
After that the talking became howling hissing and all sorts of noises.
I had lost track of all time from when I saw everybody in the hospital dying, to being locked up in here. A room with no windows, made entirely of concrete with a metal door and only when people are yelling I can hear anyone through it. But they're not people. Everyone who is still alive isn't human. "I'm going to die," I said in a weak voice. I started to cry again.
"Your not going to die," said a sweet voice.
I scrambled to get up which I regretted cuz the second I stood up I felt faintest and sick to my stomach. and slid right back down to the floor. I curled up into the fetal position and shut my eyes. Fear had paralyzed me.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. My name is Vulpix."
She sounded like she was right next to me but no one had open the door.
"You only have two options come with me and survive or stay here and live in paralyzing fear."
Slowly I opened my eyes to see a purple fox standing over me.
"Hi there what's your name?"
"Ee...vvv..aaaa."
"Uh okay... I'm just going to go out on a limb here and say you were trying to say, Eva?"
I nodded to scared to say anything else.
"Very well then, Eva, will you come with me?"
P.S. sorry this is bad I started this is at 12 a.m. it's about 1:35 a.m. if I can I will edit this later. | June 18th, 20XX--
We had an hour before I had to pick up Salbei from the vet. We were standing outside of the *Home Movie Theater* on Brockton Street. It was close to lunch-time and we hadn't eaten breakfast. Still, the parking lot was empty and I didn't see a lot of people milling around inside.
"The theater is pretty empty," I said.
"Yeah. Weird." Claudia whistled. She did that, a lot as if it punctuated her every word with some kind of... bird wisdom? Or perhaps she was summoning a dog she lost so long ago, it was just habit?
"Do you want to go see *Madness Quest?*" I asked.
It was supposed to be good if the book was any indication. Lucas Brodrick had directed it and all his Marvel movies were amazing.
"No," Claudia said, looking at the listings. "It's a waste. Nothing good on. Bunch of junk."
Another whistle.
Fido wasn't coming. We should move on.
I suggested we head to Pancake Hut and have something to eat. Nodding her head, Claudia followed. I wasn't sure what she was thinking, but maybe I didn't need to know. Claudia had a lot of opinions and I didn't want to be broken on the rocks of her honesty.
Pancake Hut was about as attractive as a grandmother's couch. It was done in floral, with reds and greens and yellows. There were glass ducks, cats, tiny Eiffel towers. The women who worked there had name-tags that read ETHEL and PATTY.
When we placed our order, GERTRUDE called us Sugar and tapped the table with our menus. "Right away, dolls, back with that coffee in a jiffy."
Claudia seemed amused. "I think Gertrude was Ethel last week."
"Probably recycle the name tags to save money."
"Makes sense," Claudia said.
I would like to say our conversation was brilliant. That Claudia inspired an air of sophistication that my other friends didn't. Something about spending time with her was easy, even if I thought her religion was bullshit and she found my tastes a little tacky. Sometimes people just make you happy and you don't need to explain it. And that day was really our last conversation.
At least where we met on happier terms.
Thinking back on it, I wonder if either of us were happy. I don't know if anyone was really happy. Perhaps that is what connected us humans, the knowledge that we would live and die together, on this planet no one wanted to be on, doing things we hated because others said so.
xxx
*June 21st, 20xx*
Things were not always as simple as TV made them sound. I had always been a very casual person, with very little interest in becoming an expert on anything valid. I failed most language classes, didn't work on my health, spent money and never seemed to save much.
But I could name every character in Gilmore Girls. I could recite spells from Charmed. I knew how to order fancy coffee from Cafe Split. I was familiar with the Japanese words for *cute* and *bastard.*
I had very little substance. As I got older, I recognized the flaw in this. I tried very hard to adjust, but I had missed some direction, I didn't know where I was going. I was lost in adulthood.
I tried to tell myself I would figure it out. I would become skinny and beautiful and-- I amused myself thinking about how lacking everyone else was. If life was a play, as Shakespeare claimed, then who would everyone be?
The Kardashians would have been trees. No lines. Just kids dressed up as trees. Snookie might have been a rock.
In some way, books and TV saved me. It made me feel less alone. Gave me useless knowledge. I knew how to kill a vampire [Buffy] but not how to do my taxes.
Why? Why did all this matter? Why were we wasting our lives doing this to ourselves? I didn't know.
Claudia didn't know either. For all her books and political agendas, her marches for abortion rights, she didn't understand shit. She didn't admit it, but all her political aspirations amounted to the same thing. People were acting like children, they didn't want to listen to anyone else. Just like the people on my shows, they were fucking everyone else over for the drama, the money, the prize at the end of the episode.
I remember thinking, once, that it might be better if humanity faded away like a bad trip. Thanos snapping his fingers at a cosmic poetry reading. *Gone, little humans, like dandelions that turn into bad tattoos of birds.*
In my mind, we became paint and dripped down into the earth and became trees. I didn't realize it would be much worse. Much, much worse. That to free the earth of humanity would take a lot more than snapping.
xxx
July 5th, 20XX
Can you tell me how a plane works? Down to the last screw placement? Do you know every molecule that makes up the universe? It's the same way with magic, no one really knows how it works. We all know bits and pieces, little snippets. But that's all.
The End of Humanity was not planned in one day. It couldn't have been. But for me, I noticed it on a Tuesday. Just a normal Tuesday. It was like things suddenly made sense and I had been so fucking stupid.
It all began with a visit to the Urgent Care.
Mom drove me, took me into the waiting room, and left to go to work.
I waited for almost an hour for my name to be called.
"Leonie Busch."
MICHELLE, my nurse, was trim, blonde, and angular. She smiled with her lips pulled tight across her teeth.
"I'm Leonie," I said.
"I'm Michelle Trommler, your Nurse Practitioner," she said. She talked through me. "The doctor will see you now."
"Okay, thank you, Nurse Trommler," I said.
I tried to keep my mouth from moving, afraid she would get knocked over by my breath. I had been vomiting for most of the last week, so I must have smelled like a dragon's anus.
Even with the extra strength gum, I was just a mint flavored porta-potty.
Michelle paused. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."
"I... I said thank you?" I kept my head down. "Do you prefer Michelle?"
"Just doing my job," Michelle said. Her tone seemed brighter. "But you're the first person to thank me today. Or, I don't know when."
"Well, thanks anyway," I said.
"I like you, Leonie." Her tone was weird. It was like she was giving me her blessing. "Let's go take your vitals."
Michelle was the first nurse not to make a comment about my weight. Usually, nurses would say, "Well, you need to lose 30 pounds. That would help with whatever you have going on."
Michelle asked for my medical background, writing notes carefully into my file. When she had me take my weight, she commented I had lost three pounds from the last time. That was it. Positive. Blunt. To the point. I liked her a lot.
She also seemed interested in what I had going on in my life... Which honestly wasn't much. I did some open mic nights at coffee shops, tried my hand at writing the Next Great Novel. I tried to diet. I took my dog to the dog park.
"You like animals?" Michelle asked. "How do you feel about snakes?"
"I want one," I said. "But my mom hates them."
"Weird how that works out," Michelle said. "What about kids?"
"Nope. Not for me." I tried to laugh it off. Most people would have locked eyes with me and scowled. Michelle didn't scold.
"So if you could never have children, you wouldn't mind?" she said.
"Nope."
"Perfect."
She wrote something else in the file and snapped it shut. Then she did something no nurse has ever done before, she sat in the chair and talked to me.
I must have looked surprised.
"I have been working overtime," Michelle said. "Just tell Doctor Acherman we were discussing something, okay? I could use a break. Everyone has been so grumpy today."
She watched me as if waiting for me to say no. I shrugged. I didn't like waiting ten hours for the doctor, alone on the cold metal table. Michelle said the doctor would probably be a while, she had put me on the list, but Ackerman "took her godforsaken time."
So we talked. She asked if I was married. She wanted to know where I went to school. Small talk turned into weird questions about my family, whether I was happy. Did I have depression?
For some reason, I answered her. It was a relief. I told her how defenseless I felt, being the only gay woman in my family. About how my Uncle came out as gay in the 1980s and no one talked about him. He died and we didn't even go to his funeral. About how my mom told me constantly to get a job, but no one was hiring.
How I hated the way I looked. How I wanted to lose weight but didn't know how to admit it to people. It was easier to pretend I wasn't always telling myself how much of a monster I was.
At this Michelle laughed. Not in a cruel way. No. For the first time, someone else was bitter with me. I had never had someone just... get it. And she did. Her eyes seemed to grow bigger with every fear I laid out on the table. Like I was getting closer and closer to the moon.
Our conversation lasted maybe twenty minutes. In that time, a weight left my shoulders. It was that weight that saved my life.
| |
[WP] Every year there’s a holiday “Burrowsday” where everyone goes and locks themselves in communal vaults for the day and night. You wake up on Burrowsday in the middle of your town, a head wound, and a note reading “good luck” | Ted didn’t remember anything.
His head throbbed from where he had been attacked. The world spun as he regained his feet. It was a moment before he even saw the note. Printed on a plain sheet of paper in a bland font, he wasn’t entirely sure who it had been meant for. As he stared at the message, rain began to fall.
“Good luck? For what?”
The town was empty, hauntingly so. Ted walked down the wide street, peering inside of windows and testing doors. Everything had been locked up tight. It seemed strange that the entire town would have been shut down for the day.
Where was everyone?
It was then that he saw a flash of movement, a blur of dark clothing darting across the street. Another person? Somehow the movements had seemed too fast to be natural. Still, they might have some idea as to what was happening, why he had woken up to a town devoid of life.
Ted followed.
He emerged into a one of the smaller roads that ran perpendicular to the town’s main street, pulling up the hood of his jacket to shield his eyes from the rain. He walked slowly down its center allowing his eyes to roam from side to side in search of whoever he had seen. After a few moments, Ted frowned and raised his voice over the heavy rain.
“Who’s there?” he called. “Show yourself.”
Ted took a precautionary step back as a dark figure emerged from an alley between two buildings. He threw up his hands in surprise as the figure drew a long knife from his waist.
“Take it easy,” Ted said. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on.”
“Ted?” the figure asked. “Is that you?”
In response, Ted lowered his hood.
The other man sighed in apparent relief. “What are you doing outside?”
“I don’t know … someone knocked me out and left me on the street.” Ted took the folded sheet of paper out of his jacket pocket. “Left me some kind of note.”
The man cursed. “Follow me. We have to get off the street. It's not safe.”
“What’s going on? Who are you? How do you know my name?”
“It’s Burrowsday.”
Ted froze. Burrowsday? That would explain where everyone was, why the town had shut down. Had he been attacked on his way to the vault? He couldn’t remember…
“We have to get out of here. Now!” Without waiting for Ted to respond, the other man took off, racing back into the alleyway between the two buildings.
Left with little choice, Ted followed.
The man was waiting for him at the end of the alley, holding open a thick wooden door. Ted entered without hesitation, eager to get out of the icy rain. Head throbbing, he waited as the other man eased the door shut and lit a handheld lantern.
“Hurry. This way,” the man said. Without waiting for Ted to respond, he marched ahead.
The wooden floor of the hall was warped and worn away in many places. An assortment of odd looking posters and framed pictures hung on the walls. Ted didn’t recognize any of the faces or names. A feeling that something was amiss started to grow within his mind, but Ted fought it off. It was very likely he had sustained a concussion. He still couldn’t remember what had happened to him.
“Who are you?” Ted asked when the silence became too much to bear.
“Do you know why everyone goes beneath ground for Burrowsday?” the man questioned.
“I … can't remember,” Ted admitted, noticing that the path had begun to slant downwards. “It’s something we’ve done ever since I’ve been alive. Kind of like a…”
“Kind of like a ritual,” the man completed in his deep voice.
“Yeah,” Ted agreed. “I’m sure I know why. It's just my head..."
“It'll come to you. There’s usually a good reason for these sort of things,” the man replied. As he spoke, Ted realized that the wooden path had given way to one of dirt, that its slope had drastically increased.
“Are you taking me to vault?”
“Somewhere else,” the man answered in a sour tone. “Can’t get in there.”
“You still haven’t told me who you are.”
“In a moment, Ted. We’re almost there now.”
On cue, the path came to an abrupt end. The man raised his dim lantern to reveal the outline of another ancient wooden door. With a flourish, he pulled a large key from his pocket, opened it and hurriedly motioned Ted inside.
Ted stepped into the dark room beyond, looking nervously back over his shoulder as the ominous feeling returned in force and the fog began to clear from his mind. Something about the other man wasn’t adding up. Who was he? Why wasn’t he in the vault with the others?
Suddenly, the room flooded with light. Ted stumbled backwards in surprise, placing a hand on the cool earthen wall for balance. Laughter filled the room as his eyes struggled to adjust.
When his vision finally cleared, Ted found the other man standing before him. Only it wasn’t a man … it was some sort of creature. Dark green skin. Glowing red eyes. Two rows of jagged, uneven teeth.
Then, Ted remembered. There *was* a reason for the vault.
“You’re … him. T-the Burrower.”
The creature grinned, forked tongue running across its purple lips as it drew its knife. “Happy Burrowsday, Ted.”
| "Good luck?! What the fuck kind of sick joke is this?"
You sit up and wince at the pain at the back of your head. A lump and some blood can be felt as you examine the painful area by touch. You slowly stand up, trying to be careful as you steady yourself. It's dawn, but overcast weather is making things look even more bleak than it already felt. You look around to see that whoever did this to you left you out in the open, right in the middle of an intersection. But there's no worry about cars since everyone and their mother are locked up in their bunkers. You slowly walk to the nearest bench and sat down, note in hand.
"Fuckin' Burrowsday. This is great. I'm probably the only human left out here on my own."
As a kid, you just went along with it. You resigned yourself to the tradition that began after some government officials announced it. You learned about it at school, but just enough from the government. They never really taught about what happens in the 24-hour period outside of the bunkers, just what was to be done while inside them.
They were standard issue by the government, installed and inspected by them too. And with a pretty strict timer that locks it until the 24 hours is up, no one is coming in or out once Burrowsday starts. Once the hatch is closed, it stays closed for 24 hours. Installed in key places in and around cities, you were supposed to be there a few hours prior to Burrowsday, with personal supplies only. Once everyone is herded in, items inspected, and census tallied, personnel assigned for each bunker will call the all clear for closing the hatch.
"All grids are closed, so no water, electricity, NOTHING!" You angrily whisper-shout to yourself as you look at the note. "Good luck indeed."
You recall from the last few years you participated as an adult, that once Burrowsday is over, the grids all come back up all at once. Everything pretty much stays the way you left it, or at least as far as you've observed.
"Just gotta make sure I put everything back where it was, I guess." You sigh as you stand up and decide that if you're going to survive the day, you might need some supplies. Luckily, the intersection you're at is by a plaza. Surely there's something to loot that will be useful.
| |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | 278? That can't be right. The most I've heard is 15 or so right? How could I have been close to death 278 times? I'm teach 6/7 year old children in a quiet corner of a quiet town that thinks a dog getting out of a back yard and chasing a cat in the middle of the night and waking a few houses up is conversation worthy for at least a week. The biggest scandal we've had in all my 32 years here is when the owner of the hardware store was caught with his pants down in the back of the bakery. With the bakers wife. No killings, no heavy traffic, no influx of strangers due to tourism. High Falls is just not a dangerous place.
Dangerous things happened in Trenton, Harrow and Darnish, the cities surrounding High Falls on three sides. That's where people got shot, run over...murdered. They were also the places where people might have dangerous jobs - law enforcement, emergency services, trash collectors. I just don't understand.
"Are you sure that's right? I mean, the highest I've heard is 15. 278 sounds...excessive."
"It is unusually high for this area alright but the system is air tight. That's your number. I suggest you take some time to think about what could be causing these figures. Check the brakes on your car, check your house for carbon manoxide, maybe have an allergy test. It could be anything. "
I left the Live Well office in a daze. My car, my house, my body. Something was trying to kill me and with figures like mine, it's going to succeed sooner rather than later.
My chest got tight. I've been meaning to trade up and get a better car for a couple of years but money is tight and I haven't had that many problems with it. I've had my mother in that car, my sister, my 2 year old neice. Could I have added to their number?
My breathing become shallow and fast. Am I living in a death trap? My apartment isn't the best but it's all I can afford, even splitting the rent with Brian. Sure, the landlord isn't fast about fixing things and is a couple of months late doing the yearly maintenance run but I'd be dead already, and others in the building too, if there was ventilation issues.
My eye sight began to narrow, black spots danced before me. Am I going to have to give up milk??
My ears began to ring, the ground decided to slap me in the face.
Beep. Beep. Ugh. My head hurts. Why does my head hurt? Beep. Beep. Why am I beeping? I open my eyes and squint against the bright light. Looking around I can see that I'm in a hospital room. Looking down I can see that I'm on a drip. My face is throbbing and my nose is stabbing my every time I have the audacity to try to breath though it. How dare I huh? There's a nurse call button beside my right hand.
A nurse comes in perhaps 20seconds after I call for her. She's middle aged, smiling.
"Good, you're awake. How do you feel? Yes, your head hurts because you passed out in the street and landed on your face. Your nose isn't broken though, you'll be fine. You just stay where you are, there's someone here waiting to see you."
Whoa, that was a whirlwind. I got one question in. Someone's here for me, must be Brian.
A small, balding man and a tall, lanky woman walk into my room. Both have that jaded look in their eyes that comes from seeing too much and trying to drown it in coffee and booze. Definitely cops based on the few shows she's seen. Why are cops here to see me?
"Hi Jane. I am Detective Florins and my colleague is Detective Dorn. I'm sure you're wondering why you're here, in a hospital room on your own with cops waiting outside."
I look at Det. Florins, all tall and lanky and jaded. I take a closer look around the room. I'm on my own. I lean forward and take a peek outside the door and true enough, there's a uniformed cop standing outside. I have health insurance but only the most basic. My injuries shouldn't warrant a room on my own.
"What's going on? I want to see my boyfriend. Do I need a lawyer? What did I do? Am I in trouble?"
"You don't need a lawyer Jane. You haven't done anything wrong. The officer outside is there for your protection. As for your boyfriend, we need to talk to you about him."
"Oh no! Is he OK?? Has something happened to him? Where is he?" A million possibilities run through my head. Dead in a ditch, robbed at gunpoint, hurt from a fight with a someone at the nightclub he worked at. He often came home with black eyes and bruises from over drunk guys and scrapes and scratches from overly amorous women.
"Well, that's where we need your help. We need to talk to him and he wasn't at home when we called"
This sounds like they're fishing for information. Tell them nothing until they tell me something. Play hardball. Yeah right.
"I'm sorry Detective but unless you tell me exact what is going on I'm not going to tell you anything."
Both detectives looked at each other. Florins raised an eyebrow and Dorn shrugged his shoulders. Florins turned back to face me. She pursed her lips for a few seconds, ground her teeth like she was chewing on something. Come on, spit it out. I stared back at her. I never was one for excessive use of words. She took a deep breath and began to talk.
"I have been working on a case with Det. Dorn and another detective for a little over a year. We're a representative from each of the three surrounding cities. We're the best at what we do and what we do is find bad guys. Bad guys that kill people."
She paused to let that sink in. Brian is dead. Brian was murdered. I was right. How though? I can feel my heartbeat thud in my chest.
"We have been investigating a number of murders in and around the cities. I'm sure you've read about them in the paper or seen it on the news. Women, 25-35, high levels of alcohol in their system. Beaten, raped, strangled then left to rot on a quiet roadside. Most of them put up some form of fight but it wasn't enough. They just weren't strong enough."
I blink at her. Brain was murdered the same as these women? He's strong though. He works out. He's used to getting into fights. He's worked at so many bars and clubs, he's used to it. He would have been able to fight them off. My breathing becomes shallow and fast.
"We got plenty of DNA evidence but no hits in the database. Whoever this guy was, he had never been caught for anything and wasn't in the system. We knew that if we didn't find him soon, he'd keep killing whilst also keeping his nose clean. It took months but finally we're were able to secure a warrant to collect everyone's DNA that worked in the bars and clubs that these women had last been seen in. That was a week ago. We go the results back...and we got a hit."
A week ago? That's the last time she'd seen Brian. She'd came home from work the next day to find a letter from him telling her he'd had to to home for a family emergency and he'd be back in a week or so. He'd left a rose on the note. She hadn't heard from him since but she wasn't worried, it wasn't out of character. They were both independent people and didn't have to be in constant contact. He'd go away for days at a time sometimes and would have no contact with her but he'd always tell her with a note. Always leave a rose. Always come back. My eye sight began to pinhole.
"The women were all approx 5"4', slight build - about 115lbs, bobbed hair light brown in colour, grey eyes."
She had just described me.
"He left a rose on every body..."
Black spots danced in front of my eyes.
"Where is Brian?"
278 times I'd cheated death. How many women had taken my place? With ringing ears I passed out.
—----------
It's years since I did any creative writing so be kind! So typed on my phone so forgive any ridiculous spelling errors. | The other week I almost died by tripping over one of those stakes you put in the ground and attach a leash to. I fell on the nice soft dirt from approximately ground level and basically got physics'ed to near death.
I am not a strong person. If Glass Joe was real he could probably beat me like Mike Tyson beats Little Mac. | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | 278? Are they fucking kidding? Hell, I barely even leave my tiny hovel of an apartment. I look at the doctor, ready to see a smile or a smirk, but she is stone faced, as confused as I am.
''There's gotta be a bug, right?, '' I ask her. She shakes her head slowly.
''No. No bug, it's foolproof, '' she says.
I go home, sit down on my bed, and open a beer. As I glance around the room, my gaze stops suddenly, on a small tan bottle. Thoughtfully, I read the label. It says,
''Oxycontin. '' | The other week I almost died by tripping over one of those stakes you put in the ground and attach a leash to. I fell on the nice soft dirt from approximately ground level and basically got physics'ed to near death.
I am not a strong person. If Glass Joe was real he could probably beat me like Mike Tyson beats Little Mac. | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | "I'm telling you, angel. 278," I say, grabbing a beer from the fridge and wandering to the table. "How am I at 278?"
Angela walked through the kitchen and closed the fridge door. Concern wrenched her face tight as she stood there, staring through the fridge at something a million miles behind it.
"Angel, please," I say, trying to dissolve some of that tension. "It's gotta be a bug in the app."
This Close Call app had only dropped for civilians today, but it had been in the professional circles for ages. The insurance industry had created it to adjust risk or something, although even they couldn't pinpoint where it got the data from.
"I mean You're at 15 right?" I add. "And they said that's high even for a detective. Meanwhile I'm sitting around here all day smashing beers, and I'm at 278? I betcha it's counting all the times I nearly died in Fortnite or something."
"It can't be that, they said it's flawless," she says, smiling as she turns towards me. "They couldn't use it to jack up my premiums if there were any errors, half the jackasses in my precinct play as much Fortnite as you."
She grabs her phone from her pocket, and her smile slips away.
"You gotta go don't you?" I ask, already knowing the answer. She nods. "It's not the Tumblr killer again is it? I know he only shoots straight white dudes, but shit... what if you get in his way? I dunno angel, it stresses me out."
"It probably isn't that," she says. "I'll be fine. I'm not the one sitting on two hundred and seventy eight close calls." I can't read her eyes. It's like she wants to joke about it, but she's just too concerned for my safety.
"That's what worries me baby, I won't make it to 300 if I don't have my angel!" I say, standing and kissing her. Her smile is back. I spank her on the ass as she heads to the door. She hadn't even taken off her holster or her badge before they'd called her out again.
"Can you grab some more beer on your way home too gorgeous?" I yell. "We're all out, and I'm gonna smash it with the boys tonight."
She stops in the doorway, the hallway fluorescent backlighting her like some sort of heavenly being until my eyes adjust. Instead, all I can see is her perfect figure, still as a statue in the doorway, unmoving. I start to wonder what she's thinking, but I can't stop myself.
"By god you have a sexy silhouette!" I call out, putting on my best southern gentleman accent. She barks out a quick laugh and shakes her head, closing the door and heading off to work.
I head over to the couch and grab my headset and PS4 controller. Mikey's already on.
"Mikey, dude. You've gotta see what I got on the CC app," I say, loading into Fortnite. "I'm pretty sure it's counting all the times I've had to save your ass."
I grab my phone out. I'll screenshot the app and chuck it on twitter -- maybe I can go viral. That'd help my youtube channel. The app's taking it's time, which is annoying, but it opens eventually.
Weird. Now it's saying 280. | The other week I almost died by tripping over one of those stakes you put in the ground and attach a leash to. I fell on the nice soft dirt from approximately ground level and basically got physics'ed to near death.
I am not a strong person. If Glass Joe was real he could probably beat me like Mike Tyson beats Little Mac. | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | 278? That can't be right. The most I've heard is 15 or so right? How could I have been close to death 278 times? I'm teach 6/7 year old children in a quiet corner of a quiet town that thinks a dog getting out of a back yard and chasing a cat in the middle of the night and waking a few houses up is conversation worthy for at least a week. The biggest scandal we've had in all my 32 years here is when the owner of the hardware store was caught with his pants down in the back of the bakery. With the bakers wife. No killings, no heavy traffic, no influx of strangers due to tourism. High Falls is just not a dangerous place.
Dangerous things happened in Trenton, Harrow and Darnish, the cities surrounding High Falls on three sides. That's where people got shot, run over...murdered. They were also the places where people might have dangerous jobs - law enforcement, emergency services, trash collectors. I just don't understand.
"Are you sure that's right? I mean, the highest I've heard is 15. 278 sounds...excessive."
"It is unusually high for this area alright but the system is air tight. That's your number. I suggest you take some time to think about what could be causing these figures. Check the brakes on your car, check your house for carbon manoxide, maybe have an allergy test. It could be anything. "
I left the Live Well office in a daze. My car, my house, my body. Something was trying to kill me and with figures like mine, it's going to succeed sooner rather than later.
My chest got tight. I've been meaning to trade up and get a better car for a couple of years but money is tight and I haven't had that many problems with it. I've had my mother in that car, my sister, my 2 year old neice. Could I have added to their number?
My breathing become shallow and fast. Am I living in a death trap? My apartment isn't the best but it's all I can afford, even splitting the rent with Brian. Sure, the landlord isn't fast about fixing things and is a couple of months late doing the yearly maintenance run but I'd be dead already, and others in the building too, if there was ventilation issues.
My eye sight began to narrow, black spots danced before me. Am I going to have to give up milk??
My ears began to ring, the ground decided to slap me in the face.
Beep. Beep. Ugh. My head hurts. Why does my head hurt? Beep. Beep. Why am I beeping? I open my eyes and squint against the bright light. Looking around I can see that I'm in a hospital room. Looking down I can see that I'm on a drip. My face is throbbing and my nose is stabbing my every time I have the audacity to try to breath though it. How dare I huh? There's a nurse call button beside my right hand.
A nurse comes in perhaps 20seconds after I call for her. She's middle aged, smiling.
"Good, you're awake. How do you feel? Yes, your head hurts because you passed out in the street and landed on your face. Your nose isn't broken though, you'll be fine. You just stay where you are, there's someone here waiting to see you."
Whoa, that was a whirlwind. I got one question in. Someone's here for me, must be Brian.
A small, balding man and a tall, lanky woman walk into my room. Both have that jaded look in their eyes that comes from seeing too much and trying to drown it in coffee and booze. Definitely cops based on the few shows she's seen. Why are cops here to see me?
"Hi Jane. I am Detective Florins and my colleague is Detective Dorn. I'm sure you're wondering why you're here, in a hospital room on your own with cops waiting outside."
I look at Det. Florins, all tall and lanky and jaded. I take a closer look around the room. I'm on my own. I lean forward and take a peek outside the door and true enough, there's a uniformed cop standing outside. I have health insurance but only the most basic. My injuries shouldn't warrant a room on my own.
"What's going on? I want to see my boyfriend. Do I need a lawyer? What did I do? Am I in trouble?"
"You don't need a lawyer Jane. You haven't done anything wrong. The officer outside is there for your protection. As for your boyfriend, we need to talk to you about him."
"Oh no! Is he OK?? Has something happened to him? Where is he?" A million possibilities run through my head. Dead in a ditch, robbed at gunpoint, hurt from a fight with a someone at the nightclub he worked at. He often came home with black eyes and bruises from over drunk guys and scrapes and scratches from overly amorous women.
"Well, that's where we need your help. We need to talk to him and he wasn't at home when we called"
This sounds like they're fishing for information. Tell them nothing until they tell me something. Play hardball. Yeah right.
"I'm sorry Detective but unless you tell me exact what is going on I'm not going to tell you anything."
Both detectives looked at each other. Florins raised an eyebrow and Dorn shrugged his shoulders. Florins turned back to face me. She pursed her lips for a few seconds, ground her teeth like she was chewing on something. Come on, spit it out. I stared back at her. I never was one for excessive use of words. She took a deep breath and began to talk.
"I have been working on a case with Det. Dorn and another detective for a little over a year. We're a representative from each of the three surrounding cities. We're the best at what we do and what we do is find bad guys. Bad guys that kill people."
She paused to let that sink in. Brian is dead. Brian was murdered. I was right. How though? I can feel my heartbeat thud in my chest.
"We have been investigating a number of murders in and around the cities. I'm sure you've read about them in the paper or seen it on the news. Women, 25-35, high levels of alcohol in their system. Beaten, raped, strangled then left to rot on a quiet roadside. Most of them put up some form of fight but it wasn't enough. They just weren't strong enough."
I blink at her. Brain was murdered the same as these women? He's strong though. He works out. He's used to getting into fights. He's worked at so many bars and clubs, he's used to it. He would have been able to fight them off. My breathing becomes shallow and fast.
"We got plenty of DNA evidence but no hits in the database. Whoever this guy was, he had never been caught for anything and wasn't in the system. We knew that if we didn't find him soon, he'd keep killing whilst also keeping his nose clean. It took months but finally we're were able to secure a warrant to collect everyone's DNA that worked in the bars and clubs that these women had last been seen in. That was a week ago. We go the results back...and we got a hit."
A week ago? That's the last time she'd seen Brian. She'd came home from work the next day to find a letter from him telling her he'd had to to home for a family emergency and he'd be back in a week or so. He'd left a rose on the note. She hadn't heard from him since but she wasn't worried, it wasn't out of character. They were both independent people and didn't have to be in constant contact. He'd go away for days at a time sometimes and would have no contact with her but he'd always tell her with a note. Always leave a rose. Always come back. My eye sight began to pinhole.
"The women were all approx 5"4', slight build - about 115lbs, bobbed hair light brown in colour, grey eyes."
She had just described me.
"He left a rose on every body..."
Black spots danced in front of my eyes.
"Where is Brian?"
278 times I'd cheated death. How many women had taken my place? With ringing ears I passed out.
—----------
It's years since I did any creative writing so be kind! So typed on my phone so forgive any ridiculous spelling errors. | My number was 278.
All of my friends were all happy go lucky and even Dan, the daredevil of our group and a fireman, only came close 15 times. And yet, my number was 278. I didn't have a dangerous job, I worked at a nice law firm downtown, I don't drive aggressively, I don't really drink or smoke. But I would have had to have been near death almost every single day that past year to get 278. The Grim Reaper must have been more sexually frustrated than I was because of how often I've been close to the line. And so, why the massive number? I went to my doctor immediately afterwards to make sure I was healthy, ran a whole load of tests. It confused me so much. What was I doing that made me so close to dying? I'm not suicidal so the obvious answer was out.
I turned on the TV like usual before going to bed for the night, nothing out of the ordinary. Just watching the same shit I did every week, reruns of old sitcoms I loved when I was in college, that new crime thriller that comes on every Thursday. And I couldn't figure it out.
But my week suddenly changed when I found her on the side of the road, limping, starving. I saved Bella's life and she would be so giving as to save mine. Instead of sleeping and watching TV I suddenly had an 85lb alarm clock for when I was going to be going for walks or waking up in the middle of the night or snuggling with a numb leg and a mouth full of hair.
When I went in the following year, I had dropped to 130! Still too high I know, but I was ecstatic to make so much progress. A month later Bella got out over the fence one morning and I thought I had lost her for good. Thats when I realized it.
I hadn't really been living most of the time in that past year. She had made me go outside my comfort zone, smile, and generally changed how my life played out. I knew I had to get her back.
It was Stacey who found her. She already had my number from the lost posters and apparently loved Bella already and the feeling seemed to be mutual. So we arranged for a play date with our dogs at the park.
And that was the day when my counter fell to 0.
In these past 25 years I have yet to have 1 day where I have been close to death. Bella made me live a life and Stacey, my wonderful wife and mother of our beautiful daughters, made me want to never be that un-living ever again.
Thank you for your time in listening to my sappy story, but my oldest is getting married today and Grace, my beautiful daughter, I am so very proud of you and happy for you two. | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | 278? Are they fucking kidding? Hell, I barely even leave my tiny hovel of an apartment. I look at the doctor, ready to see a smile or a smirk, but she is stone faced, as confused as I am.
''There's gotta be a bug, right?, '' I ask her. She shakes her head slowly.
''No. No bug, it's foolproof, '' she says.
I go home, sit down on my bed, and open a beer. As I glance around the room, my gaze stops suddenly, on a small tan bottle. Thoughtfully, I read the label. It says,
''Oxycontin. '' | My number was 278.
All of my friends were all happy go lucky and even Dan, the daredevil of our group and a fireman, only came close 15 times. And yet, my number was 278. I didn't have a dangerous job, I worked at a nice law firm downtown, I don't drive aggressively, I don't really drink or smoke. But I would have had to have been near death almost every single day that past year to get 278. The Grim Reaper must have been more sexually frustrated than I was because of how often I've been close to the line. And so, why the massive number? I went to my doctor immediately afterwards to make sure I was healthy, ran a whole load of tests. It confused me so much. What was I doing that made me so close to dying? I'm not suicidal so the obvious answer was out.
I turned on the TV like usual before going to bed for the night, nothing out of the ordinary. Just watching the same shit I did every week, reruns of old sitcoms I loved when I was in college, that new crime thriller that comes on every Thursday. And I couldn't figure it out.
But my week suddenly changed when I found her on the side of the road, limping, starving. I saved Bella's life and she would be so giving as to save mine. Instead of sleeping and watching TV I suddenly had an 85lb alarm clock for when I was going to be going for walks or waking up in the middle of the night or snuggling with a numb leg and a mouth full of hair.
When I went in the following year, I had dropped to 130! Still too high I know, but I was ecstatic to make so much progress. A month later Bella got out over the fence one morning and I thought I had lost her for good. Thats when I realized it.
I hadn't really been living most of the time in that past year. She had made me go outside my comfort zone, smile, and generally changed how my life played out. I knew I had to get her back.
It was Stacey who found her. She already had my number from the lost posters and apparently loved Bella already and the feeling seemed to be mutual. So we arranged for a play date with our dogs at the park.
And that was the day when my counter fell to 0.
In these past 25 years I have yet to have 1 day where I have been close to death. Bella made me live a life and Stacey, my wonderful wife and mother of our beautiful daughters, made me want to never be that un-living ever again.
Thank you for your time in listening to my sappy story, but my oldest is getting married today and Grace, my beautiful daughter, I am so very proud of you and happy for you two. | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | "I'm telling you, angel. 278," I say, grabbing a beer from the fridge and wandering to the table. "How am I at 278?"
Angela walked through the kitchen and closed the fridge door. Concern wrenched her face tight as she stood there, staring through the fridge at something a million miles behind it.
"Angel, please," I say, trying to dissolve some of that tension. "It's gotta be a bug in the app."
This Close Call app had only dropped for civilians today, but it had been in the professional circles for ages. The insurance industry had created it to adjust risk or something, although even they couldn't pinpoint where it got the data from.
"I mean You're at 15 right?" I add. "And they said that's high even for a detective. Meanwhile I'm sitting around here all day smashing beers, and I'm at 278? I betcha it's counting all the times I nearly died in Fortnite or something."
"It can't be that, they said it's flawless," she says, smiling as she turns towards me. "They couldn't use it to jack up my premiums if there were any errors, half the jackasses in my precinct play as much Fortnite as you."
She grabs her phone from her pocket, and her smile slips away.
"You gotta go don't you?" I ask, already knowing the answer. She nods. "It's not the Tumblr killer again is it? I know he only shoots straight white dudes, but shit... what if you get in his way? I dunno angel, it stresses me out."
"It probably isn't that," she says. "I'll be fine. I'm not the one sitting on two hundred and seventy eight close calls." I can't read her eyes. It's like she wants to joke about it, but she's just too concerned for my safety.
"That's what worries me baby, I won't make it to 300 if I don't have my angel!" I say, standing and kissing her. Her smile is back. I spank her on the ass as she heads to the door. She hadn't even taken off her holster or her badge before they'd called her out again.
"Can you grab some more beer on your way home too gorgeous?" I yell. "We're all out, and I'm gonna smash it with the boys tonight."
She stops in the doorway, the hallway fluorescent backlighting her like some sort of heavenly being until my eyes adjust. Instead, all I can see is her perfect figure, still as a statue in the doorway, unmoving. I start to wonder what she's thinking, but I can't stop myself.
"By god you have a sexy silhouette!" I call out, putting on my best southern gentleman accent. She barks out a quick laugh and shakes her head, closing the door and heading off to work.
I head over to the couch and grab my headset and PS4 controller. Mikey's already on.
"Mikey, dude. You've gotta see what I got on the CC app," I say, loading into Fortnite. "I'm pretty sure it's counting all the times I've had to save your ass."
I grab my phone out. I'll screenshot the app and chuck it on twitter -- maybe I can go viral. That'd help my youtube channel. The app's taking it's time, which is annoying, but it opens eventually.
Weird. Now it's saying 280. | My number was 278.
All of my friends were all happy go lucky and even Dan, the daredevil of our group and a fireman, only came close 15 times. And yet, my number was 278. I didn't have a dangerous job, I worked at a nice law firm downtown, I don't drive aggressively, I don't really drink or smoke. But I would have had to have been near death almost every single day that past year to get 278. The Grim Reaper must have been more sexually frustrated than I was because of how often I've been close to the line. And so, why the massive number? I went to my doctor immediately afterwards to make sure I was healthy, ran a whole load of tests. It confused me so much. What was I doing that made me so close to dying? I'm not suicidal so the obvious answer was out.
I turned on the TV like usual before going to bed for the night, nothing out of the ordinary. Just watching the same shit I did every week, reruns of old sitcoms I loved when I was in college, that new crime thriller that comes on every Thursday. And I couldn't figure it out.
But my week suddenly changed when I found her on the side of the road, limping, starving. I saved Bella's life and she would be so giving as to save mine. Instead of sleeping and watching TV I suddenly had an 85lb alarm clock for when I was going to be going for walks or waking up in the middle of the night or snuggling with a numb leg and a mouth full of hair.
When I went in the following year, I had dropped to 130! Still too high I know, but I was ecstatic to make so much progress. A month later Bella got out over the fence one morning and I thought I had lost her for good. Thats when I realized it.
I hadn't really been living most of the time in that past year. She had made me go outside my comfort zone, smile, and generally changed how my life played out. I knew I had to get her back.
It was Stacey who found her. She already had my number from the lost posters and apparently loved Bella already and the feeling seemed to be mutual. So we arranged for a play date with our dogs at the park.
And that was the day when my counter fell to 0.
In these past 25 years I have yet to have 1 day where I have been close to death. Bella made me live a life and Stacey, my wonderful wife and mother of our beautiful daughters, made me want to never be that un-living ever again.
Thank you for your time in listening to my sappy story, but my oldest is getting married today and Grace, my beautiful daughter, I am so very proud of you and happy for you two. | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | 278? That can't be right. The most I've heard is 15 or so right? How could I have been close to death 278 times? I'm teach 6/7 year old children in a quiet corner of a quiet town that thinks a dog getting out of a back yard and chasing a cat in the middle of the night and waking a few houses up is conversation worthy for at least a week. The biggest scandal we've had in all my 32 years here is when the owner of the hardware store was caught with his pants down in the back of the bakery. With the bakers wife. No killings, no heavy traffic, no influx of strangers due to tourism. High Falls is just not a dangerous place.
Dangerous things happened in Trenton, Harrow and Darnish, the cities surrounding High Falls on three sides. That's where people got shot, run over...murdered. They were also the places where people might have dangerous jobs - law enforcement, emergency services, trash collectors. I just don't understand.
"Are you sure that's right? I mean, the highest I've heard is 15. 278 sounds...excessive."
"It is unusually high for this area alright but the system is air tight. That's your number. I suggest you take some time to think about what could be causing these figures. Check the brakes on your car, check your house for carbon manoxide, maybe have an allergy test. It could be anything. "
I left the Live Well office in a daze. My car, my house, my body. Something was trying to kill me and with figures like mine, it's going to succeed sooner rather than later.
My chest got tight. I've been meaning to trade up and get a better car for a couple of years but money is tight and I haven't had that many problems with it. I've had my mother in that car, my sister, my 2 year old neice. Could I have added to their number?
My breathing become shallow and fast. Am I living in a death trap? My apartment isn't the best but it's all I can afford, even splitting the rent with Brian. Sure, the landlord isn't fast about fixing things and is a couple of months late doing the yearly maintenance run but I'd be dead already, and others in the building too, if there was ventilation issues.
My eye sight began to narrow, black spots danced before me. Am I going to have to give up milk??
My ears began to ring, the ground decided to slap me in the face.
Beep. Beep. Ugh. My head hurts. Why does my head hurt? Beep. Beep. Why am I beeping? I open my eyes and squint against the bright light. Looking around I can see that I'm in a hospital room. Looking down I can see that I'm on a drip. My face is throbbing and my nose is stabbing my every time I have the audacity to try to breath though it. How dare I huh? There's a nurse call button beside my right hand.
A nurse comes in perhaps 20seconds after I call for her. She's middle aged, smiling.
"Good, you're awake. How do you feel? Yes, your head hurts because you passed out in the street and landed on your face. Your nose isn't broken though, you'll be fine. You just stay where you are, there's someone here waiting to see you."
Whoa, that was a whirlwind. I got one question in. Someone's here for me, must be Brian.
A small, balding man and a tall, lanky woman walk into my room. Both have that jaded look in their eyes that comes from seeing too much and trying to drown it in coffee and booze. Definitely cops based on the few shows she's seen. Why are cops here to see me?
"Hi Jane. I am Detective Florins and my colleague is Detective Dorn. I'm sure you're wondering why you're here, in a hospital room on your own with cops waiting outside."
I look at Det. Florins, all tall and lanky and jaded. I take a closer look around the room. I'm on my own. I lean forward and take a peek outside the door and true enough, there's a uniformed cop standing outside. I have health insurance but only the most basic. My injuries shouldn't warrant a room on my own.
"What's going on? I want to see my boyfriend. Do I need a lawyer? What did I do? Am I in trouble?"
"You don't need a lawyer Jane. You haven't done anything wrong. The officer outside is there for your protection. As for your boyfriend, we need to talk to you about him."
"Oh no! Is he OK?? Has something happened to him? Where is he?" A million possibilities run through my head. Dead in a ditch, robbed at gunpoint, hurt from a fight with a someone at the nightclub he worked at. He often came home with black eyes and bruises from over drunk guys and scrapes and scratches from overly amorous women.
"Well, that's where we need your help. We need to talk to him and he wasn't at home when we called"
This sounds like they're fishing for information. Tell them nothing until they tell me something. Play hardball. Yeah right.
"I'm sorry Detective but unless you tell me exact what is going on I'm not going to tell you anything."
Both detectives looked at each other. Florins raised an eyebrow and Dorn shrugged his shoulders. Florins turned back to face me. She pursed her lips for a few seconds, ground her teeth like she was chewing on something. Come on, spit it out. I stared back at her. I never was one for excessive use of words. She took a deep breath and began to talk.
"I have been working on a case with Det. Dorn and another detective for a little over a year. We're a representative from each of the three surrounding cities. We're the best at what we do and what we do is find bad guys. Bad guys that kill people."
She paused to let that sink in. Brian is dead. Brian was murdered. I was right. How though? I can feel my heartbeat thud in my chest.
"We have been investigating a number of murders in and around the cities. I'm sure you've read about them in the paper or seen it on the news. Women, 25-35, high levels of alcohol in their system. Beaten, raped, strangled then left to rot on a quiet roadside. Most of them put up some form of fight but it wasn't enough. They just weren't strong enough."
I blink at her. Brain was murdered the same as these women? He's strong though. He works out. He's used to getting into fights. He's worked at so many bars and clubs, he's used to it. He would have been able to fight them off. My breathing becomes shallow and fast.
"We got plenty of DNA evidence but no hits in the database. Whoever this guy was, he had never been caught for anything and wasn't in the system. We knew that if we didn't find him soon, he'd keep killing whilst also keeping his nose clean. It took months but finally we're were able to secure a warrant to collect everyone's DNA that worked in the bars and clubs that these women had last been seen in. That was a week ago. We go the results back...and we got a hit."
A week ago? That's the last time she'd seen Brian. She'd came home from work the next day to find a letter from him telling her he'd had to to home for a family emergency and he'd be back in a week or so. He'd left a rose on the note. She hadn't heard from him since but she wasn't worried, it wasn't out of character. They were both independent people and didn't have to be in constant contact. He'd go away for days at a time sometimes and would have no contact with her but he'd always tell her with a note. Always leave a rose. Always come back. My eye sight began to pinhole.
"The women were all approx 5"4', slight build - about 115lbs, bobbed hair light brown in colour, grey eyes."
She had just described me.
"He left a rose on every body..."
Black spots danced in front of my eyes.
"Where is Brian?"
278 times I'd cheated death. How many women had taken my place? With ringing ears I passed out.
—----------
It's years since I did any creative writing so be kind! So typed on my phone so forgive any ridiculous spelling errors. | “Wake up, jackass. I’ve got a bone to pick with you.” A sharp voice crushed the silence of the night in her bedroom.
She bolted upright, heart drumming in her chest, and reached for the drawer of her nightstand where the 9 millimeter always sat. She lived alone in a single bedroom apartment in a rough city. There were certain precautious a young woman took.
However, when her fingers finally ripped the drawer open she found there was no pistol inside.
“Yeah, dumbass, I got it right here.”
She squinted through the dark at the figure by the end of her bed. He wasn’t the tallest man she’d ever seen, nor the most muscular, and though she couldn’t see his face clearly the curve of his jaw in the moonlight was soft and smooth. There was something about him even as he spun her pistol around in his hand that instilled a strange sense of security.
“Who are you?” She asked.
“We’re not talking ‘bout me you lousy snitch.” He folded his arms irritably, “Why’d you have to check the number, huh?”
“The number?” She wiped her eyes sleepily and tried to bring her drowsy mind up to speed.
“Yes the number! 278! Why’d you have to go and spread something like that around? Are you stupid or something?” He yelled.
“Who are you?” She griped back, his tone and insults beginning to dig in. “Why do you care how many times I’ve almost died?”
“Because I was hired to kill you, you spork.” He threw his hands up with exasperation, “I’m an assassin for crying out loud.”
A moment passed in the darkness of the apartment, the only sound that of the old analogue clock ticking on the wall.
“Wow,” she whispered, “you’re a terrible assassin.”
“Oh yeah, bimbo brain? Well now that you’ve gone and pissed off my boss you’ve got another one coming for you. He ain’t as friendly either, baby.” He gestured around animatedly with the gun in hand.
“Why are you telling me this?” She asked, a bit of fear finally scratching through the strange calm she felt around the intruder.
He sighed, scratching the back of his head, and answered, “If anyone’s gonna kill you it’s gonna be me. Now get up and get some clothes on. We need to move.” | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | 278? Are they fucking kidding? Hell, I barely even leave my tiny hovel of an apartment. I look at the doctor, ready to see a smile or a smirk, but she is stone faced, as confused as I am.
''There's gotta be a bug, right?, '' I ask her. She shakes her head slowly.
''No. No bug, it's foolproof, '' she says.
I go home, sit down on my bed, and open a beer. As I glance around the room, my gaze stops suddenly, on a small tan bottle. Thoughtfully, I read the label. It says,
''Oxycontin. '' | “Wake up, jackass. I’ve got a bone to pick with you.” A sharp voice crushed the silence of the night in her bedroom.
She bolted upright, heart drumming in her chest, and reached for the drawer of her nightstand where the 9 millimeter always sat. She lived alone in a single bedroom apartment in a rough city. There were certain precautious a young woman took.
However, when her fingers finally ripped the drawer open she found there was no pistol inside.
“Yeah, dumbass, I got it right here.”
She squinted through the dark at the figure by the end of her bed. He wasn’t the tallest man she’d ever seen, nor the most muscular, and though she couldn’t see his face clearly the curve of his jaw in the moonlight was soft and smooth. There was something about him even as he spun her pistol around in his hand that instilled a strange sense of security.
“Who are you?” She asked.
“We’re not talking ‘bout me you lousy snitch.” He folded his arms irritably, “Why’d you have to check the number, huh?”
“The number?” She wiped her eyes sleepily and tried to bring her drowsy mind up to speed.
“Yes the number! 278! Why’d you have to go and spread something like that around? Are you stupid or something?” He yelled.
“Who are you?” She griped back, his tone and insults beginning to dig in. “Why do you care how many times I’ve almost died?”
“Because I was hired to kill you, you spork.” He threw his hands up with exasperation, “I’m an assassin for crying out loud.”
A moment passed in the darkness of the apartment, the only sound that of the old analogue clock ticking on the wall.
“Wow,” she whispered, “you’re a terrible assassin.”
“Oh yeah, bimbo brain? Well now that you’ve gone and pissed off my boss you’ve got another one coming for you. He ain’t as friendly either, baby.” He gestured around animatedly with the gun in hand.
“Why are you telling me this?” She asked, a bit of fear finally scratching through the strange calm she felt around the intruder.
He sighed, scratching the back of his head, and answered, “If anyone’s gonna kill you it’s gonna be me. Now get up and get some clothes on. We need to move.” | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | 278? That can't be right. The most I've heard is 15 or so right? How could I have been close to death 278 times? I'm teach 6/7 year old children in a quiet corner of a quiet town that thinks a dog getting out of a back yard and chasing a cat in the middle of the night and waking a few houses up is conversation worthy for at least a week. The biggest scandal we've had in all my 32 years here is when the owner of the hardware store was caught with his pants down in the back of the bakery. With the bakers wife. No killings, no heavy traffic, no influx of strangers due to tourism. High Falls is just not a dangerous place.
Dangerous things happened in Trenton, Harrow and Darnish, the cities surrounding High Falls on three sides. That's where people got shot, run over...murdered. They were also the places where people might have dangerous jobs - law enforcement, emergency services, trash collectors. I just don't understand.
"Are you sure that's right? I mean, the highest I've heard is 15. 278 sounds...excessive."
"It is unusually high for this area alright but the system is air tight. That's your number. I suggest you take some time to think about what could be causing these figures. Check the brakes on your car, check your house for carbon manoxide, maybe have an allergy test. It could be anything. "
I left the Live Well office in a daze. My car, my house, my body. Something was trying to kill me and with figures like mine, it's going to succeed sooner rather than later.
My chest got tight. I've been meaning to trade up and get a better car for a couple of years but money is tight and I haven't had that many problems with it. I've had my mother in that car, my sister, my 2 year old neice. Could I have added to their number?
My breathing become shallow and fast. Am I living in a death trap? My apartment isn't the best but it's all I can afford, even splitting the rent with Brian. Sure, the landlord isn't fast about fixing things and is a couple of months late doing the yearly maintenance run but I'd be dead already, and others in the building too, if there was ventilation issues.
My eye sight began to narrow, black spots danced before me. Am I going to have to give up milk??
My ears began to ring, the ground decided to slap me in the face.
Beep. Beep. Ugh. My head hurts. Why does my head hurt? Beep. Beep. Why am I beeping? I open my eyes and squint against the bright light. Looking around I can see that I'm in a hospital room. Looking down I can see that I'm on a drip. My face is throbbing and my nose is stabbing my every time I have the audacity to try to breath though it. How dare I huh? There's a nurse call button beside my right hand.
A nurse comes in perhaps 20seconds after I call for her. She's middle aged, smiling.
"Good, you're awake. How do you feel? Yes, your head hurts because you passed out in the street and landed on your face. Your nose isn't broken though, you'll be fine. You just stay where you are, there's someone here waiting to see you."
Whoa, that was a whirlwind. I got one question in. Someone's here for me, must be Brian.
A small, balding man and a tall, lanky woman walk into my room. Both have that jaded look in their eyes that comes from seeing too much and trying to drown it in coffee and booze. Definitely cops based on the few shows she's seen. Why are cops here to see me?
"Hi Jane. I am Detective Florins and my colleague is Detective Dorn. I'm sure you're wondering why you're here, in a hospital room on your own with cops waiting outside."
I look at Det. Florins, all tall and lanky and jaded. I take a closer look around the room. I'm on my own. I lean forward and take a peek outside the door and true enough, there's a uniformed cop standing outside. I have health insurance but only the most basic. My injuries shouldn't warrant a room on my own.
"What's going on? I want to see my boyfriend. Do I need a lawyer? What did I do? Am I in trouble?"
"You don't need a lawyer Jane. You haven't done anything wrong. The officer outside is there for your protection. As for your boyfriend, we need to talk to you about him."
"Oh no! Is he OK?? Has something happened to him? Where is he?" A million possibilities run through my head. Dead in a ditch, robbed at gunpoint, hurt from a fight with a someone at the nightclub he worked at. He often came home with black eyes and bruises from over drunk guys and scrapes and scratches from overly amorous women.
"Well, that's where we need your help. We need to talk to him and he wasn't at home when we called"
This sounds like they're fishing for information. Tell them nothing until they tell me something. Play hardball. Yeah right.
"I'm sorry Detective but unless you tell me exact what is going on I'm not going to tell you anything."
Both detectives looked at each other. Florins raised an eyebrow and Dorn shrugged his shoulders. Florins turned back to face me. She pursed her lips for a few seconds, ground her teeth like she was chewing on something. Come on, spit it out. I stared back at her. I never was one for excessive use of words. She took a deep breath and began to talk.
"I have been working on a case with Det. Dorn and another detective for a little over a year. We're a representative from each of the three surrounding cities. We're the best at what we do and what we do is find bad guys. Bad guys that kill people."
She paused to let that sink in. Brian is dead. Brian was murdered. I was right. How though? I can feel my heartbeat thud in my chest.
"We have been investigating a number of murders in and around the cities. I'm sure you've read about them in the paper or seen it on the news. Women, 25-35, high levels of alcohol in their system. Beaten, raped, strangled then left to rot on a quiet roadside. Most of them put up some form of fight but it wasn't enough. They just weren't strong enough."
I blink at her. Brain was murdered the same as these women? He's strong though. He works out. He's used to getting into fights. He's worked at so many bars and clubs, he's used to it. He would have been able to fight them off. My breathing becomes shallow and fast.
"We got plenty of DNA evidence but no hits in the database. Whoever this guy was, he had never been caught for anything and wasn't in the system. We knew that if we didn't find him soon, he'd keep killing whilst also keeping his nose clean. It took months but finally we're were able to secure a warrant to collect everyone's DNA that worked in the bars and clubs that these women had last been seen in. That was a week ago. We go the results back...and we got a hit."
A week ago? That's the last time she'd seen Brian. She'd came home from work the next day to find a letter from him telling her he'd had to to home for a family emergency and he'd be back in a week or so. He'd left a rose on the note. She hadn't heard from him since but she wasn't worried, it wasn't out of character. They were both independent people and didn't have to be in constant contact. He'd go away for days at a time sometimes and would have no contact with her but he'd always tell her with a note. Always leave a rose. Always come back. My eye sight began to pinhole.
"The women were all approx 5"4', slight build - about 115lbs, bobbed hair light brown in colour, grey eyes."
She had just described me.
"He left a rose on every body..."
Black spots danced in front of my eyes.
"Where is Brian?"
278 times I'd cheated death. How many women had taken my place? With ringing ears I passed out.
—----------
It's years since I did any creative writing so be kind! So typed on my phone so forgive any ridiculous spelling errors. | Some people need to feel more than others. Unless they're dead, everyone is chasing something .
My parents used to let me sit on the floorboards of the big Ford truck. The old rig, with a huge scratchy bench seat had room for three kids on the passenger side. The engine would warm through the rubber floor mat. I thought it was the best seat in the truck when I was five.
On the way to school one morning an early October snowstorm had covered the road in a cottony blanket of white. I remember hearing my Dad curse and beat his fists against the steering wheel, shaking the whole truck. As I looked up to see what was wrong I remember the treetops moving backwards along with the inside of my stomach. When I looked at my Dad his arms were reaching for me instead of the steering wheel. Icy glass fell all around us as we huddled over the shifter. My Dad looked terrified. I had never been so excited in my life.
The trouble with chasing adrenaline is the element of surprise. The rush is only there when you feel out of control and that's a tricky place to reside without dying. At last count, I should have been dead 278 times. And lord knows I had tried hard enough. | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | 278? Are they fucking kidding? Hell, I barely even leave my tiny hovel of an apartment. I look at the doctor, ready to see a smile or a smirk, but she is stone faced, as confused as I am.
''There's gotta be a bug, right?, '' I ask her. She shakes her head slowly.
''No. No bug, it's foolproof, '' she says.
I go home, sit down on my bed, and open a beer. As I glance around the room, my gaze stops suddenly, on a small tan bottle. Thoughtfully, I read the label. It says,
''Oxycontin. '' | Some people need to feel more than others. Unless they're dead, everyone is chasing something .
My parents used to let me sit on the floorboards of the big Ford truck. The old rig, with a huge scratchy bench seat had room for three kids on the passenger side. The engine would warm through the rubber floor mat. I thought it was the best seat in the truck when I was five.
On the way to school one morning an early October snowstorm had covered the road in a cottony blanket of white. I remember hearing my Dad curse and beat his fists against the steering wheel, shaking the whole truck. As I looked up to see what was wrong I remember the treetops moving backwards along with the inside of my stomach. When I looked at my Dad his arms were reaching for me instead of the steering wheel. Icy glass fell all around us as we huddled over the shifter. My Dad looked terrified. I had never been so excited in my life.
The trouble with chasing adrenaline is the element of surprise. The rush is only there when you feel out of control and that's a tricky place to reside without dying. At last count, I should have been dead 278 times. And lord knows I had tried hard enough. | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | 278? Are they fucking kidding? Hell, I barely even leave my tiny hovel of an apartment. I look at the doctor, ready to see a smile or a smirk, but she is stone faced, as confused as I am.
''There's gotta be a bug, right?, '' I ask her. She shakes her head slowly.
''No. No bug, it's foolproof, '' she says.
I go home, sit down on my bed, and open a beer. As I glance around the room, my gaze stops suddenly, on a small tan bottle. Thoughtfully, I read the label. It says,
''Oxycontin. '' | Ever since I began the walk home from the testing agency, the number 278 was ceaselessly ravaging throughout every crease of my brain. Every time I would see the canary flash of a speeding taxi, I thought, *What number is it now?* Truthfully, the town cars were several feet away but that wouldn't stop my anxiety from festering. I should be thankful that I had survived the 278 glances from death. Hell, I could be considered the luckiest man alive. Then why did I notice every crack in the sidewalk? Every crevice that had danced with rain and then was devastated when icy fingers reached for an escape. *Is 278 my devastation or the result of it?* *I can't believe it's this high.*
"Go on! It will be fun," Jake had exclaimed. "I got fifteen; I bet you can't beat that."
Jake described that he could remember most of his numbers. You see, Jake was an electrician by trade. He has suffered from electrocution a dozen times but felt that only two had the ferocity to make the list. He went on and on about how he had narrowly avoided a passing semi while on his motorcycle or how once he awoke half soaked in piss, the other in vodka. I couldn't help but notice how his eyes danced in the sunlight as he recalled his brief encounters with the dark. Of course Jake would warmly reminisce over the fifteen times he triumphed over death. He was the one to take everything in stride. He would always say, "You have to look at the positive." Unfortunately, I was not cut from the same cloth. *Why look at the light when the shade never betrays your eyes?*
I had not realized that I was already on Main Street. My feet were following the footprints left from previous treks as my mind was growing heavier with Jake's stories and 278. I was attempting to make any sense of the number, tying to rationalize what a reckless lifestyle I have been living but doubt settled when I recalled how much of a bore I am. Most of my waking hours were spent soaking the glow of a monitor. I worked from home, so my days generally felt the same. Either I counted figures or I added figures to my kill-streak count. Besides my online interactions, I really only socialized by calling Jake or by striking a conversation with my loyal kitten companion, Benson. *Can lonesomeness kill you? My number can't be that high.*
I methodically took each step to the entrance of my apartment and entered the hallway. Sounds of music, couples bickering, and clanking dishes resonated beyond the sealed doors of its inhabitants. The music of routine bounced sporadically throughout the hall, but not a single note penetrated. All I could hear was 278. I lazily fingered my keys until the found the correct fit. The creak of the door summoned Benson to welcome me. In a daze, I stumbled past and began pacing the oak floors of my living quarters. I meticulously recalled the times that I had stumbled over a folded rug or had forgotten to change the batteries to my smoke detector. I dismissed these numbers, believing it was simply my mind trying to disentangle this abysmal formula. *The figures just don't add up. How could it be 278!? It couldn't have happened that often.* I attempted to push these thoughts aside while I continued to fester.
As the street before, my feet found a familiar path though my apartment as I attempted to calculate every instance I forgot to look both ways at a crosswalk. I discovered myself sitting cross-legged on the bathroom floor, in the corner where the porcelain tub met the wall. When I was finally able to rid the clouds populating inside my head, I felt the now-warmed grip of a revolver. *I don't remember grabbing this from the nightstand. This has practically become my nightly ritual.* The deadly steel shone bright against the florescent bulb, flickering melodically above. I made the gleam dance across the surface of the metal as I manipulated the pistol. As I considered two paths, twin rivers crashed down my splotched cheeks and caught the loose fibers of my clothing. *There has to be more than this. What was all considered in the 278? How many times have I sat in this same spot, never able to pull the trigger?*
There was a faint scratching upon the door. I listened as claws followed a known groove, cleaving just a bit deeper. My loyal companion was as hungry as he was impatient. *Seems like he remembers the routine as well.* With trembling hands, I slowly released the cylinder and began to habitually poke the bullets from their home. As I heard each individual clink of another round falling upon the ceramic tile flooring, I found myself counting, "279, 280, 281..." | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | "I'm telling you, angel. 278," I say, grabbing a beer from the fridge and wandering to the table. "How am I at 278?"
Angela walked through the kitchen and closed the fridge door. Concern wrenched her face tight as she stood there, staring through the fridge at something a million miles behind it.
"Angel, please," I say, trying to dissolve some of that tension. "It's gotta be a bug in the app."
This Close Call app had only dropped for civilians today, but it had been in the professional circles for ages. The insurance industry had created it to adjust risk or something, although even they couldn't pinpoint where it got the data from.
"I mean You're at 15 right?" I add. "And they said that's high even for a detective. Meanwhile I'm sitting around here all day smashing beers, and I'm at 278? I betcha it's counting all the times I nearly died in Fortnite or something."
"It can't be that, they said it's flawless," she says, smiling as she turns towards me. "They couldn't use it to jack up my premiums if there were any errors, half the jackasses in my precinct play as much Fortnite as you."
She grabs her phone from her pocket, and her smile slips away.
"You gotta go don't you?" I ask, already knowing the answer. She nods. "It's not the Tumblr killer again is it? I know he only shoots straight white dudes, but shit... what if you get in his way? I dunno angel, it stresses me out."
"It probably isn't that," she says. "I'll be fine. I'm not the one sitting on two hundred and seventy eight close calls." I can't read her eyes. It's like she wants to joke about it, but she's just too concerned for my safety.
"That's what worries me baby, I won't make it to 300 if I don't have my angel!" I say, standing and kissing her. Her smile is back. I spank her on the ass as she heads to the door. She hadn't even taken off her holster or her badge before they'd called her out again.
"Can you grab some more beer on your way home too gorgeous?" I yell. "We're all out, and I'm gonna smash it with the boys tonight."
She stops in the doorway, the hallway fluorescent backlighting her like some sort of heavenly being until my eyes adjust. Instead, all I can see is her perfect figure, still as a statue in the doorway, unmoving. I start to wonder what she's thinking, but I can't stop myself.
"By god you have a sexy silhouette!" I call out, putting on my best southern gentleman accent. She barks out a quick laugh and shakes her head, closing the door and heading off to work.
I head over to the couch and grab my headset and PS4 controller. Mikey's already on.
"Mikey, dude. You've gotta see what I got on the CC app," I say, loading into Fortnite. "I'm pretty sure it's counting all the times I've had to save your ass."
I grab my phone out. I'll screenshot the app and chuck it on twitter -- maybe I can go viral. That'd help my youtube channel. The app's taking it's time, which is annoying, but it opens eventually.
Weird. Now it's saying 280. | I knew from the start I was destined to be an outlier, I never fitted into anything, even while being optimistic and throwing myself way out of my comfort zone. That being said, while I am optimistic, I also would prefer to listen to music than waste time making an impression that will be worthless if I quit in a few days anyway. It’s worth a shot but almost never works out. I was always an outlier, but I never thought about death in this context, whos more likely to fast or slow, I could list off.
There are countable times where I could’ve died, sure. I remember once going on a hike up one of the highest mountains in Ireland. We couldn’t do the highest one because although it isn’t substantially taller than the one i climbed, it always seemed as if the highest wasn’t for me, from experience. For once I decided to stay in my comfort zone, perhaps for my own safety. If I had known that that day I would get halfway up, put my foot on a loose rock and hit my head off the ground, I would’ve gone for the highest mountain in Europe, let alone Ireland.
Becoming blind in one eye was just about the worst thing to happen to me. I was an avid player of soccer, hurling, tennis, I enjoyed just about everything that I had tried out, even if I wasn’t good at it. Not fitting in isn’t limiting what you can do, intimidation was never a problem for me.
Now if I even try to throw a tennis ball in the air and catch it in my right hand it hopelessly bounces back up and over into my peripheral vision. Because my left eye is injured beyond repair, it leaves a lot to the imagination when it comes to finding things, always having to turn to the right to find a stupid tennis ball every time I miss the catch.
But now that I think about it, how many times have I walked across the road, plugged into my earphones as I almost always am nowadays, when a car just about brakes, because I never bothered to look left and right? Or how many times have I turned a literal blind eye to a mugging going down in an alley right beside me? If I had been the witness, or if I had intervened, would that be game over?
I always had a mindset that old people die first, as dark as it sounds. But as you grow up, you realize that the theory of death is, it could happen to anyone. Anytime. Any place. Any weakness. Any strength.
The moral? For the love of God, never turn a blind eye |
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