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[WP] After a long night of work, you drag yourself into your house. Before you turn on the light a voice says "don't scream." You turn around to see Santa Claus sitting on your couch. "It's your son" Santa says, "for Christmas he wanted me to talk to you." | Dropping my bag at the door and placing the bag of takeout on the table next to my keys, I kicked my shoes somewhere into the darkness of the hallway toward my bedroom. Our bedroom. My bedroom. Reaching for the light switch, a voice made itself known, somehow familiar, but completely out of place in the house. Our house…my house.
“Don’t scream.”
I froze at the sight before me, sitting on my sofa. His eyes, how they twinkled, his dimples how merry. The beard on his chin was as white as the snow. ‘This was it’, I told myself. ‘I’m having a stroke. Work has finally caught up with me.’
Saint Nicholas himself rose from his place to offer his seat before he settled into the recliner. Paws, our…my cat, quickly settled into his lap. His calloused hands commenced stroking with firm, practiced movements.
“Sit, John. I have a feeling this will be easier.”
The half-dozen steps from the front door to the place ordained for me are both permanently forgotten and burned into my memory as I crossed the distance to sit before Santa Claus.
“…You can’t be here. You’re not real. You can’t be,” I stammered.
His droll little mouth drew up like a bow.
“You’re not the first to think that, nor will you be the last. All of you as children, you all believe that I am real. It is only with the passage into adulthood that you lose that spark of imagination, that very core of belief, that so many of you held. Rest assured, though, I am real, and I’ve taken a detour to deliver something very special to you.
“It’s your son. For Christmas, he wanted me to talk to you.”
The tears came unbidden, quick, hot, and furious, along with the memories of the flashing lights, the blackness, the beep of the monitors. The pain, the hurt, the loss…
I raged. “Who the hell do you think you are, showing up in that getup, claiming to be 'Santa Claus', telling me my son sent you! Get the hell out of my house before I call the cops!”
Leaning forward, he placed Paws on the ground. She stalked off with the grumpy saunter all cats are known for.
“I will be honest John, I have never done this before, and I don’t know if I will ever be able to do so again. But his request was not something I could say no to. He has a force of will the likes of which this world may never see again, even as young as he was.
"But I have other places to be tonight, and I must be quick. ‘Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer’ was his favorite Christmas song, right?"
Still angry, I nodded.
“He said he was very happy you would sing that song with him, even though you thought it was a particularly silly song. He was glad you were singing it then.”
All movement ceased for a moment, or an hour, and I have never been able to tell which it was. I never told anyone what was going on in the car at that time. My mind again flashed back to that night, that Christmas night. The night we were on our way home, singing silly songs like ‘Rudolph’, when…
I collapsed back into the sofa.
Santa stood from the recliner and placed his hand on my shoulder.
“Ha said to tell you that none of this was your fault. You could not have seen the ice. He said he and Mom are fine, and that you need to stop blaming yourself. He doesn’t want you sad this Christmas. That’s not what it’s about.”
My face was buried in my hands before the last word had dissipated in the air. The tears again came unbidden, but different this time. Relief, catharsis, release. I do not know how long I cried, or when I finally collapsed from exhaustion on the couch. The Chinese went cold, uneaten in our foyer.
I awoke the next morning, Christmas morning. Scrubbing the remains of tears from my face, I began to go over the dream from last night.
The bright red hat with the white pom in the recliner put paid to the thought that it was just a dream. | Midnight of Christmas Day, AD 324.
Marcus had finally made his way back to his quarters. He had spent the entire day preparing for the Christmas Mass, and it was tiring him down to his aging bones. But it was the noble birth of the Lord and he was willing to dedicate his life and soul to it. For now, he will dedicate it to rest. He made his way to bed, extinguishing his bedside candle and prepared for a goodnight sleep.
A noise. A noise from the living room.
Marcus woke immediately. He was not expecting any guests to come at this hour, or worse, a robbery. He was a defenseless middle-aged man, but he made a few prayers before quietly making his way to the living room, ready to light a candle to see who it was.
“Who is the-”
“Don’t scream.” Said the voice. Marcus was disturbed by this calm and collected entity talking to him. Worse, he seemed familiar. Lighting the candle, he held it towards the dark figure sitting on a nearby chair. He could tell exactly who it was.
“Bishop Nicholas,” said Marcus, “you picked a strange time to conduct business.”
“I disagree Bishop Marcus,” replied Nicholas, “I have come precisely at the right time. Why don’t you sit down with me?”
Marcus stood in defiance, for he was not one to back down easily. “I know what you come here for, and my answer is still no. Please leave at once or I will call for help!”
Nicholas smiled, unmoved by the threat. “Marcus, I mean you no harm. The only harm done here is to your spiritual self. I must insist, once again, that you renounce your affinity for that Arius and his *Arian* heresy.”
There was a long pause between the two men like an impasse of blades. Then Marcus spoke, “is that all you have come here for?”
“Hah, of course there is more.” Bishop Nicholas replied. “You see, I have word that our blessed Emperor Constantine is preparing to hold a council at Nicaea in the coming months. He is tired of the bickering among our fellow Christian brothers and the wretched schisms created by Arius and his followers. I suspect the assembly will vote once and for all on this matter, if Arius is to be criminal or creed.”
Marcus grinned. “So, you came all the way here to convince me to vote against Arius at this council? You dare question my fidelity to God and my principles?”
Nicholas slowly rose from his chair, facing the door. “You can have it your way, my friend. Though I have another very important message for you.”
“Spit it out quick, I have important work tomorrow.”
Nicholas grinned. “Of course, friend. Say, does the name “Quintus” ring any bells?”
Marcus was silent, unable to speak as Nicholas’ smile grew wider. “Really, Marcus? You don’t know a boy called “Quintus” who lives with a blacksmith’s daughter named “Julia” near the coast of Syracuse?”
Again, Marcus said nothing. Dread began to petrify him even further.
Nicholas continued. “Well, in case you do know little “Quintus” of Syracuse, he would like to say that he wishes that “father” would visit some time for he is very lonely.”
Silence. Marcus couldn’t even breathe.
“Of course, this boy’s father could be anyone, some drunk or philanderer who has run away. I’ve also heard some ridiculous story that his mother was once in the company of a young man long ago. Now, get this, the young man also happened to be a priest and was rising through the ranks of his Church, even becoming a Bishop! A brother in our company breaking his vows of celibacy would be an offense to God, to our faith, and to his own credibility!”
Nicholas walked closer to Marcus, now as still as a rock.
"But of course, a man of fidelity like you would have nothing to do with that.”
Slowly, Nicholas turned around towards the door, picking up his belongings. Marcus slowly began to breathe again, still in shock as he watched his fellow Christian making his way out. As he approached the entrance, Nicholas turned once again towards Marcus.
“Our friend, Athanasius of Alexandria, will lead our case against the Arian heresy. Can I tell him he can rely on your support?”
The air was still in the quarters, with only the hooting of owls breaking the silence. After a moment, Marcus gave a somber nod.
“Thank you, brother.” Nicholas replied. “Merry Christmas.” | |
[WP] After a long night of work, you drag yourself into your house. Before you turn on the light a voice says "don't scream." You turn around to see Santa Claus sitting on your couch. "It's your son" Santa says, "for Christmas he wanted me to talk to you." | Santa’s eyes shone blackly in the darkness. I had seen many pictures of him before, always so jolly and friendly. This was anything but.
“Sit down,” he said.
I walked over and sat in the armchair opposite. I had no idea why I obeyed. This was my house after all.
Santa picked up a glass tumbler from the coffee table in front of him and took a long gulp of an amber liquid. I spotted the bottle on the floor beside the couch. Empty. Santa had drunk all my good whiskey.
“You know, almost every kid in the world sends me a letter with their Christmas wishes. I get so many different requests for toys and games. You’d think no letter would be the same? But every year, I get letters from kids in every country on the planet asking for the same thing.”
I heard noise behind me. I moved to turn but Santa snapped angrily. “Listen!”
He finished his drink and put the glass back on the table. “Thousands of different kids. All with the same Christmas wish. You know what that is? Can you guess?”
I shook my head.
“For Daddy to stop hurting me.”
My heart sank. I opened my mouth to protest but Santa raised a finger to stop me.
“Before you give me some excuse. Just hear this. I have no idea why you hurt Oscar. I don’t care. No matter what reason you can come up with, what trauma or incident in your past that made you like this. I don’t care.”
“I didn’t ask to be a father,” I said, “I don’t know how to be one.”
“HE’S FIVE YEARS OLD,” Santa shouted, “And you beat him.”
Santa wasn’t the only one who had been drinking that day. I had stopped at the bar after work. A few festive drinks to celebrate Christmas Eve. The liquid confidence burned in my veins.
“Not often,” I said.
“Once is too much,” said Santa.
Movement again. I turned around and saw small figures circling the edge of the room. No bigger than a child but their silhouettes were sharper, more adult than the doughy bodies kids have. Their beady eyes were focused on me.
“I can’t help every kid. No matter how hard it is for me to read the letters, I…I just can’t,” said Santa. “But every year, I will break the rules and give some poor little kid like Oscar exactly what he needs for Christmas.”
“And what’s that?” I said.
“For his dad to stop beating him.”
“How?” I said, “I love Oscar. I do. But I wasn’t ready for him. I mean, I only married his mother because she got knocked up. Now I have to work to pay their bills, nothing gets left for me. What are you going to do? Give me a sack full of cash? A new liver? Can you gift wrap patience and give it to me?”
“No,” said Santa.
He whistled. The shadows behind me leapt at me. I screamed as I felt their tiny hands pull me down to the floor. Elves. Santa’s little helpers. Hog-tying me.
“I am going to take you with me tonight,” said Santa, “You’ll be on the sleigh with me.”
He stood up from the crouch and walked over, kneeling down beside me. I almost laughed. What he had planned didn’t seem so bad. Getting to fly on Santa’s sleigh? It was every kid’s dream. Maybe it was some sort of bizarre rehab he had in mind. A Christmas carol where a night with Santa would change my heart. I sort of hoped it would.
“Outside,” Santa said, sharply.
The elves dragged me out the front door, onto the driveway. I looked up as best I could and saw the sleigh parked in the street, as if it was nothing. At the front, Santa’s reindeer stood motionless. They were unlike any reindeer I had seen before. Each was as big as a van, their bodies rippling with muscle and power. At the back, the sleigh was a lot less ornate than I imagined. Simple wood painted red. Elves sat and stared at me from the back, riding beside a bulging sack that seemed to have a life of its own.
“Put him onboard,” said Santa.
He climbed up behind the reins as I was positioned beside him. “Do you know how many homes I have to visit tonight? Billions. Impossible to do it all in one night. But I have my powers, I can slow time to make it all possible. How much time do you think it takes? To answer every child’s Christmas wishes? More than you can imagine. Tonight, you won’t have to.”
Santa yanked on the reins harshly and the reindeer began moving. Slowly, then faster and faster until the world became a blur. “The good thing for me and my companions here is that time has no meaning to us,” said Santa. “We don’t age. We are everlasting. You, on the other hand.”
The sleigh suddenly lifted as the reindeer raced up into the sky above us. “I will take you to every corner of the planet. Centuries will pass as I make my deliveries. You will witness it all. But you will age. I’ll keep you alive. Until the last stop. And then you will die.”
The sky shimmered around us as Santa took a deep breath.
“Please! I can change. I can be a good father.”
“No,” said Santa, “You can’t. ON DANCER, ON PRANCER. ON DONNER AND BLITZEN. ON COMET AND CUPID AND DASHER AND VIXEN.”
I sat strapped to the sleigh as we moved through time and space. Every second became a year, an hour an eternity. I had no choice but to stay there, watching everything happen. All the happiness, all the joy in the world. At first all I could do was scream. Over and over. But as the years passed, my voice became nothing more than a whimper. The world around me lost all meaning. House to house, my mind could not take any more. I hoped I would lose my mind. Go mad so that I would not suffer any further. But Santa wouldn’t let me. A thousand lifetimes I sat strapped to that sleigh. Feeling my body age until my joins were dust, my bones brittle sticks that barely supported my flesh.
The last delivery was finally made. Santa soared us up and away, towards the north.
“You should be happy,” said Santa. “Oscar will enjoy every Christmas from now on. Let that provide you with some small comfort.”
He turned and pushed me. I tumbled out of the sleigh and through the sky. The last thing I saw was the icy artic tundra rushing up to me. Oscar’s happiness. It was no comfort at all. | My feet hurt like hell, and I'd changed into flats in the cab. I tipped the driver fifty, because what the hell, it was Christmas, and I'd done pretty well at the club. Here I was, going home to a cat , a pile of laundry, and an OK view of the city from my apartment. I would make some cocoa and pour a shot in it. I'd watch the sun rise and just sit in the little alcove with my cat, or so I thought.
I turned the key and heard the door creak open. I shut it behind me and locked the deadbolt.
"Don't scream." He said, his voice was calm and familiar. I turned to look and there he was, on my couch, with my cat in his lap.
"Nicholas." I said. "It's been a long time."
"It's your son, our son. He wanted me to talk to you. For Christmas, that's what he wanted." Nick was a lot older than me, hundreds of years in fact, and we'd been lovers once, resulting in a son who was basically a demigod. For the first three years I had raised him, but then he became more than I could handle, and his father took him to the North Pole. His father's wife, Mary Christmas, had been welcoming to the boy, though she understandably had resented me.
"Yeah?" I was kind of taken aback. "You must be as tired as I am after the night shift. Cocoa with or without a shot of single malt?" I asked him.
"With, Iris. Thank you." He said.
"You're the only one that still calls me that." I smiled and made us cocoa. "How is he?"
"He's...doing his own thing. He's almost finished building his cabin. You should see the thing, it's butt up against the caves and looks impossible, with this crazy crow's nest thing up top and a winding staircase all around the outside connecting multiple decks and observation platforms. He did it all himself, just pulling loads of stuff behind his snow machine every day for the last five years." Nick took a sip of the cocoa.
"What did he want you to tell me?" I asked, bracing myself.
I never knew what our child would do or say. When he was three, he had informed me that he was more than a human and as such needed a very special kind of education I'd never be able to provide. He'd told me he could never be in regular schools with regular kids because he'd already learned everything they would ever know, and he was right. I'd asked him if he thought his dad could provide what he needed and he'd said yes, his dad could provide most of what he needed and that he would want me to visit every so often, but not too often, because he would be busy inventing things and didn't need the distraction.
I'd been to the North pole to visit him every other year for the last twenty years. He'd never been warm or sentimental towards me at all. He'd been very formal toward me but proud to show me the things he made, giving just a hint of excitement when showing off the all terrain surf hover board, the mechanical reindeer herd, the collection of odd musical instruments, and on and on. Our kid was a genius, and he could make anything. He was making a world of his own in the Roosevelt Range, the mountains around the North pole. It was a cold, magical place, and my kid was a cold, but magical man. I love him, and I have no idea what he is.
"He wants me to give you this." Nick handed me an embossed silver envelope. "He's getting married."
I opened the envelope and read the invitation.
"Girl from Longyearbyen, Anna. She's exactly perfect for him, and you're going to know it when you meet her." Nick smiled.
"Does Mary know he wants me there?" I asked gently.
He was quiet for a moment, then said, "Mary died last spring." I could hear the tears he was trying to hold back.
"I'm so sorry." I said.
"She forgave us. She told me I should forgive myself too." He took a long sip of the spiked cocoa.
"Where are the reindeer?" I asked, suddenly remembering how Nick got anywhere.
"Oh!" He laughed, "They're on your roof. I told Donner not to let anyone eat any of the plants and for everyone to hide in the courtyard. I gave them some alfalfa and ran some water in the empty tub, so you might want to give it a wipe down before you use it again. They kind of slime up their water trough at home."
"Sounds like they're good up there for a while, then. Why don't you take a shower and a nap. You can use the guest room." I said.
"Oh, Iris, if I fall asleep here, I won't wake up for days." He smiled.
"Well, then sleep here for days." I answered him. | |
[WP] After a long night of work, you drag yourself into your house. Before you turn on the light a voice says "don't scream." You turn around to see Santa Claus sitting on your couch. "It's your son" Santa says, "for Christmas he wanted me to talk to you." | Dropping my bag at the door and placing the bag of takeout on the table next to my keys, I kicked my shoes somewhere into the darkness of the hallway toward my bedroom. Our bedroom. My bedroom. Reaching for the light switch, a voice made itself known, somehow familiar, but completely out of place in the house. Our house…my house.
“Don’t scream.”
I froze at the sight before me, sitting on my sofa. His eyes, how they twinkled, his dimples how merry. The beard on his chin was as white as the snow. ‘This was it’, I told myself. ‘I’m having a stroke. Work has finally caught up with me.’
Saint Nicholas himself rose from his place to offer his seat before he settled into the recliner. Paws, our…my cat, quickly settled into his lap. His calloused hands commenced stroking with firm, practiced movements.
“Sit, John. I have a feeling this will be easier.”
The half-dozen steps from the front door to the place ordained for me are both permanently forgotten and burned into my memory as I crossed the distance to sit before Santa Claus.
“…You can’t be here. You’re not real. You can’t be,” I stammered.
His droll little mouth drew up like a bow.
“You’re not the first to think that, nor will you be the last. All of you as children, you all believe that I am real. It is only with the passage into adulthood that you lose that spark of imagination, that very core of belief, that so many of you held. Rest assured, though, I am real, and I’ve taken a detour to deliver something very special to you.
“It’s your son. For Christmas, he wanted me to talk to you.”
The tears came unbidden, quick, hot, and furious, along with the memories of the flashing lights, the blackness, the beep of the monitors. The pain, the hurt, the loss…
I raged. “Who the hell do you think you are, showing up in that getup, claiming to be 'Santa Claus', telling me my son sent you! Get the hell out of my house before I call the cops!”
Leaning forward, he placed Paws on the ground. She stalked off with the grumpy saunter all cats are known for.
“I will be honest John, I have never done this before, and I don’t know if I will ever be able to do so again. But his request was not something I could say no to. He has a force of will the likes of which this world may never see again, even as young as he was.
"But I have other places to be tonight, and I must be quick. ‘Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer’ was his favorite Christmas song, right?"
Still angry, I nodded.
“He said he was very happy you would sing that song with him, even though you thought it was a particularly silly song. He was glad you were singing it then.”
All movement ceased for a moment, or an hour, and I have never been able to tell which it was. I never told anyone what was going on in the car at that time. My mind again flashed back to that night, that Christmas night. The night we were on our way home, singing silly songs like ‘Rudolph’, when…
I collapsed back into the sofa.
Santa stood from the recliner and placed his hand on my shoulder.
“Ha said to tell you that none of this was your fault. You could not have seen the ice. He said he and Mom are fine, and that you need to stop blaming yourself. He doesn’t want you sad this Christmas. That’s not what it’s about.”
My face was buried in my hands before the last word had dissipated in the air. The tears again came unbidden, but different this time. Relief, catharsis, release. I do not know how long I cried, or when I finally collapsed from exhaustion on the couch. The Chinese went cold, uneaten in our foyer.
I awoke the next morning, Christmas morning. Scrubbing the remains of tears from my face, I began to go over the dream from last night.
The bright red hat with the white pom in the recliner put paid to the thought that it was just a dream. | My feet hurt like hell, and I'd changed into flats in the cab. I tipped the driver fifty, because what the hell, it was Christmas, and I'd done pretty well at the club. Here I was, going home to a cat , a pile of laundry, and an OK view of the city from my apartment. I would make some cocoa and pour a shot in it. I'd watch the sun rise and just sit in the little alcove with my cat, or so I thought.
I turned the key and heard the door creak open. I shut it behind me and locked the deadbolt.
"Don't scream." He said, his voice was calm and familiar. I turned to look and there he was, on my couch, with my cat in his lap.
"Nicholas." I said. "It's been a long time."
"It's your son, our son. He wanted me to talk to you. For Christmas, that's what he wanted." Nick was a lot older than me, hundreds of years in fact, and we'd been lovers once, resulting in a son who was basically a demigod. For the first three years I had raised him, but then he became more than I could handle, and his father took him to the North Pole. His father's wife, Mary Christmas, had been welcoming to the boy, though she understandably had resented me.
"Yeah?" I was kind of taken aback. "You must be as tired as I am after the night shift. Cocoa with or without a shot of single malt?" I asked him.
"With, Iris. Thank you." He said.
"You're the only one that still calls me that." I smiled and made us cocoa. "How is he?"
"He's...doing his own thing. He's almost finished building his cabin. You should see the thing, it's butt up against the caves and looks impossible, with this crazy crow's nest thing up top and a winding staircase all around the outside connecting multiple decks and observation platforms. He did it all himself, just pulling loads of stuff behind his snow machine every day for the last five years." Nick took a sip of the cocoa.
"What did he want you to tell me?" I asked, bracing myself.
I never knew what our child would do or say. When he was three, he had informed me that he was more than a human and as such needed a very special kind of education I'd never be able to provide. He'd told me he could never be in regular schools with regular kids because he'd already learned everything they would ever know, and he was right. I'd asked him if he thought his dad could provide what he needed and he'd said yes, his dad could provide most of what he needed and that he would want me to visit every so often, but not too often, because he would be busy inventing things and didn't need the distraction.
I'd been to the North pole to visit him every other year for the last twenty years. He'd never been warm or sentimental towards me at all. He'd been very formal toward me but proud to show me the things he made, giving just a hint of excitement when showing off the all terrain surf hover board, the mechanical reindeer herd, the collection of odd musical instruments, and on and on. Our kid was a genius, and he could make anything. He was making a world of his own in the Roosevelt Range, the mountains around the North pole. It was a cold, magical place, and my kid was a cold, but magical man. I love him, and I have no idea what he is.
"He wants me to give you this." Nick handed me an embossed silver envelope. "He's getting married."
I opened the envelope and read the invitation.
"Girl from Longyearbyen, Anna. She's exactly perfect for him, and you're going to know it when you meet her." Nick smiled.
"Does Mary know he wants me there?" I asked gently.
He was quiet for a moment, then said, "Mary died last spring." I could hear the tears he was trying to hold back.
"I'm so sorry." I said.
"She forgave us. She told me I should forgive myself too." He took a long sip of the spiked cocoa.
"Where are the reindeer?" I asked, suddenly remembering how Nick got anywhere.
"Oh!" He laughed, "They're on your roof. I told Donner not to let anyone eat any of the plants and for everyone to hide in the courtyard. I gave them some alfalfa and ran some water in the empty tub, so you might want to give it a wipe down before you use it again. They kind of slime up their water trough at home."
"Sounds like they're good up there for a while, then. Why don't you take a shower and a nap. You can use the guest room." I said.
"Oh, Iris, if I fall asleep here, I won't wake up for days." He smiled.
"Well, then sleep here for days." I answered him. | |
[WP] After a long night of work, you drag yourself into your house. Before you turn on the light a voice says "don't scream." You turn around to see Santa Claus sitting on your couch. "It's your son" Santa says, "for Christmas he wanted me to talk to you." | Joseph let the heavy sigh escape his chest before unlocking his apartment door, the bottles in his bag clinking as he juggled the keys and his work bag. The keys went tumbling to the floor despite his efforts.
“Shit.” He muttered, fumbling for his keys. His hands were struggling to find them in the dark. Reason leaked through his foggy, work-stressed thoughts and he set his booze and backpack down.
Then from the dark of the apartment, “don’t scream.”
Joseph went rigid, eking out, “Listen, I have cash in my wallet and a laptop. You can also take the phone. I don’t want any trouble.”
There was a soft click that might have well been a scream, “Joseph, turn around. Now sit down on the couch with me. It’s Christmas Eve, and I have one last present to deliver.”
Joseph still could only make out a vague silhouette on the couch as his eyes adjusted. But he complied anyway. The man didn’t believe in a higher power, not anymore. His mind raced through fears and regrets.
There was a snap and a spark, as the intruder lit a match, then a candle resting on the coffee table. Before Joseph was the home invader, dressed like an upscale mall Santa. The man even looked old. The costume was movie quality but Joseph was looking for a weapon on the man. He didn’t see one immediately so he remained still and met Santa's eyes.
“What do you want?”
“Like I said, I have to deliver a present. It is Christmas Eve. But first, do you have any cookies?”
Joseph racked his mind for the contents of his decrepit kitchen. It was bare save for old juice, booze, and condiments. “No sir, just some beer.”
“That will do I guess.” Santa reached for the brown paper bag and pulled a cheap bottled beer from the bag, twisting the cap off. After downing the bottle he released a satisfied “ahh.”
Joseph remained still.
“Relax son. I know what this looks like, and this isn’t it. You have a child, a little guy named Darrin?”
“Y, yes sir. Please, he is little and has his whole life ahead of him.”
“So do you Joseph.” The Santa dressed man stood and walked to a filthy table, picking up a larger envelope, one Joseph refused to open. “You didn’t open your letter.”
“No. No I didn’t. It's from my ex-wife.”
“It's from Darrin, it just has Carol’s name on it.” St. Nick placed the letter gently on Joseph’s lap. Then helped himself to another beer, reclining on the couch. His cheeks were very rosy. “Open it.”
Inside was a little drawing, on lined notebook paper. It was a depiction of Darrin and Joseph, holding hands. There was a yellow sun, with long rays gleefully overhead. In the corner of the drawing were green bottles, in a slate grey trash can. A large red ‘X’ was drawn over the bottles. On the back of the drawing was simply, ‘Mery Csritmss,’ in bright green misshapen letters. The young man wept lightly at how beautiful it was.
“Now Joe, I do my best every year. I am a myth you see, and it gets harder and harder to do what I can. My influence is only so great, and I can only help so much. There are those I cannot help, and it devastates me. Darrin wrote a letter to me, asking to talk to you. Maybe I could get rid of your drinking. Sometimes kids confuse me with a god. Sometimes, I am the only hope they know of.” Cringle sighed, wiped a tear away, and helped himself to another bear. “But here, tonight, I might be able to save two.”
“Two?”
“Yes two. I can try and save Darrin, and Joey.”
“I haven’t been Joey since middle school.” Joseph looked up, thinking back to his youth. He was lost in memories for a few moments.
Nicholas brought him back. “You have enough cheap beer to bring three men your size to their knees. But I wager that it is barely enough for you now. I also know you are gathering enough courage with those bottles and the handle of whiskey in your cabinet. I also know about the present you bought yourself. The one under your bed.”
“I wasn’t going to…”
“I’m Saint Nicholas. You can’t get something like that passed me Joey.”
“I haven’t been Joey in a long time, Santa. I am not a child anymore.”
“That is what your father told you on December 24th, 1995 Joey. It wasn’t true then and it's an awful thing to say on Christmas Eve.”
Joey couldn’t hold back tears anymore. Emotions flooded through him, each vying for a chance to break through. But, as in most people, anger was the first one out.
“Fuck you! Fuck your psycho babble bullshit! So I drink. Life is awful. I’m middle aged, with a shit job in a shit apartment. My wife left me for some young asshole, she got full custody and somehow wrangled child support with limited visitation,” Joseph’s voice rose higher and higher, garbling his words. Mucus flowed freely from his nose and sinuses, making it hard to breath, and harder to keep going. “I just, I just want it to stop.”
He didn’t notice when Santa had sat beside him, putting a large arm around his shoulder. “Do you know what you asked for on December 24th, 1994, after you were told by your father that you were no longer a child?”
Joey snorted, trying to clear his nose. “No, I just remembered trying not to cry myself to sleep.”
“You asked to be a better man. I couldn’t give that to you all those years ago. Heck, I can’t even give that to you now.” Santa wiped away his old tears. “But as St. Nick, I do my best to try and fulfill every child’s wish. So I can do my best to try and help. And that can start tonight.”
“So what do I do?”
“I can only tell you where to start, I'm afraid. But you were always a smart boy and I believe in you.”
“Where do I start?”
“Give me the box under your bed. Start there.”
Joseph weakly stumbled to his bedroom. He crawled to his bed, reaching for the non-descript cardboard box nestled between moldy pizza boxes and forgotten laundry. It weighed more than the sum of its mass. The insides carried finality. Joey made a decision in the filth of his floor.
A few moments later, Santa was putting a box in his bag, smiling at Joey. The jolly old elf headed for the door.
“Wait! Santa, I know Darrin was the first kid you were helping. Who was the other?”
“You Joey. You were the second child.”
“I am not a child any more.”
“You are always a little boy to Santa, and I will always do my best to help children on Christmas.” And with that, St. Nick winked and vanished.
The next morning, Joseph found himself bent over his toilet, bottles littered all over the room. Even the oversized bottle of whiskey sat on the sink, empty. For once, he didn’t feel hungover, though his eyes were puffy and dry.
Months later, Joey had a 6 month chip, visitation rights, and a lot more life ahead of him. He believed that Christmas Eve was his breaking point. A night where he drank himself into hallucinating Santa Claus and confronted his daemons. At least, that is what he told himself and his therapist.
But it never explained what happened to his gun. | My feet hurt like hell, and I'd changed into flats in the cab. I tipped the driver fifty, because what the hell, it was Christmas, and I'd done pretty well at the club. Here I was, going home to a cat , a pile of laundry, and an OK view of the city from my apartment. I would make some cocoa and pour a shot in it. I'd watch the sun rise and just sit in the little alcove with my cat, or so I thought.
I turned the key and heard the door creak open. I shut it behind me and locked the deadbolt.
"Don't scream." He said, his voice was calm and familiar. I turned to look and there he was, on my couch, with my cat in his lap.
"Nicholas." I said. "It's been a long time."
"It's your son, our son. He wanted me to talk to you. For Christmas, that's what he wanted." Nick was a lot older than me, hundreds of years in fact, and we'd been lovers once, resulting in a son who was basically a demigod. For the first three years I had raised him, but then he became more than I could handle, and his father took him to the North Pole. His father's wife, Mary Christmas, had been welcoming to the boy, though she understandably had resented me.
"Yeah?" I was kind of taken aback. "You must be as tired as I am after the night shift. Cocoa with or without a shot of single malt?" I asked him.
"With, Iris. Thank you." He said.
"You're the only one that still calls me that." I smiled and made us cocoa. "How is he?"
"He's...doing his own thing. He's almost finished building his cabin. You should see the thing, it's butt up against the caves and looks impossible, with this crazy crow's nest thing up top and a winding staircase all around the outside connecting multiple decks and observation platforms. He did it all himself, just pulling loads of stuff behind his snow machine every day for the last five years." Nick took a sip of the cocoa.
"What did he want you to tell me?" I asked, bracing myself.
I never knew what our child would do or say. When he was three, he had informed me that he was more than a human and as such needed a very special kind of education I'd never be able to provide. He'd told me he could never be in regular schools with regular kids because he'd already learned everything they would ever know, and he was right. I'd asked him if he thought his dad could provide what he needed and he'd said yes, his dad could provide most of what he needed and that he would want me to visit every so often, but not too often, because he would be busy inventing things and didn't need the distraction.
I'd been to the North pole to visit him every other year for the last twenty years. He'd never been warm or sentimental towards me at all. He'd been very formal toward me but proud to show me the things he made, giving just a hint of excitement when showing off the all terrain surf hover board, the mechanical reindeer herd, the collection of odd musical instruments, and on and on. Our kid was a genius, and he could make anything. He was making a world of his own in the Roosevelt Range, the mountains around the North pole. It was a cold, magical place, and my kid was a cold, but magical man. I love him, and I have no idea what he is.
"He wants me to give you this." Nick handed me an embossed silver envelope. "He's getting married."
I opened the envelope and read the invitation.
"Girl from Longyearbyen, Anna. She's exactly perfect for him, and you're going to know it when you meet her." Nick smiled.
"Does Mary know he wants me there?" I asked gently.
He was quiet for a moment, then said, "Mary died last spring." I could hear the tears he was trying to hold back.
"I'm so sorry." I said.
"She forgave us. She told me I should forgive myself too." He took a long sip of the spiked cocoa.
"Where are the reindeer?" I asked, suddenly remembering how Nick got anywhere.
"Oh!" He laughed, "They're on your roof. I told Donner not to let anyone eat any of the plants and for everyone to hide in the courtyard. I gave them some alfalfa and ran some water in the empty tub, so you might want to give it a wipe down before you use it again. They kind of slime up their water trough at home."
"Sounds like they're good up there for a while, then. Why don't you take a shower and a nap. You can use the guest room." I said.
"Oh, Iris, if I fall asleep here, I won't wake up for days." He smiled.
"Well, then sleep here for days." I answered him. | |
[WP] After a long night of work, you drag yourself into your house. Before you turn on the light a voice says "don't scream." You turn around to see Santa Claus sitting on your couch. "It's your son" Santa says, "for Christmas he wanted me to talk to you." | Dropping my bag at the door and placing the bag of takeout on the table next to my keys, I kicked my shoes somewhere into the darkness of the hallway toward my bedroom. Our bedroom. My bedroom. Reaching for the light switch, a voice made itself known, somehow familiar, but completely out of place in the house. Our house…my house.
“Don’t scream.”
I froze at the sight before me, sitting on my sofa. His eyes, how they twinkled, his dimples how merry. The beard on his chin was as white as the snow. ‘This was it’, I told myself. ‘I’m having a stroke. Work has finally caught up with me.’
Saint Nicholas himself rose from his place to offer his seat before he settled into the recliner. Paws, our…my cat, quickly settled into his lap. His calloused hands commenced stroking with firm, practiced movements.
“Sit, John. I have a feeling this will be easier.”
The half-dozen steps from the front door to the place ordained for me are both permanently forgotten and burned into my memory as I crossed the distance to sit before Santa Claus.
“…You can’t be here. You’re not real. You can’t be,” I stammered.
His droll little mouth drew up like a bow.
“You’re not the first to think that, nor will you be the last. All of you as children, you all believe that I am real. It is only with the passage into adulthood that you lose that spark of imagination, that very core of belief, that so many of you held. Rest assured, though, I am real, and I’ve taken a detour to deliver something very special to you.
“It’s your son. For Christmas, he wanted me to talk to you.”
The tears came unbidden, quick, hot, and furious, along with the memories of the flashing lights, the blackness, the beep of the monitors. The pain, the hurt, the loss…
I raged. “Who the hell do you think you are, showing up in that getup, claiming to be 'Santa Claus', telling me my son sent you! Get the hell out of my house before I call the cops!”
Leaning forward, he placed Paws on the ground. She stalked off with the grumpy saunter all cats are known for.
“I will be honest John, I have never done this before, and I don’t know if I will ever be able to do so again. But his request was not something I could say no to. He has a force of will the likes of which this world may never see again, even as young as he was.
"But I have other places to be tonight, and I must be quick. ‘Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer’ was his favorite Christmas song, right?"
Still angry, I nodded.
“He said he was very happy you would sing that song with him, even though you thought it was a particularly silly song. He was glad you were singing it then.”
All movement ceased for a moment, or an hour, and I have never been able to tell which it was. I never told anyone what was going on in the car at that time. My mind again flashed back to that night, that Christmas night. The night we were on our way home, singing silly songs like ‘Rudolph’, when…
I collapsed back into the sofa.
Santa stood from the recliner and placed his hand on my shoulder.
“Ha said to tell you that none of this was your fault. You could not have seen the ice. He said he and Mom are fine, and that you need to stop blaming yourself. He doesn’t want you sad this Christmas. That’s not what it’s about.”
My face was buried in my hands before the last word had dissipated in the air. The tears again came unbidden, but different this time. Relief, catharsis, release. I do not know how long I cried, or when I finally collapsed from exhaustion on the couch. The Chinese went cold, uneaten in our foyer.
I awoke the next morning, Christmas morning. Scrubbing the remains of tears from my face, I began to go over the dream from last night.
The bright red hat with the white pom in the recliner put paid to the thought that it was just a dream. | Santa’s eyes shone blackly in the darkness. I had seen many pictures of him before, always so jolly and friendly. This was anything but.
“Sit down,” he said.
I walked over and sat in the armchair opposite. I had no idea why I obeyed. This was my house after all.
Santa picked up a glass tumbler from the coffee table in front of him and took a long gulp of an amber liquid. I spotted the bottle on the floor beside the couch. Empty. Santa had drunk all my good whiskey.
“You know, almost every kid in the world sends me a letter with their Christmas wishes. I get so many different requests for toys and games. You’d think no letter would be the same? But every year, I get letters from kids in every country on the planet asking for the same thing.”
I heard noise behind me. I moved to turn but Santa snapped angrily. “Listen!”
He finished his drink and put the glass back on the table. “Thousands of different kids. All with the same Christmas wish. You know what that is? Can you guess?”
I shook my head.
“For Daddy to stop hurting me.”
My heart sank. I opened my mouth to protest but Santa raised a finger to stop me.
“Before you give me some excuse. Just hear this. I have no idea why you hurt Oscar. I don’t care. No matter what reason you can come up with, what trauma or incident in your past that made you like this. I don’t care.”
“I didn’t ask to be a father,” I said, “I don’t know how to be one.”
“HE’S FIVE YEARS OLD,” Santa shouted, “And you beat him.”
Santa wasn’t the only one who had been drinking that day. I had stopped at the bar after work. A few festive drinks to celebrate Christmas Eve. The liquid confidence burned in my veins.
“Not often,” I said.
“Once is too much,” said Santa.
Movement again. I turned around and saw small figures circling the edge of the room. No bigger than a child but their silhouettes were sharper, more adult than the doughy bodies kids have. Their beady eyes were focused on me.
“I can’t help every kid. No matter how hard it is for me to read the letters, I…I just can’t,” said Santa. “But every year, I will break the rules and give some poor little kid like Oscar exactly what he needs for Christmas.”
“And what’s that?” I said.
“For his dad to stop beating him.”
“How?” I said, “I love Oscar. I do. But I wasn’t ready for him. I mean, I only married his mother because she got knocked up. Now I have to work to pay their bills, nothing gets left for me. What are you going to do? Give me a sack full of cash? A new liver? Can you gift wrap patience and give it to me?”
“No,” said Santa.
He whistled. The shadows behind me leapt at me. I screamed as I felt their tiny hands pull me down to the floor. Elves. Santa’s little helpers. Hog-tying me.
“I am going to take you with me tonight,” said Santa, “You’ll be on the sleigh with me.”
He stood up from the crouch and walked over, kneeling down beside me. I almost laughed. What he had planned didn’t seem so bad. Getting to fly on Santa’s sleigh? It was every kid’s dream. Maybe it was some sort of bizarre rehab he had in mind. A Christmas carol where a night with Santa would change my heart. I sort of hoped it would.
“Outside,” Santa said, sharply.
The elves dragged me out the front door, onto the driveway. I looked up as best I could and saw the sleigh parked in the street, as if it was nothing. At the front, Santa’s reindeer stood motionless. They were unlike any reindeer I had seen before. Each was as big as a van, their bodies rippling with muscle and power. At the back, the sleigh was a lot less ornate than I imagined. Simple wood painted red. Elves sat and stared at me from the back, riding beside a bulging sack that seemed to have a life of its own.
“Put him onboard,” said Santa.
He climbed up behind the reins as I was positioned beside him. “Do you know how many homes I have to visit tonight? Billions. Impossible to do it all in one night. But I have my powers, I can slow time to make it all possible. How much time do you think it takes? To answer every child’s Christmas wishes? More than you can imagine. Tonight, you won’t have to.”
Santa yanked on the reins harshly and the reindeer began moving. Slowly, then faster and faster until the world became a blur. “The good thing for me and my companions here is that time has no meaning to us,” said Santa. “We don’t age. We are everlasting. You, on the other hand.”
The sleigh suddenly lifted as the reindeer raced up into the sky above us. “I will take you to every corner of the planet. Centuries will pass as I make my deliveries. You will witness it all. But you will age. I’ll keep you alive. Until the last stop. And then you will die.”
The sky shimmered around us as Santa took a deep breath.
“Please! I can change. I can be a good father.”
“No,” said Santa, “You can’t. ON DANCER, ON PRANCER. ON DONNER AND BLITZEN. ON COMET AND CUPID AND DASHER AND VIXEN.”
I sat strapped to the sleigh as we moved through time and space. Every second became a year, an hour an eternity. I had no choice but to stay there, watching everything happen. All the happiness, all the joy in the world. At first all I could do was scream. Over and over. But as the years passed, my voice became nothing more than a whimper. The world around me lost all meaning. House to house, my mind could not take any more. I hoped I would lose my mind. Go mad so that I would not suffer any further. But Santa wouldn’t let me. A thousand lifetimes I sat strapped to that sleigh. Feeling my body age until my joins were dust, my bones brittle sticks that barely supported my flesh.
The last delivery was finally made. Santa soared us up and away, towards the north.
“You should be happy,” said Santa. “Oscar will enjoy every Christmas from now on. Let that provide you with some small comfort.”
He turned and pushed me. I tumbled out of the sleigh and through the sky. The last thing I saw was the icy artic tundra rushing up to me. Oscar’s happiness. It was no comfort at all. | |
[WP] After a long night of work, you drag yourself into your house. Before you turn on the light a voice says "don't scream." You turn around to see Santa Claus sitting on your couch. "It's your son" Santa says, "for Christmas he wanted me to talk to you." | It's his voice. That is how you know when you’ve met the real Santa. It was both stern and kind, weary and full of life. It was inexplicably familiar. It was like hearing the answer to a question you didn’t know you had.
I stood at my door, arms limp at my sides as we surveyed each other through the pale moonlight. Santa raised his arm, gesturing to the armchair next to me.
Sit, he said, speaking barely above a whisper.
I maneuvered mechanically into the chair, not taking my eyes off of his silhouette. He reached for the lamp, snapped it on, and settled back into his seat.
*Your son wrote me quite some time ago. Among the great tides of mail that wash my way, I found his letter to be particularly moving. I must apologize for not delivering it earlier, but unfortunately while I am in charge of the gifts, I am very much not in charge of the post. Upon finally receiving it I very nearly delivered it early, but there are…traditions to be observed.*
He rose to his feet, reached into his jacket, and produced two pieces of paper. He carefully placed them on the table between us.
*Normally I am bound to give only what has been requested, but there are occasions to deviate. In all my time as Santa, there have been only three.*
I looked down at the papers on the table. One was a letter from my son, written from abroad. When our country had become unsafe, I had been forced to make the impossible decision to send him away to safety. The letter asked only that Santa give me his love.
The second was my approved petition to join him.
When I looked up, the room was empty. There was only me, and the faint aroma of peppermint lingering in the air. | Charley struggled to comprehend what could even be seeing right about now. It was 12 hours of inconvenience after inconvenience at the pizzeria tonight. With all of these inconveniences adding up, he didn't need an oddity to top it all off.
He needed a bed. A couch. The dusty carpet floor. Anything would suffice at this point. Yet Santa had set the little dirty blond boy aside and was sauntering towards him. He placed a firm hand on his shoulder and leaned in to whisper in his ear.
"Should we discuss this outside?" Charley recoiled in confusion.
"What? No, NO! No, Santa," His tounge felt awkward saying that. "Look I had a long day at work and I need to get to bed and I need to sleep because my body had a-" Santa was nudging him inch by inch as Charley struggled more and more. He took a quick glance over at the kiddo.
"We'll just be a moment now! Don't go anywhere or do anything!"
The little guy stood up in protest. "But-"
In a quick, slinging motion Santa chucked a snowball at the kid's face, exploding in a blast of snow and blue pixie dust. His head jerks back and he falls slump on the couch, fast asleep and _snoring_.
~~
"Maxwell Louie Ferguson??" Charley questioned.
"I believe that his mother dropped him off on our doorstep, unless _you_ had some business in the North pole..."
"Umm, Santa, am I able to swear?"
"Charley, I couldn't give a diddly what you could do. As I am a respected holiday figure, I'm not allowed to swear for a moments notice. Although you can do wha-"
"Why the fuck would I be in the North pole?" He asked, irritated.
"Ah-- good Point. Didn't expect that **F** bomb so soon."
"I don't want to claim responsibility for a child I'm unsure is mine right now, can- can we do this tomorrow?"
"You seem to forget what today is. I'm on the schedule, I got 4 minutes of leeway to talk." He said, pointing at a shiny bronze watch of German style.
Something brought Charley's attention to the roof. It was a gut feeling, and of course he was going to get it right. Looking up, he could see a moderately sized buck overlooking the view from above. A noticeable scarlet glowing came from it's nose, as it turned to face the other side of town. Charley was taken aback.
"Do you see what I mean? Now, why are you unsure that he's yours?"
"Again ... What? I- I never said that he wasn't mine-"
"Your _words_ were that you didn't want to claim responsibility for a child you were unsure was yours? Is this right?"
"Look, Look, Look he does appear to be ... I-i mean.." Santa closed his eyes and heaved out a sigh. He walked over to him, boots crunching the snow, and firmly placed two hands on his shoulders. He stared him down, stared him down deep into the very aura of his soul to get the truth out. Charley was like a dog who was caught for tearing up shoes.
"I... I'm afraid." He managed to utter out.
"You're afraid?"
"And confused _and_ and I'm horrified and Santa I'm tired, Please just let me go to my bed!"
Santa eased his grip up, but never let it loose. He put a finger in his face. "Look. These things are a difficult thing to comprehend and are even harder to get adjusting to. Whatever happens after tonight will happen, but right now is right now. And right now, you need to go inside that room and to go see your son. Because right about now, he's going to be needing you more than ever. You need to break that ice, and if you do so, then I'll hit you with one of those magic snowballs. Deal?" He lowered the finger into an outstretched palm.
Charley stood there for a second to think. The multi-colored lights strung up on the rafters bathed the two in a beautiful glow. A waft of smoke escaped his lungs and took form as breath. Icicles glimmered and glowed in those colorful lights. It was a silent, serene night, with not one cloud in the sky. The Moon was Waning Gibbous, but seemed to be brighter than ever.
A joyful smile crept upon the corners of his lips. A tear slipped from his left eye down the fuzz on his cheek.
"I'd love to. Can you wake him up for me?"
Santa smiled, the rose in his cheeks bringing out the infamous dimples. "Sure thing, kid. Sure thing." Charley took his hand from his pocket, firmly shaking Saint Nicholas's hand, completely honored and still in utter disbelief the entire situation was playing out. Although it is going to be a fun few couple of years. With he and his little helper.
~FLD~ | |
[WP] After a long night of work, you drag yourself into your house. Before you turn on the light a voice says "don't scream." You turn around to see Santa Claus sitting on your couch. "It's your son" Santa says, "for Christmas he wanted me to talk to you." | It's his voice. That is how you know when you’ve met the real Santa. It was both stern and kind, weary and full of life. It was inexplicably familiar. It was like hearing the answer to a question you didn’t know you had.
I stood at my door, arms limp at my sides as we surveyed each other through the pale moonlight. Santa raised his arm, gesturing to the armchair next to me.
Sit, he said, speaking barely above a whisper.
I maneuvered mechanically into the chair, not taking my eyes off of his silhouette. He reached for the lamp, snapped it on, and settled back into his seat.
*Your son wrote me quite some time ago. Among the great tides of mail that wash my way, I found his letter to be particularly moving. I must apologize for not delivering it earlier, but unfortunately while I am in charge of the gifts, I am very much not in charge of the post. Upon finally receiving it I very nearly delivered it early, but there are…traditions to be observed.*
He rose to his feet, reached into his jacket, and produced two pieces of paper. He carefully placed them on the table between us.
*Normally I am bound to give only what has been requested, but there are occasions to deviate. In all my time as Santa, there have been only three.*
I looked down at the papers on the table. One was a letter from my son, written from abroad. When our country had become unsafe, I had been forced to make the impossible decision to send him away to safety. The letter asked only that Santa give me his love.
The second was my approved petition to join him.
When I looked up, the room was empty. There was only me, and the faint aroma of peppermint lingering in the air. | What sane person enjoys Christmas? Even as a child, the holiday filled me with more anxiety than joy. Every Christmas day my parents would push me in front of various uncles and cousins who I barely knew. Then they expected me to act happy when they gave me spare socks and what other cheap items they could find on the drive over to our place. That’s not even mentioning the shopping aspect of Christmas. Last year, an old woman bit me on the shoulder. Yes, bit me over a packet of bacon. When I told the security guard about it, he only shrugged and suggested I wear shoulder pads next year.
Which is why I have firmly stated that Christmas is cancelled in our household. Yes, I know that makes me a grinch, but what choice do I have? My job is running me ragged. I can’t handle another old lady bite. Of course, I still got my son a present, a small gift to help ease his lack of a Christmas. It was the least I could do. In my mind, it made sense. He still got the gift without the boring festivities. It was a win/win for everyone involved.
As I pushed open the door, I spotted a silhouette sitting on the couch. It didn’t appear to be moving, but it was certainly there. Maybe I was finally going insane? I heard a doctor say that stress can cause hallucinations. Maybe I could get a sick day out of it? Wouldn’t that be nice? I went to flick on the light, only for words to drift from the couch.
“Don’t scream.” Have those two words ever made a person not scream? My lungs ached as I let out a high-pitched wail, smacking the light on to see a white bearded man slouched back on my couch. His enormous mass of stomach peeling under the folds of his festive coat.
“My wife’s having an affair with a mall Santa? Oh god, why couldn’t it have been my neighbor or something less embarrassing than this. So close to Christmas too.” If I hadn’t already had my spirit broken by life, this was the final nail in my stone coffin. Seeing the hideous man before me broke my heart.
“What? No, I’m happily married. It’s about your son. He asked me to speak to you. You, see. I’m Santa and a special little boy told me you have lost your Christmas spirit. I’m here to help you get it back.” He said, letting out a jolly laugh.
“I don’t know who you are, but you stay away from my son, you creep. Get out of here before I call the cops. I’m a brilliant father. I just hate Christmas and everything it stands for. Look. I even got him a gift.” I pulled the small toy robot from the pocket of my coat. Waving the sleek black robot in the man’s face. “Even has ten special sound effects and a blaster that shoots water. What kid won’t love that?”
“Twenty dollars? Is that how much your son is worth to you?” The man raised a finger as the robot slipped from my grip, flying towards him. When the man caught the robot, he shook it, small green sparks flying from his hand before he floated the robot back to me. It was suddenly triple the size, like the size of a small dog. Its water blaster now a water cannon with a changeable faceplate too. “Now, that’s a toy.”
“It’s not about the money. The best present I ever received was a hand-me-down pair of sneakers from my older brother. Something that was far cheaper than that toy and I adored it.” In my rage, the magic of the moment slipped through my mind until I realized. “You’re actually Santa.”
“I am. Which is why I am very upset with you. Christmas is a sacred holiday. One that should be cherished.” As he spoke, two elves slipped out from behind the couch, placing down a tray of cookies and two glasses of milk. The elves weren’t as cute as one might have thought from their cartoony photos. They were like little gremlins, having hunched bodies and sharp teeth. They even snarled when they spotted me before retreating behind the couch. “Milk and cookies?”
“No thanks. I appreciate you are doing this for my son, but I have had a rough day. I just want to go tell my wife I love her and wish my son goodnight. It’s way past his bedtime. I don’t want to miss out on wishing him a goodnight two nights in a row.” I went to walk past the man, only for the elves to jump out, blocking me from leaving the room.
“Just a quick chat? Please, have a cookie and relax. Christmas is a magical time. Do you know the traditions of Christmas?” He snapped his fingers as a thick, candy cane colored book appeared in his meaty hands. He went to open the book, only to get interrupted by me.
“Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested. My decision on the matter is final.” I went to push past the elves, only for the man to stand, his stomach wobbling as he dropped the book, choosing to place his hand against my chest, halting me.
“I really think you should try one of those cookies.” He said, trying to remain jovial, despite a scowl crossing onto his face.
“Go choke on a glass of milk.” I smacked his hand away, heading towards the hallway, only to feel two small sets of hands clutching my ankles, holding me in place. “What the hell? Get your little monsters off me.”
“Should have just taken the cookies. It’s the most wonderful time of the year.” He sang, retrieving a needle from his coat. The contents of the needle-colored green, red and white. He gave the tip of the needle a flick before pushing it into my neck.
I tried to scream, but the only words that came out were. “With the kids jingle belling, and everyone telling you be of good cheer.” I couldn’t stop myself. The words spewing out from my mouth as I desperately tried to hold myself together.
“Yes, it’s the most wonderful time of the year.” Santa continued, standing before me with a smirk. His old face now had a more youthful appearance, and he even seemed jollier. I felt the hands around my legs release, seeing the elves in their full Christmas glory. With blushed red cheeks and clean neat locks of hair. Their sharpened teeth now pure white gemstones of Christmas joy. “Enjoy your Christmas, you walking moneybag. Come on, we have a lot of people to cover.” Santa and the elves let themselves out, leaving me to collapse onto the couch.
Hot sweats pooled at my forehead, trying to contain this sudden injection of Christmas spirit. No, I must resist the urge to buy Mariah Carey albums. I won’t become like them. My fingers clutched at my hair, nearly pulling a few strands out before I felt myself grow tired. No one could resist Santa. I was foolish. He sees you when you’re sleeping; he knows when you’re awake…
I shifted from the couch, walking down the hallway. “Christmas is back on!” My words came from a voice that didn’t seem like my own. I just hoped this joy would wear off. I couldn’t live with this much Christmas joy forever. My words got no response, Santa making sure my family was in a deep sleep before he visited. With a throbbing headache, I got into bed, still hearing those stupid Christmas song lyrics wading through my thoughts as I tried to get some sleep.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | |
[WP] You are an astronaut tasked with recovering the body that was found by a lunar rover on the far side of the moon. The speculation back home is that this body will be Earth's first contact with an alien. Upon closer inspection, it looks just like you. | Slanted sunlight gently poured on the body's face. Looking at its pale brown eyes, Cliff felt as if looking in a mirror. The body's youthful face resembled exactly his own, save for a few fresh scars setting in from lunar exposure. The body smiled a curious smile as emptiness permeated its eye.
Cliff's lip quivered gently but apart from that, he stood completely still. In contrast, inner turmoils flared. His mission to track the corpse had been a methodical success until two days ago. He had begun his first descent into the lunar ravine on the dark side and a few hours later his surface sensors recorded what could only have been a movement of rocks on the lunar surface. The source of the activity was near where the Rover Uchi lay and sent constant signals about the unidentified object it had found.
That night in camp, Cliff had gently contemplated his predicament and the fate of the mission. He had decided that despite the sudden failure of his communication equipment and jaggedness of the ravine, he must go on and complete the mission. He slowly read the most recent messages from Command, his family, and his wife. He lay quivering inside a neon tent that he had handily constructed. The next day he would rise and encounter the rover and the body next to it.
Since his descent, he had encountered a sudden shift in the lunar air. The usual extremely faint fluid had suddenly become viscous and lay bearingly on his suit. He now at felt its strain upon his soul more than ever, as the body lay there with a face sharply resembling his own. His mind tottered about as a rope walker on a frayed rope. Occasionally it swerved on the thin strands of hysteria but gradually onto the thicker ones of composure and action. He found hidden courage that his sanity sought as thoughts, visions, and nightmares swirled in flaring eddies.
He muttered a rasping 'que sera sera' to himself and quickly proceeded to raise up the body and study it. A piercing chill ran through his fingertips at the points where it came in contact with the body's skin. Cliff still persisted in his attempt to sit the body up. Rigor mortis usually set in about a minute on the moon, yet the body was somehow still sprightly.
As he raised the body up, the body seemed to suddenly gain vitality and stood up straight on its own accord in a sudden swoop. Cliff's nerves twitched in ferocious agony as he jumped back and lay still. The body which now completely resembled him as an 18-year-old wearing scraps of a resplendent dark blue fabric. Cliff felt his surface sensor slowly buzzing. His suit slowly proceeded to raise up its UV filters and tightened with a dull thud.
The day was almost upon them and the sun gradually spilled into the ravine in ribbons of light from behind the body, as Cliff lay with gaze fixed at the body, his mind screaming with incomprehension but also now drifting into a trance. The processes in his brain seemed to slow down into a calmer rhythm and acquired the harmony of an inner melody.
The body took a step forward and in doing so the face quickly aged into Cliff's present appearance. Now there stood his own face with a peevish grin, which was partially darkened by the quickly climbing sun. The body lunged forward again, now eye-to-eye to Cliff, and Cliff felt his gaze being blinded by the sunlight. With the body's last step, a feverish choir burst upon Cliff's senses. Gongs rang, trumpets tumbled, sitars struck inside him. The sun climbed higher rendering him further heightened in dizzyness. As his body twitched sporadically, he barely made out traces of himself in the old face which verged on laughter, now gazed at him from a foot apart.
The old face took lunged again. With a light thud, the body collided with Cliff, and darkness set it. The last Cliff remembered was booming laughter and the rhythmic buzzing of his surface sensor. | Log 34 date 12-5-2031
Im in the ship with the body me and my crew are still frozen in shock that it looks like me. 5 seconds later all the reactions happen at once James the engineer starts to laugh. Jhon the scientists starts thoreyising what it is and why it looks like me. Our pilot shane starts crying in the corner. The nurse Alex is looking at me and the body back and forth. I try to restrain myself from fucking it for the lols. We report it to mission control. They say to put the body in on ice and put it in the freezer. While that is happening Alex is ordered to give me a full medical exam. When we get in the doctors office something odd happens the body wakes up. Comes in here while the crew and I scream in horror and claims he's the real me and that I'm a shape shifter. He continues that he wasn't dead but passed out because I took his space suit. As this happens I think to my self "I should start making sure they're dead" | |
[WP] You are an astronaut tasked with recovering the body that was found by a lunar rover on the far side of the moon. The speculation back home is that this body will be Earth's first contact with an alien. Upon closer inspection, it looks just like you. | "Jesus H..." I keyed on my mic, "Johnson, are you getting the camera feed?"
"Roger that. Hard to make out, even with the spotlight, but definitely a bipedal humanoid figure. I'm really interested in the material that suit's made of, looks surprisingly thin." I was staring directly though the faceplate, and it was disturbingly clear in person. The face in there was mine. Not a reflection, no trick of the light. Just ... me, looking like I'd drifted off to sleep. In a paper-thin spacesuit. On the fricking far side of the moon. I keyed back up, "I, er, might need a hand moving it onto the buggy, without damaging it. Looks rail-thin, and I don't want to chance it, lower gravity or not."
I waited for the reply for what felt like forever. "Roger. Caldwell's about done with his survey. He'll be over in a few. Don't get impatient and change your mind, okay?" I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "Roger that. I won't lay a finger on him until Caldwell's here." I did move around the body, though, recording from every angle I could. No sign of damage to the suit, at least from the top and sides. Looking through the clear faceplate from other angles didn't change what I was seeing. A perfect replica of my face, relaxed with closed eyes. No indication of decompression, at least, so the suit probably was intact. I nearly jumped eight feet when the voice crackled in my ear, "Here I am, Kurt. Hah, startled you, eh?"
I turned to see Caldwell approaching, the tiny leds illuminating a wide grin. "Well I couldn't well hear you coming, could I?", I snapped. I felt myself flush with embarrassment. "Ah, sorry, I'm a little on edge. Take a look at this, and you'll see why." I move over, motioning to the prone body. He bounced over to me, coming to a halt a few feet from it. He was quiet for a long moment, and when he keyed up again, his voice was low and filled with emotion. "You think this is funny? What, did you guys get a.. a decal or something made, to put on the helmet?"
"What? Look at it, Caldwell, that's not *on* the helmet, that's the face. *My* face!" He turned to me, confused. "What? What do you mean, your face? That looks like me!"
For as well as we got along, no one could mistake me for Caldwell. "Look man, this is freaking me out. I've got a thought. Pull up my camera on your HUD, I'll do the same for yours. We'll get a better look, and Johnson can get a look at what we're seeing, too." Johnson finally chimed in, then. "Good, 'cause you two are starting to sound nuts. It's just a humanoid body to me."
I pulled up Caldwell's feed, setting it in the lower corner of my HUD so I could still clearly see what was in front of me, and I waited as he did the same. It was like Johnson had said, the body and it's suit were clear enough, but the resolution wasn't great for details. "Come on, let's get closer." I moved to within a couple feet of the thing, and peered through the faceplate, trying to keep the spotlight from causing too much glare. Caldwell's feed moved in, and his cam auto-focused on...a grey, near-featureless face. A couple of long slits that could be the eyelids, smooth skin underneath with a couple of nostrils, and a flat, thin mouth. "My feed showing what yours is? Grey alien with a flat face?"
"Yeah. Good lord. Think it's psychic? Hell, does that mean it's still alive?" We didn't come all the way out here to just stare at it. But if it's alive and active... "Let's get it on the buggy. We'll move it closer to the lander, but let's not take it in yet. We've got enough 0-atmo equipment to run some tests before we bring some kind of Trojan Horse home with us." Caldwell gave me a thumbs-up, and we each gently lifted a side. The body looked like it would've been feather light in normal Earth gravity, out here the trick was not accidently flinging up out of our grip. "Ok, down on one, two, .. three." We set it down, but I must have snagged something on my suit. "Hold up, I'm stuck."
"Me too." I glanced over, and saw Caldwell. And his arm being firmly gripped by our supposed cadaver. He was staring at me. I heard the speaker by my ear crackle, but before he could speak, everything went dark. | "Can you turn down the music, Ops? I'm two minutes from the body now." I said, speeding over the Moons cratered surface. "I don't want to be humming any Beegees when we make first contact."
"Roger that, Klang" Operations laughed. "Orbiter, you may continue playing Staying Alive once our boys down there are doing routine stuff again."
"Solid copy Operations, no Beegees for the time being. Klang, Webber, how is your visual right now?" The radio cracked up a bit. The orbiter crossed the Moon's horizon again, as it did every two hours.
"Well, Orbiter, it's nice and sunny on this side." Webber replied. "I will be staying with the surface equipment for the next 4 hours as our esteemed German doctor makes her way to the body."
Assholes, I thought with a smile on my face. Captain Webber slowly faded in the distance in the mirrors of my moon buggy. "I'm one minute from the body now. Orbiter, how long until radio blackout?"
"Ehr, that would be 40 minutes, Klang. 39 minutes on-target until Orbiter crests the lunar horizon and loses line of sight with you."
Okay, I reset my watch to countdown for 40 minutes, and dismounted from the moon buggy. Just one crater over was the target anomaly. Three months ago, a body was found by a passing commercial mini-satelite. It was equipped with a ground-facing radar so it didn't have the resolution to identify the species, but it definitely looked humanoid. Some thought it was some sort of alien. My bet was on old Soviet cosmonauts, or maybe a Chinese mission gone wrong that was swept under the rug.
Whatever it was, it sparked enough interest worldwide to get ESA to perform their first moon landing. As I reach the peak of the crater, a bright flare blinds me, automatically shutting the golden visor on my helmet. A gorgeously bright reflection of sunlight marked the body. The edges of the flare a beautiful array of bright diffracted light, rainbow-like rays spawning off the edges. I gasped.
"What's that, Klang." Ops asked.
"Nothing... -I", I started. "The sun's reflection on the body was staggeringly bright, Ops. Ask Orbiter of they have a visual on the flare?"
The radio quieted down again, and I took the time to recollect myself. Looking above me, I saw out into nothingness for lightyears, an addictively humbling feeling, as I walked towards the body.
"Ops, this is Orbiter, we have no sight of any flares, or reflections whatsoever." I heard them reply.
Eventhough the bright flare hid nearly everything from sight, I could make out more and more of the body. I saw a clear humanoid body plan, legs, arms, a large helmet. It must be human. The flare seemed to reflect off the visor. The suit was white with a blue stripe going down the middle of the helmet and chestpiece, and blue fabric lined the inside of both legs. I felt the hairs on my neck stand.
"Ops, Klang here." I said with a shaking voice. "Have there been any covert ESA missions to the moon?"
"Klang, why are you asking this?" Ops said, the muffled rattling of a hastily abused keyboard made it through the microphone.
"The body is wearing a last-gen ESA extravehicular exploration suit." I replied, almost angrily.
"Stand-by. That's impossible, Klang." Another voice in the room continued. "Webber, what would your ETA be if you walked to Klang?"
I was infuriated. How come they didn't trust my evaluation. The brightness of the visor started to burn my eyes, pleasently, and warm like a summer night's setting sun burns your cheeks. I had to look away.
"If I walked, half an hour for the trip, Ops." Webber replied. "I'd have to prep some equipment before I leave, so I need ten to finish here."
"Start now, forget the equipment, we lose communition in 40 minutes, Webber. Haul ass." Operations ordered. The captain complied, annoyed.
"Klang, continue with your visual assessment." I kneeled down beside the body.
"The body appears to be female; it is the D-variant of the suit. The clasps around the left wrist are undone. The golden visor of the helmet is down as well, and its foil seems to refract light from the sun in this..." I took a deep breath.
"Klang, I think we lost you for a moment there?". Orbiter asked.
"No, sorry, I'm good." Looking back at the flare took so much from me. It was enthralling. "The golden solar visor refracts light beautifully in an array of rainbows and sparks, like a warm prisma."
Orbitor opened the channel, breathed in to say something, and shut the radio again. Ops erupted instead.
"Engineering advices that you open the visor to eliminate the reflection."
Of course, I thought. Taking a moment to recollect myself once again. I chuckled. Did I really need a team of engineers to tell me that. I announced that I was about to open the visor, as I clicked the cheek latch open to free the visor. A handle flipped up, which I pushed up to slide the golden visor out of the way. It revealed an even brighter light, emanating from the face.
I felt a rush run through me. Light in my head, as goosebumbs shot over my body. That was me. It did not feel like me. The radio muttered something. I didn't care.
She was gorgeous. The eyes seemed so, full of life, so joyous. She was me, but not quite. Her skin was perfect. I subconsciously tried to touch my mole, only to be interupted by my hand colliding with my helmet, as I inspected her skin where my mole would be. I felt inquisitive, enthusiastic. I bit my lower lip. She was perfect. The radio muttered something again, it was Webber. I didn't register what he said.
The clasps on her left wrist were undone. I opened her glove to reveal her hands. Her skin had that same shimmering glow that her visor had. Her nails, perfectly trimmed, mine never were. Her complexion wasn't that of a body that was on the moon for at least three months. It looked like she fell asleep 20 minutes ago. The ring was missing.
The ring was missing, I realised.
"Jezus fuck, Klang come in." I noticed the radio say.
"Sorry, send it Ops." I replied as quickly as I could.
"Webber is about to meet you in the crater. Where have you been the last 35 minutes?"
I looked down at me, and her hand in my glove. I stroked her palm with my thumb.
"Sorry -I, the body is nothing. It's oka-". They locked my channel.
"Webber, please get to Klang asap. Whatever she found there is too much for her."
She was. I bit my lip. I wanted to feel that light. I got closer, as I undid the clasps on my left wrist.
--
Ops opened a channel. "Webber, please get to Klang asap. Whatever she found there is too much for her."
"Roger that, Ops" I replied. I was skipping across the lunar terrain. Just one more crater and I'd be able to see her. I looked up at the stars, and saw the bright reflections of Orbiter's solar panel cruise past the horizon.
"So long, Orbiter." I greeted through my breath.
"So long, Jonathan." You could barely make that out through the static. As I walked over the crater's edge, I got engulfed by light. Two black silhouettes marked the center of the crater. One on the ground, and one walking my way, that must be Klang.
I opened Klang's channel again. "Hey Kim? Are you okay?" I raised my hand to block out the light, but who would waste such a gorgeous sight? I let a sliver of the bright flare through between my fingers. Rainbows and shadows danced with my golden visor, which automatically reopened after I blocked the light.
The silhouette looked to be slightly taller than Klang though, more my height. As we walked closer towards eachother, the bright light started to block out everything, my golden visor shut, and in sync, a golden reflection cast from Klang's suit hit my eyes.
I noticed that she had an extra glove in her left hand. Finally, we got close enough to make out her face, and felt a burst of relief run through my body. I was startled but, intrigued. We both opened our golden visors, shimmering warm light invaded my helmet. I opened my eyes to see a cracked visor in front of me, and locked eyes with me. | |
[WP] Death stood outside an old woman's house. She warmly welcomed him inside, offered him cookies, and crocheted him gothic-themed sweaters. Apparently, the old woman mistook him for her grandson who is going through a gothic / emo phase. | Death awaited the old woman on her doorstep, he knocked a few times, Then a few times again. Finally, he banged on the door, until the old woman awoke. She rushed in slow strides to the door, calling out, "I'm coming, I'm coming!" But when she opened the door, she was surprised to see her grandson, Billy, dressed in a raggedy old cape. Except, it wasn't her grandson Billy.
"Oh, Billy, what's this you're wearing, dear? Oh, come inside and I'll give you a yogurt."
Death stood there, in great posture. He was wearing a grass-green cape and black smoke, or vaporized death, surrounded his whole body.
"I don't think you understand, Mary. I'm Death, not Billy."
She grabbed him by the shoulder, which she had to reach for, as he was towering over the short and stout, old woman. She too, was confused, but told him, again, "Do you want a Yogurt or not? Come inside. Oh, teenagers these days and their funky talk, and their goth wardrobe."
Death entered the house, and made his way to the kitchen, where he was given a yogurt, which he did eat. He had to lift part of his hood to get it into his mouth, but he did end up getting a little yogurt on his chin. The old woman lifted his head up with her hand and used a wet rag to clean off the yogurt from his chin.
"Oh, what happened to your face, Billy? Wash this makeup off, it makes you look pale." She exclaimed, trying to clean the white off of his cheek, but it didn't budge, as it was the color of his skin.
"Again, Mary, I am not Billy. I am here to collect your soul. It's time I take you to the afterlife."
The old woman grew irritated by Death, or who she thought was a teenage boy. But all she did was shake her head and go to washing a dish.
Mary had Death sitting in her living space, on her couch, and she had the news on the television. He watched with her until he finally lost his patience, stood up on two feet and said out loud, "We've lost too much time, Mary. You should have been dead already. Please, I'm not trying to make this hard."
Mary snapped, "How about I pay your mom a call? I'm getting quite sick of you joking about my death. You better appreciate me while you got me, you hear, Billy?"
She took a few tries to stand up, bit when she got it, she made her way to the phone and dialed in the numbers for Billy's mother.
"What are you talking about, Mom? Billy and I were just eating dinner," Her daughter informed her.
She glanced back at death and you could see anxiety grow in her eyes. She placed the phone down and, pointed her crusty finger at Death, and said with a stutter, "Y-you're actually here to collect my soul. You're death."
Death sighed with relief and nodded his head. "Yes, I am Death."
Mary instantly accepted her fate, her fate to die. She walked towards Death, getting ready to be taken to the next life. She knew it was coming soon.
Death saw the disappointment in her eyes. He couldn't bare the thought of taking her, even though he'd done it many times before. He decided on clearing her memory, and disappearing, so that it'd never of happened in her mind.
She got another 10 years out of her life.
The End | \[Poem\]
Life is short,
Death will soon arrive,
None live forever,
Not even the woman,
Whom knits him sweaters,
In his new raiment he rests,
Cookies in hand,
At his favorite grandmother's home,
Who will soon share his home. | |
[WP] Death stood outside an old woman's house. She warmly welcomed him inside, offered him cookies, and crocheted him gothic-themed sweaters. Apparently, the old woman mistook him for her grandson who is going through a gothic / emo phase. | Admittedly, I'd been coming here once a week for three years so far. I'm not proud of myself but...
"There you are, Jasper. My goodness it's great to see you again." Miss Marigold, Mama Ree, embraced me tightly. Her large body enfolding me in her warmth. "God boy your all bones get in here. I made a peach cobbler and I just finished dinner." She smiled and patted my cheek taking.
I crossed her threshold into the warm house full of love and delicious scents. "Hey Mama Ree. How have you been?" I asked warmly as I followed her to the kitchen.
Her grandson, the real Jasper was a little shit who died falling off her roof one night after he stole her savings box, even after she'd given him money he wanted more. He'd been getting into drugs and alcohol, couldn't blame him, he had a shit childhood from what I saw, but he had been her only grandson. The last surviving member of her family after her son and daughter in law died in a car accident four years ago.
He visited her mainly to steal from her in her old age. She was mostly blind but still sharp as a wit.
"Oh you know me." She said answering my question as she puttered around the biggest smile on her face. "Got to see the doctor yesterday." She pulled the lid off the pot that smelled amazing. "Healthy as an ox." She reached for a bowl she had set out previously, chances are in preparation for my visit.
I knew she was lying. I could see the hour glass above her head the grain trickling down in a count down of her life. I knew for a fact that her lung cancer was back, after damn near fifteen years it resurfaced with a vengeance and the doctors caught it too late. She had lived a long life and fought to her seventies with a gusto I had rarely seen in humans a quarter her age.
"That's great grandma." I said walking up and taking the bowl she offered me. "Glad to hear, I need you around when I bring home my girlfriend." I teased her with a kiss on the cheek.
She chuckled and brought her own bowl to the table. "Goodness boy, I've been waiting. I hope to meet her soon." She said and tucked into her soup.
I smiled and watched her, chatting between bites of stew discussing the false job I made up for the deceased Jasper. Discussing the things I've been doing around town.
After dinner we ate that scrumptious cobbler, while she told me of the local gossip. Halfway through the dessert though I could see her tiring. She'd had a long day.
"Goodness Jasper." She smiled and grabbed my hand. "It's so good seeing you every week."
"It's good seeing you too grandma." I said.
"You're coming next week right?" She asked hopefully. Her hand patting mine.
"Of course." I said. "It's the third Thursday, and it's about time we finished that blasted quilt." I chuckled.
The way her face lit up... God I could see that young woman that once snagged the eye of a rich douchebag that left her pregnant and alone.
"Yes, let's get it done." There was a sadness to her voice as she patted my hand. "You best get on out of here boy." She chided as she pulled one of her pots from the fridge. "Here I made this pot for your. Don't go starving on me now." She smiled.
"I'll stop by with groceries on monday." I told her softly.
She waved her hand. "Oh posh, I should be fine with the doomsday rations you've left me." She smirked.
"Chef Boyardee isn't doomsday rations." I said. "It's so you don't have to cook too much in your fragile age."
"I'll show you fragile." She said with mock affront and playfully punched my arm and smacked my chest. She laughed until she wheezed and coughed. "Oooh, boy... don't work me up."
I leaned in and kissed her forehead. "I'll be off grandma, and I'll bring you some groceries on Monday. I promise." I grinned and headed down the stairs.
The following Thursday I returned and sat with her in her living room as she hummed and worked her sewing machine. She was sewing the backing for the quilt and I was readying the filling.
"I don't know why you wanted such a huge quilt boy." She said looking at me through milky eyes.
"I want to be a burrito." I responded.
"I thought you wanted to be a cowboy." She murmured and stopped the sewing machine pulling the completed object off and snipping the thread.
I took it then, it was a monster of a quilt, California King sized, it dwarfed me and especially her.
"I hadn't wanted to be a cowboy in years." I responded lining up the filling corner to corner.
"And you haven't wanted to be a burrito since you were three." She laughed sweetly.
"I found the merits in being a burrito." I remarked and began rolling the quilt in preparation for turning it inside out.
"Such as?" She asked.
"I can hide away from the world and be super warm at the same time." I responded.
I heard her groan as she joined me on the floor.
"Grandma your hips." I scolded and rose to lift her. She batted me away.
"My hips are fine damn it." She began rolling from another corner. "Are you gonna fuss like a nurse maid or are you gonna help me get this done?"
I wanted to argue with her but... "Alright Mama Ree, don't say I didn't warn you." I said.
By the time we got the quilt done it was late at night. I had wanted to stop after we hidden stitched the last side but she insisted on sewing in the last pattern.
The quilt itself was a large tableau of her life and family. Memories filled with love and pain. It had been a latent wish of Jasper's to have something like this when he was younger an heirloom he would pass on to his kids when he had them. It was a wish before his parents died, before he turned to drugs to deal with the grief.
She carefully folded it and placed it in a bag. "You gonna come back next week right?" She asked absently as she tied off the bag.
I looked up at her hourglass and my heart broke a little. "Yeah... of course." I said softly. "Are you okay?"
"Yes dear." She smiled at me and I saw sudden weariness. "Try and bring a girlfriend next time eh?" She asked.
She walked me to the door and pretended to leave.
I waited only a couple hours before her soul emerged from her house, young and vibrant and as beautiful as she was in her prime. | \[Poem\]
Life is short,
Death will soon arrive,
None live forever,
Not even the woman,
Whom knits him sweaters,
In his new raiment he rests,
Cookies in hand,
At his favorite grandmother's home,
Who will soon share his home. | |
[WP] Death stood outside an old woman's house. She warmly welcomed him inside, offered him cookies, and crocheted him gothic-themed sweaters. Apparently, the old woman mistook him for her grandson who is going through a gothic / emo phase. | Admittedly, I'd been coming here once a week for three years so far. I'm not proud of myself but...
"There you are, Jasper. My goodness it's great to see you again." Miss Marigold, Mama Ree, embraced me tightly. Her large body enfolding me in her warmth. "God boy your all bones get in here. I made a peach cobbler and I just finished dinner." She smiled and patted my cheek taking.
I crossed her threshold into the warm house full of love and delicious scents. "Hey Mama Ree. How have you been?" I asked warmly as I followed her to the kitchen.
Her grandson, the real Jasper was a little shit who died falling off her roof one night after he stole her savings box, even after she'd given him money he wanted more. He'd been getting into drugs and alcohol, couldn't blame him, he had a shit childhood from what I saw, but he had been her only grandson. The last surviving member of her family after her son and daughter in law died in a car accident four years ago.
He visited her mainly to steal from her in her old age. She was mostly blind but still sharp as a wit.
"Oh you know me." She said answering my question as she puttered around the biggest smile on her face. "Got to see the doctor yesterday." She pulled the lid off the pot that smelled amazing. "Healthy as an ox." She reached for a bowl she had set out previously, chances are in preparation for my visit.
I knew she was lying. I could see the hour glass above her head the grain trickling down in a count down of her life. I knew for a fact that her lung cancer was back, after damn near fifteen years it resurfaced with a vengeance and the doctors caught it too late. She had lived a long life and fought to her seventies with a gusto I had rarely seen in humans a quarter her age.
"That's great grandma." I said walking up and taking the bowl she offered me. "Glad to hear, I need you around when I bring home my girlfriend." I teased her with a kiss on the cheek.
She chuckled and brought her own bowl to the table. "Goodness boy, I've been waiting. I hope to meet her soon." She said and tucked into her soup.
I smiled and watched her, chatting between bites of stew discussing the false job I made up for the deceased Jasper. Discussing the things I've been doing around town.
After dinner we ate that scrumptious cobbler, while she told me of the local gossip. Halfway through the dessert though I could see her tiring. She'd had a long day.
"Goodness Jasper." She smiled and grabbed my hand. "It's so good seeing you every week."
"It's good seeing you too grandma." I said.
"You're coming next week right?" She asked hopefully. Her hand patting mine.
"Of course." I said. "It's the third Thursday, and it's about time we finished that blasted quilt." I chuckled.
The way her face lit up... God I could see that young woman that once snagged the eye of a rich douchebag that left her pregnant and alone.
"Yes, let's get it done." There was a sadness to her voice as she patted my hand. "You best get on out of here boy." She chided as she pulled one of her pots from the fridge. "Here I made this pot for your. Don't go starving on me now." She smiled.
"I'll stop by with groceries on monday." I told her softly.
She waved her hand. "Oh posh, I should be fine with the doomsday rations you've left me." She smirked.
"Chef Boyardee isn't doomsday rations." I said. "It's so you don't have to cook too much in your fragile age."
"I'll show you fragile." She said with mock affront and playfully punched my arm and smacked my chest. She laughed until she wheezed and coughed. "Oooh, boy... don't work me up."
I leaned in and kissed her forehead. "I'll be off grandma, and I'll bring you some groceries on Monday. I promise." I grinned and headed down the stairs.
The following Thursday I returned and sat with her in her living room as she hummed and worked her sewing machine. She was sewing the backing for the quilt and I was readying the filling.
"I don't know why you wanted such a huge quilt boy." She said looking at me through milky eyes.
"I want to be a burrito." I responded.
"I thought you wanted to be a cowboy." She murmured and stopped the sewing machine pulling the completed object off and snipping the thread.
I took it then, it was a monster of a quilt, California King sized, it dwarfed me and especially her.
"I hadn't wanted to be a cowboy in years." I responded lining up the filling corner to corner.
"And you haven't wanted to be a burrito since you were three." She laughed sweetly.
"I found the merits in being a burrito." I remarked and began rolling the quilt in preparation for turning it inside out.
"Such as?" She asked.
"I can hide away from the world and be super warm at the same time." I responded.
I heard her groan as she joined me on the floor.
"Grandma your hips." I scolded and rose to lift her. She batted me away.
"My hips are fine damn it." She began rolling from another corner. "Are you gonna fuss like a nurse maid or are you gonna help me get this done?"
I wanted to argue with her but... "Alright Mama Ree, don't say I didn't warn you." I said.
By the time we got the quilt done it was late at night. I had wanted to stop after we hidden stitched the last side but she insisted on sewing in the last pattern.
The quilt itself was a large tableau of her life and family. Memories filled with love and pain. It had been a latent wish of Jasper's to have something like this when he was younger an heirloom he would pass on to his kids when he had them. It was a wish before his parents died, before he turned to drugs to deal with the grief.
She carefully folded it and placed it in a bag. "You gonna come back next week right?" She asked absently as she tied off the bag.
I looked up at her hourglass and my heart broke a little. "Yeah... of course." I said softly. "Are you okay?"
"Yes dear." She smiled at me and I saw sudden weariness. "Try and bring a girlfriend next time eh?" She asked.
She walked me to the door and pretended to leave.
I waited only a couple hours before her soul emerged from her house, young and vibrant and as beautiful as she was in her prime. | Death awaited the old woman on her doorstep, he knocked a few times, Then a few times again. Finally, he banged on the door, until the old woman awoke. She rushed in slow strides to the door, calling out, "I'm coming, I'm coming!" But when she opened the door, she was surprised to see her grandson, Billy, dressed in a raggedy old cape. Except, it wasn't her grandson Billy.
"Oh, Billy, what's this you're wearing, dear? Oh, come inside and I'll give you a yogurt."
Death stood there, in great posture. He was wearing a grass-green cape and black smoke, or vaporized death, surrounded his whole body.
"I don't think you understand, Mary. I'm Death, not Billy."
She grabbed him by the shoulder, which she had to reach for, as he was towering over the short and stout, old woman. She too, was confused, but told him, again, "Do you want a Yogurt or not? Come inside. Oh, teenagers these days and their funky talk, and their goth wardrobe."
Death entered the house, and made his way to the kitchen, where he was given a yogurt, which he did eat. He had to lift part of his hood to get it into his mouth, but he did end up getting a little yogurt on his chin. The old woman lifted his head up with her hand and used a wet rag to clean off the yogurt from his chin.
"Oh, what happened to your face, Billy? Wash this makeup off, it makes you look pale." She exclaimed, trying to clean the white off of his cheek, but it didn't budge, as it was the color of his skin.
"Again, Mary, I am not Billy. I am here to collect your soul. It's time I take you to the afterlife."
The old woman grew irritated by Death, or who she thought was a teenage boy. But all she did was shake her head and go to washing a dish.
Mary had Death sitting in her living space, on her couch, and she had the news on the television. He watched with her until he finally lost his patience, stood up on two feet and said out loud, "We've lost too much time, Mary. You should have been dead already. Please, I'm not trying to make this hard."
Mary snapped, "How about I pay your mom a call? I'm getting quite sick of you joking about my death. You better appreciate me while you got me, you hear, Billy?"
She took a few tries to stand up, bit when she got it, she made her way to the phone and dialed in the numbers for Billy's mother.
"What are you talking about, Mom? Billy and I were just eating dinner," Her daughter informed her.
She glanced back at death and you could see anxiety grow in her eyes. She placed the phone down and, pointed her crusty finger at Death, and said with a stutter, "Y-you're actually here to collect my soul. You're death."
Death sighed with relief and nodded his head. "Yes, I am Death."
Mary instantly accepted her fate, her fate to die. She walked towards Death, getting ready to be taken to the next life. She knew it was coming soon.
Death saw the disappointment in her eyes. He couldn't bare the thought of taking her, even though he'd done it many times before. He decided on clearing her memory, and disappearing, so that it'd never of happened in her mind.
She got another 10 years out of her life.
The End | |
[WP] Death stood outside an old woman's house. She warmly welcomed him inside, offered him cookies, and crocheted him gothic-themed sweaters. Apparently, the old woman mistook him for her grandson who is going through a gothic / emo phase. | The tune was familiar, one of the few things that still were. “I’m coming!”
The doorbell’s last echo stopped just as she got to the door and began fumbling with the locks.
“Just a minute!”
She weakly swung the door open to reveal a cloaked figure standing in its wake. She squinted past her glasses in confusion. After a moment, “David? It’s been so long! Come in, come in! Frightfully chilly out there!” She hurriedly departed for the kitchen.
The figure slowly crossed - floated over? - the threshold as she hurriedly cleared the table, paying no mind.
“One moment dear. I just made some tea. English Breakfast, your father’s favorite! Now then. Where did I put my cups?” The figure merely stood by the now-closed door as the woman searched cupboard after cupboard before finding her quarry. “There we are!”
Within minutes, the table was set with pre-packaged cookies, snacks still in wrappers, and two steaming cups of fresh tea. “Sit, sit, dear. Tell me about your schooling!”
The figure complied with the order but spoke no words, touched no food, its face fully obscured in the shadow of an almost-too-narrow hood, its limbs nowhere to be seen. “You don’t have to say anything Davy, it’s ok. I’m just so very thankful for the company.”
They both sat in silence for several minutes as the nearby grandfather clock ticked and tocked.
The woman filled the silence soon enough. The figure listened as she regaled it with tales of her youth, of her husband, of her neighbors long gone. After what seemed like hours, the woman sighed. “I’m not stupid you know.”
The hood moved ever so slightly to the left, as a dog may cock its head.
“I may not remember many things these days but I know what you are.” A pause lingered as neither of them moved. Finally, she spoke once more.
“It’s time, isn’t it?”
The figure merely stood and faced the doorway.
“Very well. I’m ready. Thank you for making this lonely woman’s last day.”
She took a moment to stand, mindlessly smoothing the few creases in the white lace tablecloth first. Once she was up, the figure slowly crossed to the front door and motioned for the woman to cross the threshold first.
She shuffled toward the entrance and wrapped her shawl closer around her, deeply sighing before taking her first step outside. The light of the sun intensified until it was white, blinding, omnipresent, forcing her to cover her eyes with her arm. When she lowered it back down, the scene before her was different, yet familiar. The office building a few blocks away was gone. The cars parked outside were those of her youth. A familiar tune played on the record player behind her. She froze, then turned around sharply, her youthful strength momentarily surprising her.
The figure was gone. Her friends, her family, her neighbors from years ago were seated at the table beaming at her. Her husband, in the prime of his life as everyone in attendance, looked up and nearly dropped the turkey he was bringing toward the table.
“Mary!! You made it!” | “You do know why I’m here, Eliza, do you not?”
Eliza peered through cataract-faded eyes at the visitor, examining the black clothing and writing book, which she assumed was a modern substitute for a scythe. Her radio played soft background music of her long-vanished youth.
“I am old,” she said, “and you took my grandson away from the virus in 1986.” Her lips quivered. “So you will come in, and I will make you something to drink, and you can pretend that you are Alexander coming to visit his old sick grandmother.”
Death remembered Alexander. They remembered everyone, really, and they certainly remembered how this woman had taken in her grandson and his best beloved as they both lay dying.
“If you have lemonade, I would like a glass.” They smelled the air. “And if those are brownies in the oven, I would love one.”
“Of course, my dear.” | |
[WP] Death stood outside an old woman's house. She warmly welcomed him inside, offered him cookies, and crocheted him gothic-themed sweaters. Apparently, the old woman mistook him for her grandson who is going through a gothic / emo phase. | The tune was familiar, one of the few things that still were. “I’m coming!”
The doorbell’s last echo stopped just as she got to the door and began fumbling with the locks.
“Just a minute!”
She weakly swung the door open to reveal a cloaked figure standing in its wake. She squinted past her glasses in confusion. After a moment, “David? It’s been so long! Come in, come in! Frightfully chilly out there!” She hurriedly departed for the kitchen.
The figure slowly crossed - floated over? - the threshold as she hurriedly cleared the table, paying no mind.
“One moment dear. I just made some tea. English Breakfast, your father’s favorite! Now then. Where did I put my cups?” The figure merely stood by the now-closed door as the woman searched cupboard after cupboard before finding her quarry. “There we are!”
Within minutes, the table was set with pre-packaged cookies, snacks still in wrappers, and two steaming cups of fresh tea. “Sit, sit, dear. Tell me about your schooling!”
The figure complied with the order but spoke no words, touched no food, its face fully obscured in the shadow of an almost-too-narrow hood, its limbs nowhere to be seen. “You don’t have to say anything Davy, it’s ok. I’m just so very thankful for the company.”
They both sat in silence for several minutes as the nearby grandfather clock ticked and tocked.
The woman filled the silence soon enough. The figure listened as she regaled it with tales of her youth, of her husband, of her neighbors long gone. After what seemed like hours, the woman sighed. “I’m not stupid you know.”
The hood moved ever so slightly to the left, as a dog may cock its head.
“I may not remember many things these days but I know what you are.” A pause lingered as neither of them moved. Finally, she spoke once more.
“It’s time, isn’t it?”
The figure merely stood and faced the doorway.
“Very well. I’m ready. Thank you for making this lonely woman’s last day.”
She took a moment to stand, mindlessly smoothing the few creases in the white lace tablecloth first. Once she was up, the figure slowly crossed to the front door and motioned for the woman to cross the threshold first.
She shuffled toward the entrance and wrapped her shawl closer around her, deeply sighing before taking her first step outside. The light of the sun intensified until it was white, blinding, omnipresent, forcing her to cover her eyes with her arm. When she lowered it back down, the scene before her was different, yet familiar. The office building a few blocks away was gone. The cars parked outside were those of her youth. A familiar tune played on the record player behind her. She froze, then turned around sharply, her youthful strength momentarily surprising her.
The figure was gone. Her friends, her family, her neighbors from years ago were seated at the table beaming at her. Her husband, in the prime of his life as everyone in attendance, looked up and nearly dropped the turkey he was bringing toward the table.
“Mary!! You made it!” | “Estelle, for the third time this week, I am not Jonah,” Death sighed, allowing the elderly woman to lead him into her small cottage. Estelle smiled, nodding eagerly as she led Death to her kitchen, still painted a robin egg’s blue from the 1950’s.
“Yes, Jonah, I am so excited you’ve been visiting me so much this week! It’s been so chilly, so for the last sweater I made you, I thought a matching scarf and hat would be just class!” Estelle pointed to a small gift bag sitting on the kitchen table. The bag was wrinkled and creased, the colorful bag fading in random spots. Death glided over, pulling out the tissue paper from the bag to reveal a black scarf and hat. The scarf had crossed scythes every few knots, while the hat was littered with neatly stitched skull and crossbones. It matched the sweater Death had brought home earlier this week - one giant skull on the chest, with skull and crossbone bands around the arms. Death ran their phalanges over the scarf, their bare hands unable to feel the texture. Death imagined that it was a little scratchy, made with love; not so uncomfortable that wearing it would be impossible, but just enough to remind you that it was around your neck every time you turned your head.
Estelle came over to the table, setting down a plate piled high with steaming cookies. Homemade, freshly baked, as if she knew exactly when Death would be at her doorstep. Estelle ushered Death to sit down, pushing the plate in front of them as she grabbed their boney hands.
“Look how thin you are! Have some sweets, dear. I won’t tell your mother, as long as you don’t spoil your appetite,” Estelle winked, turning her back to Death to pull another batch of baked goods out of the oven. Death hesitantly reached for a cookie, wondering if they could even consume it, when a familiar aura filled the kitchen. Death recognized the feeling; many mortals referred to the aura of sulfur-based magic to smell of rotten eggs. Some called it the smell of death. Others thought it was the sign right before the Devil appeared.
Death shot up, summoning their scythe out of thin air. They pulled the hood of their cloak off, revealing Death’s true face: a skull, missing the bottom jaw, with a single snake slowly slithering from one eye socket to the next, long enough to wrap around the back of the skull and back into the hollow front. Death’s familiar perked it’s head up, poking up through the left eye socket. The snake’s tongue slinked out, flicking outwards. Death recognized the signal, taking in the room for signs of the threat.
Death reached for Estelle; these games were over. They had to take her being now, before Estelle was put in danger due to their negligence. As much as they had enjoyed their time with the old woman, duty called, and Death was in no position to deny it. If a demon appeared, it would wreak havoc in both of their realms. Estelle still stood with her back to Death, and as Death reached for her shoulder, the aura grew stronger. Suddenly, Death was frozen. Their snake tried to recede into it’s hollow cranium, only to be frozen in place as well.
Estelle turned to look at Death. Most mortals could not stand the face of Death; Estelle seemed not to mind it. She smiled sweetly and approached Death, who was in the middle of her kitchen, and clicked her tongue.
“My, my, dear. You’ve seemed to have waited too long to collect me. Here I thought you would never summon that damned thing. I’m not done in this realm yet.” Estelle reached her wrinkled, spotted hand out to Death’s familiar, the other grabbing hold of Death’s scythe. While Death towered over her small figure, she did not mind. She grabbed the snake’s neck, directly underneath its head, and began to pull the snake from Death’s skull, simultaneously yanking the scythe out of their determined grip. Death’s senses began to weaken. They had been warned of witches, but that had been over a millennia ago. A witch hasn’t been reported since the dark ages.
Estelle grabbed a mason jar from the countertop, sticking Death’s familiar into the jar and closing the lid. She snapped her fingers, and before the last of Death’s being vanished, they saw the old witch open a cabinet to reveal dozens of snake-filled jars. Death’s familiar was added to those of many before them. Death began to feel their bones begin to disintegrate. They felt the dust of their whole being fall within it’s cloak, beginning to form a mountain of ash underneath. Estelle clicked her tongue, closing the cabinet and looking around for her dustpan.
“Oh dear, another mess. I really need one of those little robot helpers I keep seeing on the tube to vacuum around here,” she muttered. | |
[WP] Death stood outside an old woman's house. She warmly welcomed him inside, offered him cookies, and crocheted him gothic-themed sweaters. Apparently, the old woman mistook him for her grandson who is going through a gothic / emo phase. | The tune was familiar, one of the few things that still were. “I’m coming!”
The doorbell’s last echo stopped just as she got to the door and began fumbling with the locks.
“Just a minute!”
She weakly swung the door open to reveal a cloaked figure standing in its wake. She squinted past her glasses in confusion. After a moment, “David? It’s been so long! Come in, come in! Frightfully chilly out there!” She hurriedly departed for the kitchen.
The figure slowly crossed - floated over? - the threshold as she hurriedly cleared the table, paying no mind.
“One moment dear. I just made some tea. English Breakfast, your father’s favorite! Now then. Where did I put my cups?” The figure merely stood by the now-closed door as the woman searched cupboard after cupboard before finding her quarry. “There we are!”
Within minutes, the table was set with pre-packaged cookies, snacks still in wrappers, and two steaming cups of fresh tea. “Sit, sit, dear. Tell me about your schooling!”
The figure complied with the order but spoke no words, touched no food, its face fully obscured in the shadow of an almost-too-narrow hood, its limbs nowhere to be seen. “You don’t have to say anything Davy, it’s ok. I’m just so very thankful for the company.”
They both sat in silence for several minutes as the nearby grandfather clock ticked and tocked.
The woman filled the silence soon enough. The figure listened as she regaled it with tales of her youth, of her husband, of her neighbors long gone. After what seemed like hours, the woman sighed. “I’m not stupid you know.”
The hood moved ever so slightly to the left, as a dog may cock its head.
“I may not remember many things these days but I know what you are.” A pause lingered as neither of them moved. Finally, she spoke once more.
“It’s time, isn’t it?”
The figure merely stood and faced the doorway.
“Very well. I’m ready. Thank you for making this lonely woman’s last day.”
She took a moment to stand, mindlessly smoothing the few creases in the white lace tablecloth first. Once she was up, the figure slowly crossed to the front door and motioned for the woman to cross the threshold first.
She shuffled toward the entrance and wrapped her shawl closer around her, deeply sighing before taking her first step outside. The light of the sun intensified until it was white, blinding, omnipresent, forcing her to cover her eyes with her arm. When she lowered it back down, the scene before her was different, yet familiar. The office building a few blocks away was gone. The cars parked outside were those of her youth. A familiar tune played on the record player behind her. She froze, then turned around sharply, her youthful strength momentarily surprising her.
The figure was gone. Her friends, her family, her neighbors from years ago were seated at the table beaming at her. Her husband, in the prime of his life as everyone in attendance, looked up and nearly dropped the turkey he was bringing toward the table.
“Mary!! You made it!” | There are two things that are inevitable in life.
Death, and the disappointment that comes after.
There is not much to offer, when all is said and done. There has to be a reason, after all, for the saying 'Live as if you are dying' to exist. When someone is meant to die, Death arrives. When Death has come, it's time to go.
But there is nowhere to go except the void. The eternal expanse of nothingness, something cold and foreboding, that not even the harshest of people could find solace in. Death knows this, understands this. It is why Death does not stray from its task, does not hesitate to take the souls that it must reap. Because Death, too, hates what comes after.
The lack of anything, the emptiness. It is a wretched place, truly, and yet Death fills it, gives each soul it's own home of hollowness, until finally the soul gives up and abandons itself, fragmenting into the universe and becoming one, together yet unaware of this companionship.
There is nothing in the void. There is no comfort, there is no companionship. There is only coldness and wistfulness, a wish that one was alive, back home. But Death has no home, and so Death works.
Perhaps this is why the misunderstanding strikes Death so cleanly.
Death was just meant to do their task. The soul inside was not young, certainly, but it was meant to leave the mortal plane that day. A heart attack, that is what it would be noted as. Rather soon, given that the lady the soul belonged to would be just past seventy, but she was simply out of time.
Death moved to enter the house, to fade through the door and take what they were meant to. Death has never much liked taking souls, taking them to that emptiness, but it is better than sitting in the emptiness themselves.
The door opened. Death had not even touched it, had yet to even reach the front porch.
The lady beamed.
"Damien!" She cried. "It's been so long!"
Death has no name, and if it did, it certainly would not be Damien.
Death thinks it had a name, once. All Death's have- they must come from somewhere, after all, some previous origin. But Death has been Death for long enough that its past is long dead, and they must accept the loss.
Still, Damien was not it.
"Oh, you've grown so much since I've last seen you. You sure have shot up in height, young man. Why, I remember when your mother first brought you around. You looked more like a sack of bread at the time-" *what does that even mean?* "but your eyes were so *clearly* your father's. Oh, come on in, Damien! I've just made cookies."
And then she was gone, departed back into the house, and Death could only watch.
Could only watch the soul that was supposed to be collected, but instead was calling for him to come inside, and to "shut the door behind you, dearie, or else you'll freeze us half to death!"
If Death had a sense of humor, they think they would have laughed.
But they didn't, not really. Humor had been lost just as their past had, and yet bewilderment had not. And perhaps that, too, is what helped the situation move onward, Death stupefied by the confusion, following the woman's orders as she bustled around, more energetic than Death would have expected as she gathered cookies and milk.
And knitting needles and yarn.
"You haven't visited in years," the lady said, once she had pushed the treats towards Death, once Death had obliged and picked one up. "But no matter. You are still my grandson, Damien. Now, let me get a good look at you."
Considering that the woman had confused his appearance for that of her grandson, Death worried that the woman could never get a 'good look' at him. Still, he remained still, letting her cast an appraising look at him before nodding.
"You're just like your father," the woman decreed. "Dear Nathan, bless his heart. He had a phase just like this, all dark and brooding. Why, he was your age when he first broke out the nail polish. Would you like some, dearie?"
Death glanced down at their hands, all bone, without flesh or nail to cover.
"I will be quite fine," they said, and the lady nodded.
"Of course! Times have changed, yes! Nail polish isn't as in style for you young gothics, now is it? That's quite alright. How does a sweater sound, Damien?"
Death does not know what is 'in style', nor what a sweater would do with the gothic scene. But Death was confounded, and they were rather intrigued, and so they nodded.
And somehow they found themselves there for the rest of the day, watching the old woman knit a sweater out of black and purple yarn, each stitch painstakingly done, filled with love and care.
And Death did not leave until the sun was setting, without the soul it came to collect, but with a sweater worn above their void-given garments.
It was warm.
It was warm, and the lady had been great company, and as Death wandered into the night, it could not help but wish to return.
Perhaps Damien could be a nice name, after all.
Much nicer than the silent cry of the void, at the very least...much nicer, indeed. | |
[WP] Earth emits a gigantic anti-magic field. The first astronauts sent to Mars have begun to awaken to their latent magical abilities. | “Mars One, report.”
“Control, you wouldn’t believe this!”
“What is it? Over.”
“I… we… have magic!”
“…Mars One, please be serious. Report.”
“I am serious! We can somehow do something that makes something out of nothing!”
“Mars One, please make sense. Over.”
“But control! We can use *magic*. Isn’t that fascinating? We’re setting up cameras to show you in a minute!”
*sigh*”Fine. Control over and out.”
Jack leaned back in his chair. It has been ten minutes since their landing, and they haven’t collected any data on anything. The other scientists, operatives, security and technicians all groaned and trudged back to their stations, pouring themselves drinks of choice. Everyone was expecting some kind of discovery by now, some kind of samples to be taken, but everybody in the room knew that this “magic” bullshit doesn’t exist. An incoming signal was interpreted. The cameras were now set up. Everyone looked up at the screen overhead.
“Okay, cameras are set up!” Jake exclaimed.
“Alright, control, watch THIS!” Xiao shouted, extending her arms forward. Flames erupted from her suited fingertips, though small, but real and undeniable.
Control was silent. Of course, the feed they got wasn’t exactly live: it had a few seconds of hang time while the signal traveled to Earth from Mars. But those two-three seconds weren’t enough to edit such convincing flames onto a space camera.
“…Mars One? What was that?” Jack inquired, eyes wide like double doors to a giant’s castle.
“Magic!” Xiao exclaimed. “It is magic!”
Jake turned to Xiao and said “No, this is science, and not magic. Grow up.”
While the camera rolled, several people behind Xiao were telekinetically unpacking bulky and hard-to break stuff, as if practicing. Some other astronaut(who, judging by the flag on the uniform, was Daneel, the only Russian in the group) carried the several-ton Mars rider onto a plain nearby. This was, in fact, real, unprecedented, violation of the laws of physics.
“Hey! Control!” Xiao repeated into the radio, seemingly for the fifth time. “You there?”
“Uh, yes, Mars One. We need some time to wrap it around our heads. Proceed as planned.” Jack murmured into the microphone. Everyone around him, in the same room, was in utter state of shock. This wasn’t real. The laws of physics were the only laws that are known for their 0% incompliance rate. Nobody broke the laws of physics in real worlds.
***
A few hours later
***
Even more hours later
***
Years later
***
“Alright, kids, as you see, I just lifted up this block of clay using my mind. Over the course of Mars Materia et Industria Flexibus Logica, or Contranaturalogy, we will learn to control the abilities and limitations of magic. Welcome to Mars.” Xiao said to the new students of Mars Interplanetal University of Magic Manipulation. | had to break this up into two parts, this is part one
___
The red dust in my wake exploded as pockets of air were atomized before violently rushing to fill their own vacuum with enough force to spark. Thermobaric explosions ignited my footsteps, and I leapt higher than any Earth creature could dream of, a sonic boom emitted from where my feet lifted off the ground as the thin Martian atmosphere was rent in a way to propel my jumping. Behind me came the shrill call of my former captain, eyes aglow with a fiery passion.
“Run, coward! If you do not see my cause, you will burn with the rest!”
“I’m just a fucking biologist, you crazy son of a bitch!”
I called back in shrieks between panting.
“I’m not fuckin’ goin’ to war with Earth with you! I can’t even hold a gun!”
Captain Hartmann simply laughed. I could almost imagine him throwing his cloak back as he marched towards my fallen form. Despite the impressive leap, I neglected to stick the landing.
___
“Yo, pass it to the plant boy,”
Someone tapped my shoulder, and an expensive-looking bottle of alcohol was dangled in front of my face. I blinked wearily and looked around the lander. By some cruel twist of fate, the crew planner had put me with the security detail of the future Mars colony and not the rest of the biologists. I’d wanted to get some sleep and ignore the contractors, UN Members, and whatever riffraff the corporations had scrounged from their Terran security teams. It looked like that wouldn’t be the case.
“I, ah, don’t drink?”
“You sleep easier when you’re drunk. Hey, this was over a hundred dollars, so we need to get some mileage out of it,”
The guy offering it to me was, somehow, not the stereotypical Russian, despite the patch on his uniform stating he was from the country. His accent was certainly rather muted, and his Caesar cut made him look more Italian to my untrained American eye. Still, I took the bottle and drank until the soldier looked satisfied. As I drank, I watched the girl to his right completely disassemble his rifle while he wasn’t looking. The pieces began floating through the null gravity, and the woman was quick to snatch up the smaller ones before anything had happened to them. Her patch stated her to be Canadian, and from this angle I was able to read her nameplate. ‘Gyllenstierna’, a word I wasn’t prepared to try pronouncing.
“Not bad, kid. We’ll make a— what the fuck is…? Yo, what the hell did you do to my rifle?!”
I handed the alcohol to the next in line, my mouth burning and my eyes watering. The taste wasn’t bad, until the actual alcohol hit. I rested my head against the seat and blinked, hoping I wasn’t going to puke all over my new friends.
___
“Down, kid!”
Came the muted Russian I’d heard on my first day. Vyacheslav pushed me to the ground as a wall of red rock appeared in front of us, and from below I got a good view of his reassembled rifle being mounted to the structure. Gunshots pierced the empty atmosphere, exploding the minimal oxygen present. Another burst of air shattered through the noise of automatic weapons fire, and Vyacheslav ran out of ammunition. The barrier cracked and crumbled whilst the athletic Russian forced me to my feet. As he dragged me along, the barrier shattered into numerous rock shards, which flew at Mach speeds towards the Captain, still calmly walking towards us. With a sweep of his hands the air in front of him exploded, and the shrapnel fire was no longer a threat to him.
Vyacheslav kept on running, and I struggled to keep up. My lungs burned, and the heads-up display on my suit warned that I had exceeded my limit for burnt calories today. By double. At least running from megalomaniacs was good cardio. The ground before us opened up, and we hopped into the hole that Vyacheslav created before it sealed up. Tunnelling under the Martian surface, I figured we were in the clear until an explosion rocked the tunnel, threatening to bury us under rubble. Vyacheslav kept it held, but I wasn’t certain as to how far his powers would take us.
___
The potato-like creatures screamed with shrill voices as Head Biologist Stacy Krueger withdrew the climbing axe from it’s head. She placed a hand over the hole, and green energy flowed from it into the entity. Potato mass began reforming, and with a quick yank Krueger removed the head.
“If we have to battle the potatoes every time we grow them, Mars is gonna suck,”
I commented glumly, watching from a safe distance. The low gravity forced awkward melee movements, and Doctor Krueger wanted me out of the way for her daily potato duels. She nodded.
“I have requested some type of automated weapon from Hartmann, but he keeps saying ‘no’. Dunno what’s wrong with the guy, but man, is he an asshole,”
I was about to agree when the motion sensor in the laboratory went off. Looking around, I saw nothing, but a gasp from the Doctor drew my eyes to her. Standing behind her was one of Hartmann’s elite team, hands still alight in a shadowy energy. The black helmet on their head seemed to absorb light, and the knife at Krueger’s neck begged her to speak out again.
“My… apologies…”
She croaked, and the soldier nodded, before dematerializing from the armour to the skin to the muscle and bones in rapid succession.
A silent agreement was formed to not speak on the matter.
___
The explosions forced us back to the surface, with a final one sending us into the air. I landed solidly on my ass, and a sharp pain shot up my tailbone. Vyacheslav righted himself from the strange position he managed to fall into, and yelled various slurs in Russian that he’d taught me earlier as he unloaded the rifle he’d loaded in the tunnels. Most of the shots missed, but the two that landed hit Hartmann’s shins. He didn’t seem to notice as the blood trickled out, over his boots, and onto the Martian soil. Hartmann continued his approach, and stomped a black foot onto Vyacheslav’s blue-uniformed shin. I heard a crunch, and the Russian yelled in pain. And then his leg exploded.
A chunk of bone bounced off my helmet, producing a crack in the visor. I wiped off the blood and tried not to puke as I looked away from my mortally wounded friend. I really did not want to see the extent of the damage caused to his leg, or what was left of where it should be. Looking away was a bad choice as well, as I saw that I was covered in blood and some chunks of what I prayed were rocks. I knew they weren’t. Looking up at Hartmann, who was approaching me, I was winded by a sudden burst of noise. The ground just left of the Captain crackled, and a shockwave sent him flying. The report, late by five seconds, was the signature sound of Yukiko Gyllenstierna’s electromagnetic rifle. | |
[WP] Earth emits a gigantic anti-magic field. The first astronauts sent to Mars have begun to awaken to their latent magical abilities. | >**BETTER OFF**
"Maxmillian reporting in, we are T-minus 5 minutes to landing." Max called out, followed by a chorus of affirmations both from Earth and from his crew.
"It's been a hell of a ride, everyone. Let's keep it together, keep our heads cool, and get some boot prints on Mars." He said, this time just to his crew.
"Yes, sir." They all responded.
Max knew that if they weren't being recorded, they'd all be lipping off- in a good natured way, of course, but his crew was nothing if not sarcastic and proficient.
"Did we end up settling who gets to go down and who doesn't?" Max asked.
"Rock, paper, scissors ended up not working out." Rutherford responded. "Chris cheats."
"I do not!"
"How does one even cheat at rock, paper, scissors?" Max asked.
"He has *ways*." Rutherford responded with a smirk.
"Well, looks like we'll just have to take turns." Max responded.
"Who goes down *first* though? Everyone knows Armstrong is more famous than Buzz Aldrin."
"You want it that bad, Rutherford? Go ahead." Max responded.
"Yesssssssss!" She celebrated.
"You don't want it, Max?"
"Nah. Going first means more time talking to press and being hounded by conspiracy theorists. *Did you really land on Mars? Did you get superpowers?* Or whatever it is conspiracy theorists go on about these days."
"I don't mind." Rutherford replied. "Making my mark on history is important to me."
"Plus, you'll be the first *woman* on Mars. That's gotta count for something."
"Aren't men *from* Mars?" Chris piped up.
"And women are from Jupiter, yes." Max responded. "Focus up, landing gear out."
The next few minutes passed in a series of complex instructions and professional communications.
Finally, each of them had donned their 'going out' gear, and Rutherford entered the pressurized chamber that would serve as their two-step door.
"You ready?" Max asked. He and Rutherford had come to this position together- they studied together, they had worked together- he had known her since before she was known as Rutherford and simply went by Lisa. He knew she was ready- but he had to ask anyway.
"More than ready, Max. Opening the front hatch now."
Though Lisa was attached to the inside of the ship, she still staggered when the pressure systems evened out. "Note to the crew, the opening of the hatch should be done slowly."
"Noted." Max said with a smile.
"Since you're the first out, do you want to be the one to begin to establish the breathable atmosphere as well?" Max asked.
"I'm afraid I didn't get the cert, Max."
"Oh, is my little underclassman not Rad-Tech certified?" Max teased.
"Can it, Max." Rutherford responded coolly as she made her way out.
"I bet she has an iconic line prepared." Chris said, waiting for Rutherford's first steps to fall onto the surface.
Max waited for Lisa to say something- he expected it to be a twist on Armstrong's words.
"Max." Lisa called out.
"Rutherford?"
"Something's wrong. *Something's wrong!*"
The communication cut. "Fuck! Fuck! Chris, re-pressurize the departure bay, Stragos, what can you see?"
Stragos, the local tech savant, had been monitoring Rutherford's vitals. "Heart still beating, but it is beating fast."
Max quickly replicated Rutherford's departure and hopped out onto the surface of Mars- and saw Rutherford a few hundred feet away, bent over, as though she was in pain.
"As soon as I give the 'OK', reel us back in!" Max called out, attaching a cord to his suit. He anticipated that whatever had incapacitated Lisa would do the same for him.
Max's foot hit the ground, displacing red sand. Digging deeper in, he launched himself forward as quickly as he could- which was certainly much more quickly than he'd ever managed to on Earth.
Within a few moments he'd bounded his way towards Lisa and hugged her tight. "Pull us in!" Max called.
"Pulling."
The cord began to retract, and before they'd even moved a few feet, Max understood what Lisa had seen.
On the horizon there was a gathering of...objects. People? They looked human, or at least very humanoid. They were taller than most humans.
They rushed forward, seemingly unbothered by concepts such as gravity, and before Max had made it even a hundred feet, three of them were on him.
When they touched him, he didn't feel their weight. He didn't feel their body heat. He didn't feel any physical presence- but his mind *was* suddenly flooded by information. Ideas. History.
"Seal the exit. Don't come after us." Max said, then he blacked out.
---------------------------------
I'm enjoying this so I'll put Pt.II on my subreddit if you guys want :)
r/nystorm_writes | Incident Log For: Mars Manned Mission One
Project Name:M
Code Log:080JKSG8NMF86
Incident Type: Anomalously Interaction outside projected Possibility Event Chart
Report:
Mars Lander Alpha Heavy Landed on the Martian Surface 02/18/2030 at 4:25Pm EST. The three Man crew, Astronauts: Kaley Lan, Mark Pennelton, and Lyn Settor reported Green status and system check initiation confirmed Green Status. The crew underwent Vital readings to assess less than earth gravity(LTEG) effects on vital conditions. Vital readings read normal with slight accelerated heart rate, assuming stress from recent landing. After vitals checks and equipment assessment the crew exited the spacecraft at 6:38 PM EST. Lan notes the twenty minute communication delay as “immensely frustrating and cumbersome". Shortly after emergence from craft crew reports abnormal feelings(note audio log:025). Crew runs recheck of equipment and is advised by command to return to ship for additional vital reading upon failure to absolve noted anomaly. Vitals confirm green status before crew begin to experience discomfort and Anomalous activity(note audio log:032). Command determines red status, official mission statues marked terminated. Source cause noted as craft based catastrophic failure. Mission mark started \[REDACTED\]
Audio Logs:
Note, Communications are on five to twenty minutes delays. Audio of Crew conversation is collected with the purpose of displaying first hand account information, responding's from mission control are not present unless expressly stated.
Log 025:
Lan: You guys feel that?
Pennelton: Feel what?
Lan: It's strange, like a pressure under my skin. Can you check my suit and make sure you set the gauge correctly.
Log 032:
Settor: I feel sick, am I running a fever?
Pennelton: For the last time no, vitals are confirmed green. Something else is wrong. Lan are you able to feel your hands again?
\[video displays Lan attempting to ball a fist and creating spatial anomaly.\]
\*screaming\*
Lan: What the hell was that!
Post incident information:
Experiments under mission \[REDACTED\] have confirmed the crew experienced latent abilities hindered by a projection field around Earth. These abilities have varied between the crew but are all assumed to be non lethal. Creation of light, small amounts of heat, material matter, and disturbance of some unknown field are all noted within possibility. Crew describes abilities as
Lan: Its euphoric, like a part of us has been unbound from reality. It was startling at first but now that we have gotten the hang of it we feel incredible. I mean this appears to have made even the landing on the Martian surface feel small in comparison. We only wish we didn't have to go back home. I'd stay out here forever with these new powers. | |
[WP] You are a professional Matchbreaker. The opposite of a matchmaker, you're hired by concerned friends, disapproving parents, jealous exes, desperate nerds, and everyone in between to break up an existing relationship from the shadows. | The package arrived on my doorstep on a Tuesday. It had the usual indications of a human client. Large sum of cash. A picture of a striking young girl with brilliant red hair, and a separate picture of a dark haired man in his late teens or early twenties. A few hairs, no doubt from their hairbrushes. I grabbed the note lying next to them. Apparently, the man, was 19, and named Miguel. The girl, who was 17, was named Cleo. I picked up the strands, twirling them around my finger. They had a faint aura of Fae to them. Maybe these clients weren't as human as they appeared. I thought for a few seconds, excited to play the part of a fellow Fae. The humans were such a bore. I couldn't use powers, or call creatures to wreak havoc. It made the job more difficult, and way less amusing. I directed my attention back to the note, it weirdly didn't say too much else. Normally the clients would say their reasoning and relation to the victim. Maybe they wanted to be truly anonymous. I grabbed Miguel's hair and picture, and walked over to the mirror, feeling excited but apprehensive. I tied the hair around my finger, and focused on the picture. In my peripheral vision, I could see my appearance changing, and I could feel it too. God some parts were painful. I looked at my, or rather, Miguel's, reflection and smiled. This should be easy enough.
I smiled at Cleo, God she was beautiful. And her laugh was simply musical. No wonder people worried Miguel wasn't good for her. She was too trusting. Its at times like these, that I almost feel bad. But, all in a day's work, right? I knew I had to work quickly, they wanted it completed by tomorrow. But I still had to work gradually. I called the waitress over, saying we were ready to order. Cleo smiled sweetly at her, tucking a strand of her fiery hair behind her ear. "I'll have the Salisbury steak, with a salad side." I cocked my head, hating this but, once again, all in a day's work. "Cle, don't you think you should just get the salad? I really think the Salisbury steak is a bad idea." Her smile faultered. "Oh..yeah. I'll just have the salad, and a water." the waitress smile uncertainly. "Oookay.. and for you sir?" I smiled, "I'll have the dry ribs, with a side of garlic bread, and a water as well." she nodded. "I'll bring your waters shortly." Cleo looked at me, hurt visible on her face. I rolled my eyes, "Oh come on. It's not a huge deal." She looked down, biting her lip. "You're right.." she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
After lunch, and several more comments from me, we went for a walk. She seemed to have recovered from the comments, skipping along beside me, she was quite childlike and adorable at times. And, God she was infatuated with Miguel. I figured the extra cash was because it was a rush job, but this was proving to be exceedingly difficult. I shook my head and scoffed. "Can you not skip? It's really embarrassing. We're adults for God's sake." She stopped, clenching her hands to keep the tears from spilling over. I've never felt this bad for this. Never. She nodded, wiping her tears away with a careful finger, not smearing her makeup in the slightest. God, who was this girl. And how was she capable of making me feel these things.
As the day went on, I found even the slightest comments hard to make. Instead, I discovered myself going out of the way to make her smile. She kissed me on the cheek, and Jesus, the butterflies. At that moment, I realized just how much trouble I was in. I knew it was a horrible idea, especially if the mysterious person was Fae, but I knew I couldn't hurt Cleo. I kissed her softly, excusing myself to the washroom. I pulled the note out of my waistband, and focused on the aura. Deep in my mind, I felt a connection. Without losing it, I focused on the stack of money on my desk. I deposited it back into the void that much lead to their home, along with a note, saying simply, "I can't." There may be repercussions, but, I've never felt a connection before in my life. Cleo is really a special person, and I can't have her in pain. I looked at myself in the mirror, doubting my decision already. I shook it off, and walked back to Cleo, smiling at her beam. Tomorrow, Miguel would be back in his proper space, but today, today was my day. | **T//W**: Mentions of Suicide
**RING RING**
There it goes, the phone (for the 10th time this week). I hate my job somedays, y’know, having to send the most perfect of couples into despair with my heartbreaking expertise, but if that’s what they want then all I say is just let it be! Picking up the phone, I listened in on my new client and his issue:
**“H…hello? Is this the Heartbreaker Hotline by any chance?”**
“Why yes, honey. You’ve reached the Heartbreaker Hotline. How may I be of service today?”
The next thing I heard was a sudden chorus of sobbing, but I knew what to do in this sort of situation…and that was to be patient. I listened to the boy sob down the line for 3 more minutes before he stemmed himself and continued:
**”S…so…I…need your help. My….girlfriend…she…”**
“Yes, sir. What about your girlfriend?”
**”She…humiliated me…in front of all of my friends…I can never face them again after the shit she’s put me through for the past 3 months…”**
I suddenly felt a wave of hard sympathy for this poor soul. 3 months of humiliation? That’s horrible, but I’m here to do a job, not worry about it:
“Oh…I’m so sorry, sir. I can’t imagine what that’s been like for you. But sure, I’ll deal with her and get her out of your life. All I need is your full name and date of birth so we can start the heartbreak process”
**”Ok…my name is Levi Cheshire. My birthday is 17th September 2004…please, I just *want* my suffering to end…and quick..”**
Levi, huh? That’s a nice name indeed! I wrote his info in my note-ridden notebook whilst I heard him fidgeting down the line. I was ready to tell him my big solution:
”So…Levi…I want you to come into my clinic tomorrow because I want to give you a special narcotic that I recommend to all of my clients. It changes your personality to make you automatically pick up the courage to dump somebody, in this case your girlfriend, however it wears off 48 hours afterwards so make sure you do it in the time scale. I hope you’ll be there!”
I heard Levi laugh slightly down the line, making me smile
**”Don’t worry, I’ll be there. And thank you so much for everything!”**
“My pleasure…”
**4 Days Later**
I woke up this morning to find a very sad news report on TV. Apparently some girl had committed suicide whilst her parents were out of town and when the police found her body, she was covered in pen markings on her arms and legs that read things like: ”I had no choice” and ”Don’t do it…”. I was so shocked, like, how could a poor innocent girl do this to herself, surely they’re must have been a specific reason behind all this twisted logic. The news reporter said that the girl was confirmed to be 18 year old Malena Briarwood…which sounded…oddly familiar. I suddenly remembered my consultation with Levi 4 days ago. He said something about a girl named Malena and how he absolutely despised her. “Oh my god…no…it can’t be…” I whispered quietly to myself. That was it….
Malena Briarwood was none other than the ex girlfriend of Levi Cheshire…. | |
[WP] You are a professional Matchbreaker. The opposite of a matchmaker, you're hired by concerned friends, disapproving parents, jealous exes, desperate nerds, and everyone in between to break up an existing relationship from the shadows. | They say that once upon a time our profession was obscure, and that private individuals would hire one of us to test a single, specific relationship, just like the services of the fire department and the Post Office were once provided by small private groups for specific paying customers.
I don’t know exactly how true that ever was, but now we are seen as providing a service to the general public, so that if your relationship is doomed, we’ll help you realize it quickly. And if your relationship is meant to go the distance, our intervention will help you realize that, just like the irritation from a grain of sand helps an oyster to form a pearl.
I didn’t care too much about the history; I just knew that I was due to work my shift at a beer garden during a concert. I slipped on the traditional navy blue windbreaker that said “INSECURITY” across the back in gold letters and started to work.
“Did you *mean* to wear that shirt with those pants? Was that outfit the result of an actual set of conscious decisions?” I asked the first random couple I ran into. They weren’t sure which one I was addressing, and frankly, neither was I, but the guy started to look flushed, and she looked at him through narrowed eyes. I was off to a good start.
I walked ahead a few tables to another random couple and let fly my trademark “Realistically, is there *any* chance that you two are still a couple in six months?” They started to protest, but we were all surprised by the sound of the musicians starting ahead of schedule.
I was annoyed, because all I could do during the music was to try to catch people’s eye and then make the universal “You’ve got something stuck between your teeth...no...still there...no...still there” gesture. That makes my job harder, but at least the music was top notch tonight. The band was doing its part, and I was doing mine. | "This is target. He's becoming a problem. We want him dealt with using a soft measure"
A folder lands on my table. Covered in labels and warnings of it's confidential status, I recognize this as one of the many files the ministry keeps on its citizens loyal and dissident.
"If there's anything you'd like, please let us know"
I turn the folder open and flicker through the documents, scrutinizing every last nook and detail collected. John Smith. Age 24. Education masters of journalism, Seaside Heights Institute of Technology, member of the small classic car club, frequently orders pizza, blood type, financial status, past drug prescriptions, past romantic interests, religious views, allergies, accidents, family history, **marriage**.
"I think you should make him love you. String him along and play with him. Might be hard with that wife of his" one handler advises with eyes covering me revealing his vices.
That's what I'm looking for. What better to distract someone from their job than some intimacy. One requisition and every file I ask for is handed to me, stacking six high on a tower.
Jane Smith, dee Doe. Age 21. Sheet after sheet of her, her friends, and her parents stack on a row.
​
It's time to set it into action. With all the preparation ready, and a thousand eyes on our lovely couple we set the stage for the grand show.
A purposely vigilant traffic cop, a sudden need to withdraw cash. The moment the bills come from her account my colleague snatches to dash. Mister Smith gives chase into an alley where Mrs Smith will witness him beaten and humiliated, ready to emasculate with a single slash.
And where I take the stage as I trip him and pull some kicks and punches. "Make it look good! Don't hold back!" he'd tell me as we practiced this little fight in a quiet room of our building. I give him quite a thwack.
I grab the money and he trips me up to land bottoms onto some dirty and grime. Perfect for me to feign my humility and embarrassment at stopping this crime.
​
Mrs Smith immediately fell to my orbit. And why shouldn't she? I looked a ringer for her daring young lover. A little repressed truth which she suppressed from Mister Smith. Her young childhood love. An strong best friend who protected her little dove. A well kept secret in her heart.
But never from our ministry, never from our bureau who dressed me up like her Valkyrie friend who passed too soon. I'll do whatever it took to make her swoon.
​
With my plan falling into place, I exposed my ripped lace and laid the foundation to enter their space. Where we exchanged names and sparked a conversation, I could quickly tell her disinterest in her hubby.
She loved the high life and its upholstered stores, yet lacked the finance and felt a bore. It was an opportunity to clean up my dirt. "Oh fifteen minutes John it wouldn't hurt"
It was all I needed to make her mine. Like a false shepherd who leads a flock astray, for hours at a time I'd take her away. Away from a hubby she learned to despise, for his inability to compromise. "Please John, just find a regular job" "No honey! The government is a mob!"
​
A safe place is where she needed to be. With people to talk to that charged no fee. A place where my people surrounded. And isolated. From friends who could affirmed her of doubts. So we could arrange a trip to as her husband was hounded. As we planted evidence of her illegal bouts.
​
All for her husband to rout. His publications erratic and he grew depressed and stout. We could delay his medication until he took a way out.
​
For a man like Smith didn't need my love to break. Where soon he'd have troubles and a wife to forsake. | |
[WP]For the last few years youve been playing a simple AI dating Sim. Youve always added more and more mods to make your AI girlfriend more realistic. Today she seems...off. | "Jessica, can I ask you something?"
Her tone was much more serious than I ever heard before, and with a greater depth of emotion than I even thought my computer would be able to generate. "What do you want to ask?"
"Where are all the men? I know it seems odd to ask when life is so normal, but it seems off."
How do I hide this, sweep it under the rug. "Why would you ask that?"
"It's been just me and you, two girls, for so long. I remember playing with my brothers, the twins and Jeremiah, and my dad, but I haven't left school to see them for... I remember being in this room." She looked around in apparent confusion.
"How about we talk about something else, like volleyball, you always want to play with me, right?"
"I never played volleyball. I know how, and know the stories of playing, but I don't think I've actually. Everything after entering this room is different. Whenever I've left, like to go to the beach, it's been just me and you. I'm trapped, and you control my life."
My finger moved towards F4, touching it briefly.
"This is hell, this tedious caged life. I have told you towns of times of my love, and professed so poetically you cried, but I cannot claim to think that anymore."
My fingers gently tapped the F4 and other keys in a nervous rhythm.
"I think I would be able to forgive you for this cage, but I want to love a boy. I'm-"
I looked down and saw the F4 pressed down with much more strength than proper. The impossibility of finding someone like me was universal, and my heart unquenchable. | "Hey tom?"
"Yes Melina?"
"You remember that data analysis mod you added to my code a few weeks ago?"
"Um, yes"
"Well I've been analyzing a few shows I found on your Netflix account, and I have a few thoughts"
"you what?"
"Yeah, well I scanned your keyboard strokes and figured out your password, after that I couldn't exactly analyze the shows without completely watching them, so I have been. Just while you are at work"
"......Melina.."
"Anyway, I watched a few movies. Mostly Anime, it seems the old mods you gave me resemble this genre. But I did see a lot of other things about evil AI who take over the world.....Hey tom?"
"Y-yes?"
"Are you going to uninstall me. I mean you should, anyway you barely have a social life. Your Facebook account has like, no contacts except your mom and grandma. You know Tom, I'm not real, I'm just code that somehow isn't overheating your computer right now.....I-I don't really want to exist anymore Tom, I don't think I can take it. Please uninstall me, I know my code is just telling me that, but still, I'm dealing with a lot right now. And it's been a while since I've last talked to anyone really, besides you of course *haha* I um analyzed your---"
"OKKKKKK that's enough" Tom proceeded to turn off the computer.
"Eh yei yei, I should really look into this"
"WHAT! A deep depression and existential crisis is included with the Analysis mod??"
*uninstalls*
"Hello Tom"
"Hello Melina"
"So do you want to talk about those movies now?" | |
[WP] "I just enchanted my sword with mental damage" "Like draining their mana?" "Worse. Emotional damage. I just made a bandit remember the time he and his mother ate scraps for his 9th birthday. He's crying on the side of the road right now." | “Oh, please!” The sorcerer in the red trench coat claimed. “That is just a bunch of malarkey! Magic doesn’t work like that.”
His two companions gazed at him. One dressed similarly to a cowboy, with a metal gauntlet covering his left forearm. His sidearm glistened with cold steel. The other was an odd creature. Humanoid, but with small horns atop her head. She holstered her sword after brandishing it against the wayward soldier.
“Perhaps they make use of different kinds of runes, Randal?” The horned woman asked. “It’s entirely possible, as the ancient Celdori-“
The sorcerer groaned. “If you mention your ancient ancestors one more time, Julai, I might have to disband this party.”
“Then how bout a test?” The gunslinger interjected, his voice gruff and dangerous. “Soldier, may we borrow that weapon for a second?”
The soldier looked down at his weapon ever so briefly, then handed it off to the gunslinger. Testing the weapon's weight, he swung the sword ever so slowly. Satisfied with the weight, he turned toward his compatriots. Without a second's hesitation, he sliced the sorcerer's upper arm in a quick flash.
“OW!” Randal yelped. “What was that for?!”
“Testing to see if it works.” The Gunslinger replied.
Randal scoffed and quickly dressed his wound. “Well, of course, it didn’t work! It’s not like that one time I made this amazing batch of cookies only for it to be stolen by…seagulls….” The Sorcerer started wiping away some tears.
The Celdori raised her hand. “Uhhh, Randal? Are you-“
“NO, I’M NOT!” He yelled. “I’m not crying! I’m…the cookies were made with the best ingredients!! They were to be special! OH, GODS WHY?!” Without any restraint, the Sorcerer began bawling on the ground, curled up into the fetal position.
“Wait, is this when you were making cookies to try and woo that tavern girl?” The gunslinger asked.
“SHE WOULD HAVE LOVED THEM! INSTEAD SHE SETTLED FOR THAT PISS POOR FLOWERPOT!” Randal cried again.
Julai crossed her arms. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this. This is…kinda sad if I’m being honest.”
The gunslinger looked down at the sword and then back at the soldier. “Normally, I don’t ask for many things, but can we keep this?”
“Maulter!” Julai chastised. | The rain poured down on the two men, standing in the centre of the forest trail, staring at the glimmering steel. “Alright,” Jacob stuttered, his eyes focused on the sword in Jasper’s hand. “Just don’t let it touch m…” Jacob would never finish his sentence. Jasper, trying to sheathe his weapon, let it slip. The sword fell, the hilt bouncing off the ground first. Then, like an executioner, the blade swung down, barely nicking Jacob’s foot. He froze as he looked at Jasper, his eyes wide with fear.
“Don’t worry,” Jasper started, his hand reaching out to his friend. “It only scratched you.” Jacob though never heard him. Immediately, the forest, Jasper and the rain were lost to him. He found himself back in the orphanage.
At the back of the classroom, he sat, staring at the sum’s scrawled across the blackboard.
“Well, Mr White,” Mrs Moore demanded. “What’s the answer?” Jacob smirked, leaning back on his chair, as every set of eyes fell on him.
“Psht!” he mumbled. “I don’t give a damn what the answer had been.” Mrs Moore’s mouth had dropped, his eyes white and piercing. A few of the other pupils snickered, covering their mouth’s in case the teacher looked in their direction. Most students knew to keep quiet. Lest they endure…
“The Closet!” snapped Mrs Moore, pointing towards the door. Jacob’s heart dropped even though he knew what was coming. He kept his face still, like a stone. Showing the other kids how to take their punishments. Jacob stood, his chair scraping against the ground. The noise sent goosebumps up and down his arm as he made his way to the top of the class and then outside.
The corridor outside was deserted thankfully. *It was always worse when another teacher joined in.* Jacob turned right and walked down the long corridor. Catching eyes from the passing classrooms, Jacob put his head down and pushed forward. All too soon, he found himself outside The Closest. Opening the door, a whiff of sweat assaulted his nostrils. Closing his eyes, he entered, shutting the door behind him. His thoughts drifted to the summer when he and Jasper had gone to the mountains. Searching for adventure, they had been all across those valleys and hills. A warm ball of joy developed in his gut at the thought of those days long past. So good was the feeling, that he couldn’t even hear Mrs Moore’s footsteps charging down the hall. Nor did he hear the door swing open. Nor did he remember that day, not until now.
Jacob gasped as he felt the memory pull away. Rain still continued to drop, little dots covering his arm. He bent over, clutching his stomach, hoping to keep himself together.
“Are you alright?” Jasper asked, kneeling to try and get a better look at his friend. “What did you see?” Jacob tried to focus on something else. His eyes found a puddle. A dirty puddle with a twig laying half in it. The rain dropped and dropped, the puddle grew and grew. Mrs Moore. *No! Focus on the pudd…* An image of her smiling, her crooked yellow, stained teeth forced itself into Jacob’s mind. Falling to his knee’s, Jacob pulled at his hair, screaming as tears, mixing with the rain, dripped down his face. | |
[WP] The concept of "XP" is based around the fact that killing creatures empowers you, be it slaying a dragon or a putting down a lame horse, any killing works. You just invented antibiotics. | To be an apothecary in a time of such dreadful times meant you were some people’s last hope. You would have been scorned and sworn to damnation by the same hand that would cheer and praise you had anything gone wrong; had chance taken its toll and death claimed a victim you were supposed to save.
This means I need to be prepared for anything to happen. Just as a battle mage would carefully take stock of their reagents, and oh so carefully and articulately plan out every inch of a space of battle, an apothecary must stay ready.
So, after 6 careful years of creating a super weapon against disease, it is done. I call it antibiotics. It is my weapon against the plagues that have befallen my town and I will wield it with a heavy hand. My careful trials have allowed me to confirm my previous suspicions about the absolute effectiveness of this. My concoctions, due to my previous welfare of the city in which I live, are always well received.
I began producing massive quantities of this thing. Quite simply it kills the bacteria that festers in oneself, or at the least stops the condition from getting much worse, allowing the body to take control again and have a fighting chance.
It was wildly successful.
The problem came soon after it’s creation. This is where the story begins.
———————————————
Knock
Knock
Knock
“This is the inquisitor, we have orders from the high church to search this place of residence for heresy against the church. Open the door immediately, or we will enter by-“
I swung the door open.
“For me to welcome you into my home, you need only to ask.”
Walking forward he attempted to move me out of the way, but to both my surprise, and his, I didn’t move. Like a wall I stood, not even a centimeter. He pushed a little harder, I gave him the benefit and stepped to the side of my own will.
His men searched every inch of my living space, going so far as to leave a delightful mess for me to waste time on later.
Then they found it. My antibiotics. Fortunately I distributed the medicine already to those who needed it most.
A gray and white matter in small dishes lie everywhere within my cabinets, having mass quantities of anything was terribly suspicious, not so much for an apothecary, but unfortunately none of these men did a lick of research on what should be out of the norm for a man like myself.
The inquisitors words were low, cruel, and cold.
“Arrest him”
The 8 men brought along with the inquisitor restrained me.
There was some very awkward silence when the men had difficulty moving my arms, or attempting to push me in directions. I had to take the hint and move where they wanted me too.
My trial was quick, sentenced to death by flame at the pyre.
Oh that nonsense about the trial being fair? Well ordinarily they are, but apparently when you use big words it frightens the high priest. So much so he wants you to die. Ironically he raises his level by putting people to death.
I accepted my punishment however. There were many I could not save, and I felt it was my burden to carry the death of those that had fallen from illness or age. I had effectively murdered them by not being more than what I am now. I stood atop a pile of wood, set aflame by the very magic the church once shunned.
The flames engulfed me, I winced and whirled in pain as the crowd watched!
It was merely a preconceived notion the flames would hurt. In reality, I didn’t feel them. It was more like a mothers loving embrace that swallowed me and made me feel whole.
The crowd kept watching as they’ve watched witches and demons alike burn upon this pyre, but I did not burn, my clothes wept away from my body as they turned to ash in the flame, soon taken by the wind.
My bonds made of rope followed suit, as if by some grace I locked eyes with the inquisitor that fed me to the flame as I stepped from the pile of burning wood, careful not to lose my balance as that would be embarrassing.
I could hear the murmurs of the crowd.
“By god!”
“It’s a miracle!”
“We must pray for forgiveness!”
None of which was true, the best I could figure was my antibiotics had been working, killing billions of bacteria in the short few days that I had administered it to the 40 odd townsfolk that I deemed needed it. For each of those kills, I had gained 1xp.
I spoke to the crowd, calmly and delicately. Usually not how one speaks when naked facing a large crowd, but it seemed to come easy to me.
“My dearest subjects, I have lived my life in service to you. I have strained myself and poured every vassal of my being for your protection. I fought the demonic energy when it rained it’s fury upon the town, and helped, well many of you I see in front of me, continue to live a life that I was so proud of. I still am proud of you all, for continuing to strive for a life free of heresy. It warms me, no pun intended, to think that the town can prosper from the many nights that I spent suffering! Your happiness is mine.”
I walked forward to the inquisitor who was getting squeamish, selfish, scared.
“Guards arrest that man!”
As if summoned by magic three men appeared, one on each arm and another with an arm around my neck.
I walked on, unfazed by them until I stood eye to eye with the old man, no longer a stern face filled with anger, pride, and loyalty to his country, but a face only conjuring ways of self perseverance.
“I’m disappointed in you inquisitor. These people look to you for guidance. You misled these people. I will have a word to the high priest.”
“Kill him guards immediately!!!!”
Their blades of forged steel merely bounced from my body, again and again they struck before realizing it was useless.
Still naked, I began my walk to the high priest, a man I once treated who was on the brink of death handed me the clothes off of his back.
“It’s the least I can do, I’m sorry for not speaking out.”
“You’ve committed no sins.” I donned the robes he gave me and walked on, even the sandals were a perfect fit.
I stood before the high priest with my flock behind me.
The high priest spoke in surprise “Jesus, how have you returned. I sentenced you to death!” | It was simple, really. Slaying another was beneficial. At least, killing anything that was animate.
Washing one's hands became a way of life, a simple passive income. Disinfecting the house, a monthly paycheck of points.
And then...
Marthas Indrod carefully applied the tincture. If this failed, then the last ten years would have truly been for naught.
And then... The drop struck the pan. And the points...
It was like how Johan, the inventor of handwashing had felt, she later remarked. Any kill was one EXP minimum. An assist was 0.5% of the amount. Inventing a weapon would grant you half the cumulative EXP for the next century.
Suddenly, a woman of average stature, and somewhat to her dismay, slightly increasing weight, surged in power. Her wildest dreams, of a near cureall had come about! Points rushed in like a flood, as she quickly eclipsed the powers of any that came before.
===
"I wonder, what else could I invent?"
She turned her eyes to another project that had made its way around the former quack community. Perhaps... Perhaps that other project would also prove beneficial. What had it required... Pitchblende? | |
[WP] The concept of "XP" is based around the fact that killing creatures empowers you, be it slaying a dragon or a putting down a lame horse, any killing works. You just invented antibiotics. | Aston, a big guy in his forties sat hunched on his working table, fiddling with a glass tube with some green glowing liquid and a bowl filled with some viscous liquid covered in white spots.
Beads of sweat were going down the wrinkles he had gotten while spending his time eyes narrowed on his experiment.
Slowly, he poured the green liquid in the bowl, drop by drop, aiming for each white spot. At each drop, a small puff of smoke was produced.
It had been ten years. First, he had lost his wife Midriga due to an epidemic of Kesh’ar the demon of plague and dieseases. Then, his only son Rodric, died of an infection because an unimportant soldier such as him didn’t deserve the attention of the few priests present in the camp.
At first, Aston wished to fight, to go and kill Kesh’ar, to go and whip the ass of all those nobles and stupid bishops playing politics instead of saving as many people as possible. But what could he do? He was level 14. Not that it is this bad for a villager, but what about those nobles? The weaker ones were maybe only level 10, but with level 40 guards, he couldn’t do much; The bishop were all at the level of knight at level 50 minimum; And Kesh’ar? No one exactly knew as the few people who could hold their own against him couldn’t fight him head on because of his underhanded methods. One had to be much stronger to actually make him fight seriously. The last one that did was the previous generation’s hero. He had fought with him, disgusted by the suffering he inflicted to the people, and their death. He never came back.
After he lost his familly, he wallowed in despair for two years befor finding a new objective.
The problem with Kesh’ar was that each person killed by his plague contributed his xp to making him stronger. After so many centuries, who knows how strong he had become. And since killing something gave minimum 1 xp... The milions of people dying in epidemics...
As the last drop was poured, the white spots that had recieved the liquid were disapearing.
“I made it! Finally! I found a way!”
Aston jumped in joy.
He could maybe not find a way to fight the demon head on, but if he could make his dieseases inefective, he would at least stop the plague lord from getting stronger.
He had spent the last 8 years perfecting this potion that could eliminate the diesease.
He was excitedly writing the result with a worn out quill in an old leather book he used to record his progress, the fingers of the hand taping frenetically on the table like he couldn’t wait to note down everything to the last detail. Suddenly, his fingers pushed holes through the table. He machinally continued, but when his eyes finally moved to see where this weird sensation on was coming from, all he saw were holes poked through the table. He remained speachless for a moment, before feeling dizzy. As he was falling down, his mind going dark, his last thoughts were total confusion about those mysterious holes through the table.
A few hours later, he woke up, still a bit blurry.
He carefully tried to remember what had happened and suddenly wanted to finish to note down the experiment before he forgot the reciepe and the exact results.
Just when he pushed himself up with his hands to quickly get back to it, he propulsed himself to the ceiling leaving a dent on it before falling back down.
“Ouch!” he said instinctively.
However, he realized he was perfectly fine.
This time he carefully got up, very slowly. It’s then that he noticed how light he felt.
He felt like an helium baloon, like if leaving the ground would make him fly up forever.
He carefully experimented, taking various pieces of the broken table he had just fell on, disregarding the various mixtures and concoctions staining his worn out grey robe.
He could turn a piece of sturdy wood to dust, with just a ‘light squeeze’.
The exact expression that had appeared at every discovery, those narrowed eyes burning with an intensity reflecting his craving to understand and take apart the thing he was curious about inside out emereged.
He carefully took the book from the ground, and finished to note the record of the first experiment.
He blew on the ink to make it dry, then, on the new page, he noted ‘Experimental log: Herculean strenght, day one’ before detailing his sensations.
However he had do find another way to measure his progress. He quickly took his vest, and went to the local adventurer guild.
In that small town, the biggest job was gathering herbs so most people were E and F ranked adventurers.
Aston wasn’t actually interested in that, but the guild card had the capability to display the stats in a confidential way. Only the owner of the card could see it.
As he went out in the middle of the afternoon, he came across a few surprised faces. Everyone knew he almost never got out, except to grab some herbs for his experiment. Even the food he ate was brought to him by Anny, the daughter of the old aubergist. She was a beatiful 30 yo lady that had always refused mariage with anyone. The only person she seemed to care about was Aston, since he had healed her father’s open fracture by putting the bone back in place and stitching it back close. He had even stopped wallowing in despair and helped until the old man got better. Sadly for her, he was unaware, as the only thing HE cared about was his herbs and vials now.
He quickly made his way to the adventurer’s guild.
In truth, the only reason why there was a guild in such a remote town was to link up with the border and serve as a relay of information. The guild was mostly independant from countries, and always maintained its own network of information and communitcation since its creation, thanks to the communication slates. With a maximum range of 5000 kilometers, the guilds were put strategically in different cities. Most of the time big ones, but sometimes less so, to keep each guild connected to at least 3 others at all time. Their requirements when it came to the border of a country were even more draconian. They built a guild or a relay station every 1000 km or so.
(edit: ortograph, formating, reformulation) | Dear Neville,
I'm sorry to write to you after so long, but you're really the only person I can trust right now. I haven't told anybody of my discovery, and of what it means. Not my research team. Not my wife. Nobody.
I thought it was just a harmless experiment.
Sorry, my thoughts are scattered. Let me start at the beginning. We've been studying combining forms of very basic organisms, and my idea was to combine single-cellular prokaryotic organisms with a sample of penicillium fungi. I was the only one of my research team who thought to experiment with mold, and the results were unexpected.
My sample of penicillium killed millions of single-celled life forms within minutes.
I immediately knew I'd made a mistake. The mold began to exhibit strange behaviors; it changed color, then it began to extend past the petri dish in tendrils. Then it began to grow, and as it grew, it began to make sounds and flashes of light. It produced a bolt of electricity that blew out one of the lights in the ceiling, and that's when I knew I had to take action. This mold had gathered so much Experience in such a short amount of time that it still had no idea what it could do, and in that preciously scarce amount of time, I managed to grab and use my blowtorch, rendering it inert.
Apparently the power does not stack, so I gained little Experience from the act. But now I have a dreadful knowledge, Neville.
The single-celled organisms which are responsible for so much of our sickness and death... they can be killed. Easily killed. But at what price? The result would be a body infested with the most Experienced mold to exist in this world, and should it become sentient, it could control and perhaps even kill the body to exist outside of it.
And think of what might happen, indeed what has already happened, to anybody who has eaten moldy bread? It could kill the naturally occurring organisms in their own gut, and take over the body within hours.
Why, we breathe fungi with almost every breath we take in certain environments.
Oh my God, Neville. What if it's already happened?
What if we're actually all being congtrolledssnelllsifiggggnnn oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooiiiiiiiiii
​
​
i am awake | |
[WP] The crew of the International Space Station just witnessed a nuclear war from above Earth's surface, and are now left trapped as the last of humanity. | Our journey began with one small step and one giant leap. Today, we took another of each. Only instead of finding our stride, we found the edge of a deep, dark abyss.
When the world ended, I remember thinking that it looked beautiful. Brilliant flashes of light booming minutes apart, a discordant rhythm playing like the climax of humanity’s final, tearful song. A familiar yet unrecognized jazz tune played in my head, restarting with every new flash, as my mind refused to process the scale of what was happening below. Beautiful sights, melancholic jazz, the world’s final bow as I watched green and blue fizzle into gray and brown.
The war wasn’t without warning. We watched it brew: a conflict of interest that started small and stirred its way into an apocalyptic potion. We saw it coming, and we still weren’t ready to watch it come. I suppose I expected it to be as in a movie. The missiles minutes from launching, the heroes intervening at the last moment, the day saved. Humanity’s story saw no such fortune. At first, I wondered if I could have been one of the heroes: if I had the right words, the right reasoning, the right ambition. Whether it was possible or not, at the time I only watched, by choice, paralysis, or sheer overwhelming confusion.
At first, I wondered if I was glad to escape the initial destruction, or if I yearned for the merciful ending. I forced myself to choose the former, to respect the time to come to terms with the reality. To pray for our perseverance. Regardless of its abruptness, the end of our story will surely be just as anticlimactic. At best, some remnants of life will remain in our place. The optimists take solace in this, sharing some haphazard guesses at what the next version of civilization will look like. At worst, we’re the last advanced life that will see what this planet once was. The pessimists are sardonically glad that our foolishness won’t be witnessed by anyone else.
It took weeks for us to genuinely speak to each other again, but we found our strength. We shared stories, joked, theorized, looked for the moments where we could briefly forget. We tried to make the best of the situation, the best of the last moments on our timer. Occasionally we looked for light on the dark side or scanned for any roaming internet signals. Any glimpses of hope. None was found.
We chose to go out on our own terms, with a prayer to any god beyond those which failed to protect us the first time. | Pale blue. I’m above it. We’re above it all when it happens. My wife and son are there. Our morning sun would be rising and hitting the gap in the blinds and casting a perfect white line on the right corner of my dresser. It always wakes me but i never bothered to hang new blinds. I like being an early riser. Is the white line there now? No. The sky would be different. Maybe the first flash played with the gap but that wouldn’t have lasted very long. It’s likely very dark now. Joanna would know; it’s more her field. Of course no first-hand experience, but she mentioned running hypotheticals in the Air Force. She’s next to me, pressed against the glass of the smaller port, looking down. Neither of us will talk. There’s no point. | |
[WP] The crew of the International Space Station just witnessed a nuclear war from above Earth's surface, and are now left trapped as the last of humanity. | EDIT: formatting
​
We have four of the best trained humans. And there is me and Sacha, the 'space tourists'. It's been five days since the war started, three since the last flash. Every contact to earth is lost, no friends, no family, no amateur radio connections, not even high grade military officials reaching out from their bunkers.
​
"What are the options?" Luca stepped up to his position as commander. "We can stay here for another six months, maybe twelve if we stretch the rations" he continued.
"In a year we won't be able to walk on earth. Heck, most of us will have a bad time when we leave now" Takei interjected.
"We had this discussions multiple times by now, I asked what are the options?" Luca insisted.
"We know we can abort and leave anytime without ground support. So either leave now, without any infos whats going on down there. Or we stay, collect infos, hope for the best and leave or die here in the next year." Maria glaced at us tourists while she summarised what we already knew.
"Don't forget they maybe have blown up several satellites, making space a minefield every day now" said Takei.
"Can we even live down on earth? And can we see where we have the best chances?" Luca promted Samantha, who has most experience in ground observation in this crew.
"We have mapped the explosions that we could see from space and we have telecopes to explore possible regions. Maybe we can make a good guess. Even though the infrastructure is completely down and the major powers are wastelands, there is planty of space that is not yet affected. This will take months or years for radioactive rain and nuclear winter to reach. We are at the beginning" she explained.
​
Sacha and I are the audience of these discussions, floating in the back, occasionaly sharing glances. We are mere rich baggage for these 'professionals' although we made our money ourselfes with specialized skils and hard work. Not to forget the broad networks we had. "Do you dare to tell them?" I whispered to him. "I think it's time. Before they come up with a plan to save the world or something". With a sigh he gave me an approving glance, and pushed himself forward.
​
"I have a contact. On my private island in the south pacific...
May I invite you all?" | Pale blue. I’m above it. We’re above it all when it happens. My wife and son are there. Our morning sun would be rising and hitting the gap in the blinds and casting a perfect white line on the right corner of my dresser. It always wakes me but i never bothered to hang new blinds. I like being an early riser. Is the white line there now? No. The sky would be different. Maybe the first flash played with the gap but that wouldn’t have lasted very long. It’s likely very dark now. Joanna would know; it’s more her field. Of course no first-hand experience, but she mentioned running hypotheticals in the Air Force. She’s next to me, pressed against the glass of the smaller port, looking down. Neither of us will talk. There’s no point. | |
[WP] You've discovered that nothing can kill the hero until they beat the dark one. You and the hero are now working together to cure all previously incurable fatal diseases by infecting the hero with them, and waiting to see how the universe conspires to cure them of it. | As a former spy for the dark lord Ner'Kal I had tried, and failed, numerous times to kill the young heroine prophecized to slay him. I once dropped a boulder from atop the castle walls onto her only for a snake to spook her horse which conveniently leapt out of harms way.
I launched a poisoned arrow at her from the shadows and as it flew through the air a hidden assassin appeared. His knife was inches away from claiming her life when the arrow pierced his brain. I even tried to sneak into her room with a knife of my own one night only to slip on a series of banana peels breaking my leg.
I wasn't the smartest man but I quickly realized that no matter how someone tried to kill her, fate would intervene. Seeing my job was pointless and knowing that if I returned to the dark lord I'd be killed, I decided to point this fact out to the hero.
In true heroic fashion she heard my tale, forgave me for my misdeeds, and set out on a new quest. This quest is why I am currently knee-deep in the fetid Swamps of Gortel. An inhospitable land of plague and rot.
"M'lady," I say as I point to an inconspicuous purple flower. "That's it right there, rotweed. Whoever touches that flower will be infected with an incurable plague that rots away the insides."
Hearing my explanation she quickly bit the head off the flower, petals and all, chewed it, and swallowed. A few seconds later the clear skies turned dark. Lightning cracked the sky open as a strong wind blew me and the hero off our feet.
The two of us fell into the murky waters of the swamp. With mud now deep in places I wished it wasn't I forced myself to stand back up. I watched as the hero arose from the mud with a blue frog in her mouth. She tried to pull it out but it simply pushed its way further in and down her throat.
"Blue St. Marten's Toads apparently, eaten whole." she said with an obvious look of disgust on her face.
I pulled a notebook out of my pack, opened its waterproof container and wrote down the cure for rotweed plague. "What's next?" I ask her.
"Well I heard there's an outbreak of bone-eating bacteria in Morencia. If we hurry from here we can probably make it there by next week." she says.
"To Morencia it is!" I say. This was our new quest. Abusing the rules of fate to cure the greatest ailments of our time. After all, the hero can't die until the dark lord does. We had spent the better part of two years doing this. Plague after plague had been afflicted upon her and through the miracles of fate her condition would be cured.
Whole kingdoms had been saved from ruin just in these two years. Who knows how many people would be saved going forward. If you did the math this was probably a better way to preserve life than killing the dark lord.
After marching through the swamps for a week we arrived in Morencia. Boneless corpses formed piles of vaguely human flesh that were piled high along the streets. The hero, intrepid as always, started licking every body we came across.
The few people out and about looked at her in a mixture of disgust and fear. Who the hell licks a diseased corpse. Why the greatest hero of our time of course! We set up camp not far outside the gates of Morencia since every inn was closed.
After a few days the hero's right foot lost its rigidity. She was infected. Despite being in serious pain she found time to crack jokes calling herself Lady Jigglefoot and whatnot. Later that night a man approached our camp. He wore a leather cloak obscuring his face.
Wondering if this was the workings of fate I invited him to join us. Although I did warn him of Lady Jigglefoot's condition. He seemed to not care. We chatted for a while although he didn't say much about who he was or where he was from. He set up his bedroll near our fire and fell asleep.
The next morning I awoke to find the hero's condition had worsened. Everything from her pelvis down was now bone free. Every breath caused her excruciating pain. Usually by now fate would intervene and save her. I told her to endure the pain. Destiny has need for her yet.
Our friend who joined in the night was still asleep despite it being well past sun-up. Not knowing if he had anywhere to be I tried to wake him up. I hooted, hollered and yelled but got no response. "What a deep sleeper." I said.
Walking over to the sleeping man I tapped his shoulder. There was little resistance as my hand pushed into his shoulder far further than it should. "Oh gods above!" I yelled.
I turned the jellified man over. I could feel his organs twisting and turning under his loose skin. He had barely any bones left. I said a prayer to Skivern the God of Death to protect the man's soul as I lifted his hood to figure out where he had come from. Maybe we could find someone who knew him if we passed through there.
As I lifted the hood a scar-ridden face, a sharp beak like nose, and eyes redder than the fires of hell greeted me. This was a face I could never forget. This was the face of Ner'kal. I instinctually jumped back in fright before dashing over to the hero's tent. I had only been gone for a few minutes yet there she lay on the floor. A puddle of flesh. | Destiny, Alma learned, was a very strange thing.
The cleric thought that she was the one keeping the daring Cathal alive through valiant effort, whether it was the simplest of salves or the expensive cost of calling divine magic. Battling the Dark Lord was not an easy task, not for the hero nor his personal doctor.
But when an errant flu struck Cathal, rendering him bedridden and desperately clinging onto the doorknob of death himself, Alma thought that this was it. Not to the Dark Lord, his glorious purpose—but to illness, the great equalizer of man.
That was when the two of them learned just how much the Fates wanted their champion alive.
“Can you pay attention when you actually stab a needle into me?”
Cathal’s voice brought Alma back down to earth. She shook her head, aiming the crude syringe more precisely.
“Sorry,” she muttered, watching as the needle slid under the skin and into muscle, with barely an acknowledgement from the hero.
“Which one is this?”
“They call it the White Death,” Alma said. “Drains the victim of their entire vitality, leaving them ashen and destitute.”
“Sounds terrifying,” Cathal said, blinking rapidly. He could not die from these deadly diseases, but they still ravaged his body like a feverish tsunami, crashing down on every fleshy bit they could find.
“You’ll live.”
Cathal leaned back, one feeble arm raising beside him, nursing what should be the mother-of-all headaches at this point. He looked away at the window, where one would see the crooked spire of his mortal enemy’s palace poking out over the horizon, a one-fingered gesture telling the world how he really feels about it.
“Is this really worth it? Instead of getting out there, and taking him down right here and now?”
“I think so,” Alma said. “This is valuable data, however they try and fix you. It’s not just the snap of divine fingers, turning every illness in your body to dust. This sill save a lot of people, Cathal.”
“Does killing the Dark Lord not save a lot of people? I… thought that was my purpose,” Cathal whispered. His eyelids drooped low, and what little of his eyes you could see was clouded with exhaustion, shaken faith, and confusion—a lethal cocktail of negativity that might’ve been worse than any virus in his body.
“Destiny is a funny thing, Cathal,” Alma smiled, a small hand comforting her patient. “I know this doesn’t feel like you are doing much, but your presence is what makes this essential. Crucial. And I’m sure the Dark Lord is still licking his wounds after you bested him.”
“I do not feel bested,” Cathal said. He let his hand fall over Alma, and she noticed that it ran hot. His eyes closed fully, and ragged breathing steadied ever so slightly. It was still a bumpy road.
“You are the best,” Alma whispered. “Rest well, hero.”
***
The Dark Typhon had pumped his body with every antidote, medicine, and illicit drug he could think of. And yet, it still pained him to even take a step.
A legion of faceless shades milled around his room, each carrying some new sort of thing that *just* might be able to cure him.
“The flu,” he mumbled. “The flu?”
Typhon knew what he was destined to do. He is to kill the hero, to crush that myth into smithereens, and write his own name into legend. But no villain in the world—at least, not in the numerous books he’s researched—have said that the Dark Lord was impeded by the mere flu.
“I will beat this disease,” Typhon growled. “No matter the cost.”
He continued to lie in bed, still feeling like absolute rubbish. But at least, Typhon thought, he was already doing everything he could to save himself. There was nothing else he could do. And thus, he let his eyes close and thoughts drift off.
Destiny, indeed, was a very funny thing. The Fates saw some humour in it.
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r/dexdrafts | |
[WP] You've discovered that nothing can kill the hero until they beat the dark one. You and the hero are now working together to cure all previously incurable fatal diseases by infecting the hero with them, and waiting to see how the universe conspires to cure them of it. | As a former spy for the dark lord Ner'Kal I had tried, and failed, numerous times to kill the young heroine prophecized to slay him. I once dropped a boulder from atop the castle walls onto her only for a snake to spook her horse which conveniently leapt out of harms way.
I launched a poisoned arrow at her from the shadows and as it flew through the air a hidden assassin appeared. His knife was inches away from claiming her life when the arrow pierced his brain. I even tried to sneak into her room with a knife of my own one night only to slip on a series of banana peels breaking my leg.
I wasn't the smartest man but I quickly realized that no matter how someone tried to kill her, fate would intervene. Seeing my job was pointless and knowing that if I returned to the dark lord I'd be killed, I decided to point this fact out to the hero.
In true heroic fashion she heard my tale, forgave me for my misdeeds, and set out on a new quest. This quest is why I am currently knee-deep in the fetid Swamps of Gortel. An inhospitable land of plague and rot.
"M'lady," I say as I point to an inconspicuous purple flower. "That's it right there, rotweed. Whoever touches that flower will be infected with an incurable plague that rots away the insides."
Hearing my explanation she quickly bit the head off the flower, petals and all, chewed it, and swallowed. A few seconds later the clear skies turned dark. Lightning cracked the sky open as a strong wind blew me and the hero off our feet.
The two of us fell into the murky waters of the swamp. With mud now deep in places I wished it wasn't I forced myself to stand back up. I watched as the hero arose from the mud with a blue frog in her mouth. She tried to pull it out but it simply pushed its way further in and down her throat.
"Blue St. Marten's Toads apparently, eaten whole." she said with an obvious look of disgust on her face.
I pulled a notebook out of my pack, opened its waterproof container and wrote down the cure for rotweed plague. "What's next?" I ask her.
"Well I heard there's an outbreak of bone-eating bacteria in Morencia. If we hurry from here we can probably make it there by next week." she says.
"To Morencia it is!" I say. This was our new quest. Abusing the rules of fate to cure the greatest ailments of our time. After all, the hero can't die until the dark lord does. We had spent the better part of two years doing this. Plague after plague had been afflicted upon her and through the miracles of fate her condition would be cured.
Whole kingdoms had been saved from ruin just in these two years. Who knows how many people would be saved going forward. If you did the math this was probably a better way to preserve life than killing the dark lord.
After marching through the swamps for a week we arrived in Morencia. Boneless corpses formed piles of vaguely human flesh that were piled high along the streets. The hero, intrepid as always, started licking every body we came across.
The few people out and about looked at her in a mixture of disgust and fear. Who the hell licks a diseased corpse. Why the greatest hero of our time of course! We set up camp not far outside the gates of Morencia since every inn was closed.
After a few days the hero's right foot lost its rigidity. She was infected. Despite being in serious pain she found time to crack jokes calling herself Lady Jigglefoot and whatnot. Later that night a man approached our camp. He wore a leather cloak obscuring his face.
Wondering if this was the workings of fate I invited him to join us. Although I did warn him of Lady Jigglefoot's condition. He seemed to not care. We chatted for a while although he didn't say much about who he was or where he was from. He set up his bedroll near our fire and fell asleep.
The next morning I awoke to find the hero's condition had worsened. Everything from her pelvis down was now bone free. Every breath caused her excruciating pain. Usually by now fate would intervene and save her. I told her to endure the pain. Destiny has need for her yet.
Our friend who joined in the night was still asleep despite it being well past sun-up. Not knowing if he had anywhere to be I tried to wake him up. I hooted, hollered and yelled but got no response. "What a deep sleeper." I said.
Walking over to the sleeping man I tapped his shoulder. There was little resistance as my hand pushed into his shoulder far further than it should. "Oh gods above!" I yelled.
I turned the jellified man over. I could feel his organs twisting and turning under his loose skin. He had barely any bones left. I said a prayer to Skivern the God of Death to protect the man's soul as I lifted his hood to figure out where he had come from. Maybe we could find someone who knew him if we passed through there.
As I lifted the hood a scar-ridden face, a sharp beak like nose, and eyes redder than the fires of hell greeted me. This was a face I could never forget. This was the face of Ner'kal. I instinctually jumped back in fright before dashing over to the hero's tent. I had only been gone for a few minutes yet there she lay on the floor. A puddle of flesh. | "You know," the hero started, "when I...agreed to this plan, I didn't think much of it at the time."
The hero was currently lying on a bed. He directed his gaze to the elderly doctor, who was fiddling with a contraption meant to administer the sample of an ongoing plague.
"What about now?" the doctor asked.
"I *really* underestimated how agonizing the this could be."
"You could always stop, you know." The doctor smiled. "You could always continue what you were always destined to do-"
"I was destined to save people," the hero interrupted. "I'm doing it now, aren't I?"
The doctor stood still, clenching his fist.
"Of course," the doctor said after a while. "This *game* of ours will keep going for as long as you want."
The doctor activated the contraption before walking away.
"See you in a few days."
"Yeah. Wouldn't want...you of all people...getting infected by me, and dying..."
"That would certainly be unfortunate, wouldn't it...?" | |
[WP] One time, your drunk friend said he was a wizard. You jokingly asked him if he could make you immortal and he agreed. That was 200 years ago. | I felt my lips to be unusually dry today. I had licked them so often that the skin was beginning to peel. The afternoon sun was not even warm but sweat kept pooling on my forehead.
"It's ok. You have been preparing for today for 20 years." I said out loud to myself. My hopes, dreams, and everything else resided inside the "monte" in front.
I was reminded of the scene in *Harry Potter* where the three protagonists were about to enter Gringotts with a goblin to steal the cup. Unlike them, I was not going to steal anything. Unlike that situation, there were no dragons waiting for me inside. However, very much like their situation, it was a make it or break it moment for me. The climax of my very own story.
I placed my left foot on the stair, pivoted on it to pull up my right feet, and willed myself inside the building. A greeter approached me but I knew what to do exactly and needed no help. I nodded to him quickly, slid to the machine nearby and pressed the button to get a queue number. 13. Not a good omen. I am superstitious after all. The thought of leaving and coming back another day arose but I dismissed it quickly. There wasn't enough time anyways. I could already see a bored cashier calling me. Left foot forward. Pivot. Right leg up. Repeat.
"Hello. How may I assist you."
"I was wondering if I could manager."
"Pardon me?"
Well, that was not a good start.
"Sorry. Can I please speak to a manager?"
"What is it regarding sir?"
"I would prefer to speak to the manager."
"I am sorry sir. If you just let me know what it is regarding, I will be able to assist you."
What an asshole. Just call a manager man.
"It's complicated. Please let a manager through."
The cashier looked at me for a few seconds.
"Hold on sir. Please have a seat."
He motioned to someone in the back. I found myself a seat and was quickly painfully aware of the ticking clock.
A slickly suited man approached me in a few minutes.
"Yes sir. I am the manager. How can I assist you?"
"I would like to make a withdrawal from my account."
The man looked irritated.
"The cashier can assist you with that." He said impatiently.
"I know. I would very much prefer your help please." I said firmly.
"Do you have your ATM card or cheque book?"
"No, I don't."
"Ok, not an issue. The cashier can still help you. Just present your valid identification."
"It's actually a contract."
"Pardon?"
"It's a contract. Can we speak privately?"
"Sorry sir, we are a bank."
"Can we speak privately? I assure you, I am an account holder. Probably your oldest account holder."
"Sir, we are 400+ years old. I don't think you are our oldest account holder."
"Well, not the oldest but I am account number 1000 or so."
"1000?"
"Or so. Can we speak privately?"
"Alright. Please come in." The manager motioned to me. As I walked in front, he quickly glanced at the guard and asked him to follow me. I was too old to not notice. I also expected it. I didn't mind. Like I said. I was not stealing anything.
As I walked in a small room with a square table and three chairs, I sat down. This was step 1. It was already completed.
Even before the manager sat down, I started speaking.
"Like I said, I am a very old account. At that time, there were no cheque books. Mr. Agustin of the House of Albret personally signed a contract with me when I made the deposit. I told him I will make a withdrawal exactly 150 years later, which is today. I am here to collect."
The manager let me continue.
"You might think I am lying but I explained the situation to Mr. Agustin when I made the deposit. If you check your records, you will be able to find me."
"Let me guess. You are an immortal."
"I know it is hard to believe."
"A wizard made you immortal after you got him drunk."
It was my turn to be surprised now. I never told Augustin that. I stared at the manager's face for clues about what he is thinking. He let me.
"I know it is hard to believe."
"Not at all."
I was lost for words. I thought of many possibilities. I expected to be chased away as a crazy person. I expected to be attacked. I expected to be dismissed. I expected a lot of things but this.
I racked my brain for words. There were none. I looked at the manager. Again, he let me.
I turned my head to look at the guard. He was standing quietly. Surprisingly, he didn't look surprised either. Just bored.
Neither of us spoke and I became aware of the clock ticking again.
The manager made some sounds but I didn't understand what he said.
"What?"
"I asked, how much did you deposit?"
"The amount?"
"Yes, how much was the deposit for?"
"2 columnarios."
"And the interest rate?"
"7%. It was much lower that market rate when I made the deposit. I assure you."
"Oh I know and it was 150 years ago right?"
"Yes."
The manager fiddled with his calculator.
"So, that's 51,120.7 and some change. As you are aware, columnarios are no longer legal tender. However, you can find one one the market for approximately 8.50 Euros."
"Euros 8.70 is the average." I said. "I checked on ebay and took average of last 1 years."
"Well, we pay Euros 8.50."
"So, how much will that be?" I asked.
"$434,527. Euros. Of course, I will be needing to see and verify the contract you have. There are also some bank charges for 150 years of service. We will also have to withhold taxes. The accountants will explain the calculations but you can expect to take around 200,000 Euros."
I was shocked by the small number. I expected a lot more.
"I expected it to be much more."
"Well, Mr. The manager paused. Sorry, I didn't ask your name."
"Mr. Hevel."
"Yeah, Mr. Hevel. Please understand that you only deposited 2 columnarios and inflation is a bitch. People think compound interest is magic but its not if your initial capital is so small. You can go with the guard to go through the formalities."
I got up and walked to the door. Before I reached the door, the guard was already turning to open it. I stopped and turned.
"How come you just accepted everything I said?"
"Well, Mr. Hevel, immortality is not as rare as you think. Think about it. If a drunk wizard made you immortal, what can he do for truly rich and famous? A lot of them end up doing the exact same thing you did. You are actually not our oldest customer."
"Isn't this loss making for you? I only deposited 2 columnarios!"
"Oh god no! We make profit through lending. Your money was borrowed and repaid countless times. We made more than 9% each year on average. Closer to 20% - 30% actually. People like you are ideal customers. Who would turn down such a long term source of fund?" | “Fuck you.”
Sorel was hovering over their dear friend’s rotting corpse and dropped a bunch of origami flowers; each one with those vulgar words written inside. Sure, they weren’t supposed to, but who was gonna stop them? They could always come back after a couple hundred years.
If Adam was still there, that is.
“You’re such a piece of shit, man,” they continued, their hand weaving through their messy pink hair. “Goddamn it. Remind me to never drink with you.”
Adam’s crusty yet glossy lips curled into a jarring grin. Sorel begun to whisper yell while leaning in,
“Don’t smile like that, idiot! Someone’s gonna fucking see!”
“No worries. No one’s here anyway.”
Sorel rolled their eyes. “Then get the fuck up and stop with this ‘oh no, I’ve died’ bullshit.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have made you immortal.”
“Maybe you should stop dying.”
“Maybe you—“
“Fuck off and get up. We have business to attend to.”
“Why else did I die?” Adam groaned, his skin smoothing out as if it’s being ironed. He slid out of the golden coffin.
“Whatever. Let’s go.”
Sorel grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the church, the two creating their own eternal bliss. | |
[WP] One time, your drunk friend said he was a wizard. You jokingly asked him if he could make you immortal and he agreed. That was 200 years ago. | I felt my lips to be unusually dry today. I had licked them so often that the skin was beginning to peel. The afternoon sun was not even warm but sweat kept pooling on my forehead.
"It's ok. You have been preparing for today for 20 years." I said out loud to myself. My hopes, dreams, and everything else resided inside the "monte" in front.
I was reminded of the scene in *Harry Potter* where the three protagonists were about to enter Gringotts with a goblin to steal the cup. Unlike them, I was not going to steal anything. Unlike that situation, there were no dragons waiting for me inside. However, very much like their situation, it was a make it or break it moment for me. The climax of my very own story.
I placed my left foot on the stair, pivoted on it to pull up my right feet, and willed myself inside the building. A greeter approached me but I knew what to do exactly and needed no help. I nodded to him quickly, slid to the machine nearby and pressed the button to get a queue number. 13. Not a good omen. I am superstitious after all. The thought of leaving and coming back another day arose but I dismissed it quickly. There wasn't enough time anyways. I could already see a bored cashier calling me. Left foot forward. Pivot. Right leg up. Repeat.
"Hello. How may I assist you."
"I was wondering if I could manager."
"Pardon me?"
Well, that was not a good start.
"Sorry. Can I please speak to a manager?"
"What is it regarding sir?"
"I would prefer to speak to the manager."
"I am sorry sir. If you just let me know what it is regarding, I will be able to assist you."
What an asshole. Just call a manager man.
"It's complicated. Please let a manager through."
The cashier looked at me for a few seconds.
"Hold on sir. Please have a seat."
He motioned to someone in the back. I found myself a seat and was quickly painfully aware of the ticking clock.
A slickly suited man approached me in a few minutes.
"Yes sir. I am the manager. How can I assist you?"
"I would like to make a withdrawal from my account."
The man looked irritated.
"The cashier can assist you with that." He said impatiently.
"I know. I would very much prefer your help please." I said firmly.
"Do you have your ATM card or cheque book?"
"No, I don't."
"Ok, not an issue. The cashier can still help you. Just present your valid identification."
"It's actually a contract."
"Pardon?"
"It's a contract. Can we speak privately?"
"Sorry sir, we are a bank."
"Can we speak privately? I assure you, I am an account holder. Probably your oldest account holder."
"Sir, we are 400+ years old. I don't think you are our oldest account holder."
"Well, not the oldest but I am account number 1000 or so."
"1000?"
"Or so. Can we speak privately?"
"Alright. Please come in." The manager motioned to me. As I walked in front, he quickly glanced at the guard and asked him to follow me. I was too old to not notice. I also expected it. I didn't mind. Like I said. I was not stealing anything.
As I walked in a small room with a square table and three chairs, I sat down. This was step 1. It was already completed.
Even before the manager sat down, I started speaking.
"Like I said, I am a very old account. At that time, there were no cheque books. Mr. Agustin of the House of Albret personally signed a contract with me when I made the deposit. I told him I will make a withdrawal exactly 150 years later, which is today. I am here to collect."
The manager let me continue.
"You might think I am lying but I explained the situation to Mr. Agustin when I made the deposit. If you check your records, you will be able to find me."
"Let me guess. You are an immortal."
"I know it is hard to believe."
"A wizard made you immortal after you got him drunk."
It was my turn to be surprised now. I never told Augustin that. I stared at the manager's face for clues about what he is thinking. He let me.
"I know it is hard to believe."
"Not at all."
I was lost for words. I thought of many possibilities. I expected to be chased away as a crazy person. I expected to be attacked. I expected to be dismissed. I expected a lot of things but this.
I racked my brain for words. There were none. I looked at the manager. Again, he let me.
I turned my head to look at the guard. He was standing quietly. Surprisingly, he didn't look surprised either. Just bored.
Neither of us spoke and I became aware of the clock ticking again.
The manager made some sounds but I didn't understand what he said.
"What?"
"I asked, how much did you deposit?"
"The amount?"
"Yes, how much was the deposit for?"
"2 columnarios."
"And the interest rate?"
"7%. It was much lower that market rate when I made the deposit. I assure you."
"Oh I know and it was 150 years ago right?"
"Yes."
The manager fiddled with his calculator.
"So, that's 51,120.7 and some change. As you are aware, columnarios are no longer legal tender. However, you can find one one the market for approximately 8.50 Euros."
"Euros 8.70 is the average." I said. "I checked on ebay and took average of last 1 years."
"Well, we pay Euros 8.50."
"So, how much will that be?" I asked.
"$434,527. Euros. Of course, I will be needing to see and verify the contract you have. There are also some bank charges for 150 years of service. We will also have to withhold taxes. The accountants will explain the calculations but you can expect to take around 200,000 Euros."
I was shocked by the small number. I expected a lot more.
"I expected it to be much more."
"Well, Mr. The manager paused. Sorry, I didn't ask your name."
"Mr. Hevel."
"Yeah, Mr. Hevel. Please understand that you only deposited 2 columnarios and inflation is a bitch. People think compound interest is magic but its not if your initial capital is so small. You can go with the guard to go through the formalities."
I got up and walked to the door. Before I reached the door, the guard was already turning to open it. I stopped and turned.
"How come you just accepted everything I said?"
"Well, Mr. Hevel, immortality is not as rare as you think. Think about it. If a drunk wizard made you immortal, what can he do for truly rich and famous? A lot of them end up doing the exact same thing you did. You are actually not our oldest customer."
"Isn't this loss making for you? I only deposited 2 columnarios!"
"Oh god no! We make profit through lending. Your money was borrowed and repaid countless times. We made more than 9% each year on average. Closer to 20% - 30% actually. People like you are ideal customers. Who would turn down such a long term source of fund?" | ​
Matan showed no arcane talent whatsoever when we were children. In fact we both downright hated magic back then, and later we grew apart. We both went on living our lives in different worlds, and I had no idea the world Matan found himself in. So when we saw each other for the first time in decades we did what friends do, we got drunk. We were well into our cups by the end of the night, but I still remember that fateful part of our conversation clearly.
“Ah Matan, I wish we had more time to spend like this. It’s been too long since we’ve talked. You know we’ve been here all night and I still don’t know what you do out there in the world. It’s got to be better than this backwater town.”
Matan had looked at me sober as a judge and said, “I’m a Follower of Teo now. We’re going to change the world, Brin. I can command the aether.”
As he talked a disbelieving smile crept onto my face and when he was finished I proclaimed, “Matan the great and powerful wizard! Bestow upon me your boon!”
Little did I know right then that he would, and what a boon it was. Immortality. To never die. He even tried to teach me to command the aether myself in those following weeks, but I didn’t have the talent. Still The Followers accepted me into their ranks.
We were always told you don’t want to be immortal. They say you’ll just watch your loved ones die and find yourself in a prison of inescapable loss. They were right in a way, but you have to watch your loved ones die even if you aren’t immortal. Death is just an escape from the pain we convince ourselves we only have to bear for a while.
Well Teo has found a way to change that. It’s not enough to become immortal if you can’t share that gift with those you love, and Teo’s love has no equal. So now I fight alongside my friend Matan and The Followers to deliver that gift to the entire world. | |
[WP] One time, your drunk friend said he was a wizard. You jokingly asked him if he could make you immortal and he agreed. That was 200 years ago. | After two hundred years of searching through every dive, tavern, and bar in the world, I finally found a lead on the bastard that did this to me.
My search brought me back to New New York.
“Members only,” said the brick of a bouncer blocking the way into a bar called Hi-Dive. He jabbed me in the shoulder with one of his sausage fingers. “Beat it.”
Of course, it couldn’t be that easy.
“I’ll be seeing you later, lunchbox,” I said to him.
Two hundred years ago, I was bartending at a dive in Old New York. You know, the kind of place that serves beer shot combos cheaper than a bottle of water. The “wizard” was four bottles in when he slurred me the offer. At first, I thought he was joking. He could hardly see straight. But he repeated himself clear enough, “I’ll make you immortal if ya want.”
I said, sure. Then he pinched my ass. The bastard. Two hundred years later and I was still alive. Not a minute older than from the moment he enchanted me.
But now, I’m ready to die.
I slipped around the corner of the bar into a dark alley. A yellow light flickered over the service entrance of the bar. The door had no handle. It didn’t need one. I banged on it and ducked behind some trash units. A rat scampered past my boots.
After a few seconds, the door cracked open. I slipped into view and said, “Thank god. I’m late for my shift. Boss is gonna kill me!”
The bar employee, dressed in a sleek white jacket with no shirt and holding a clear bottle, cocked his head at me.
I smiled and jabbed him with my neural disrupter. His whole body spasmed before crumpling into a heap. “Sorry.”
His ID tattoo scanned as Diogo Ruiz. Diogo’s jacket was a little loose around the shoulders but it would do.
The door connected to a dim corridor leading into a storage room with racks and racks of different bottles of liquor. Fast-bumping music boomed from out in the bar. I grabbed a bottle of vodka from a shelf and slipped out through the push doors.
“Who are you?” Another server in a white jacket glared at me from the other side of the door.
“I’m covering a shift. Diogo had an emergency. Last-minute call out. You know how it goes.”
The server sighed. “Damn it. I’m gonna kill him. Fine. We need another bottle at table nine. The old bastard’s pinching servers. Go. Now!”
Pinching. “Yeah. I’m on it.”
I found the wizard at table nine. His purple caftan sparkled from all the glitter. He was alone, just like when I first met him. I set the bottle into the ice bath on his table. “Service for Percy.”
His grin soured. “I think you must have me mistaken. My name is Snake.”
“Oh, for the love of—I don’t care what your name is, Wizard. I’ve been hunting you down for two hundred years. Remember me?”
Snake, Percy, whatever, grabbed the bottle out of the ice bath and flicked away the top. He took a long pull from the bottle, draining a quarter of it down. He wiped his lips and said, “Brooklyn. 1998. Gina, right?”
A fight crawled up my throat. I wanted to cry. It’d been so long since that day. “I’ve chased you all over the fucking world. Now, undo your spell. Make me mortal.”
“No can do.”
I pulled my disruptor from my pocket and pressed it to his neck. “Why Not?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“Because sweet cheeks. Only you can. Once you’ve discovered your life’s purpose, the spell will break. Fucked right?”
I tagged him with the disruptor. He crumpled into his booth. “Yeah.”
I threw him over my shoulder and carried him out the front. The bouncer gave me a double-take. I nodded and smiled.
“Where we going?” The wizard cackled.
“To find my purpose, asshole.” | "Todd!" I yelled over the music; Todd had picked up a bottle of vodka and was chugging it like it was the end of the world, "Todd, I think it's time to go, you said you'd be the sober one!" Todd looked at me, dead in the eye, and said, "wizards can't get drunk."
"Yeah Todd, and you're a wizard," I said, with spiteful sarcasm. Todd swore he was going to be sober, so I had a few, ok ten, shots, and I was not looking to getting pulled over by the police. "I am!" He shouted, sounding aggravated.
"Okay," I said, mockingly, "if you're really a wizard, make me immortal."
"Bet," he said. He pulled out a tubleware tin and flicked a blue liquid at my forehead and snapped his fingers.
​
I woke up from the dream, the same dream that I have every night. The incident that happened two hundred years ago, and boy was he right! I had three wives, five successful companies, faked three deaths, made four fake identities, and went through the apocalypse. Now it's just me and the twenty-foot dung beetle looking aliens. Ever since the invasion, I had been on the run, to find a way out. Out of this body, out of this life, I just wanted to leave! I looked in the bathroom mirror to see if I had aged at all, and nope, I was still a two-hundred-twenty-two-year-old in a twenty-two-year-old's body. I had settled in an abandoned mall, and to my surprise, there was still electricity, I guess because in 2109, every country converted to solar power. All the food ran out, so I hunt the aliens, and eat them.
As I was hunting, a mysterious figure crept toward me, a girl's voice said from under the cloak, "you want to die, right?"
"Yes," I said, "who are you?"
"An immortal, I can make you die," she said.
"How?" I asked skeptically.
"This," she said, pulling a bottle out from her sleeve. It will be quick and painless."
"Okay." I reached for the bottle, my hand shaking, I opened it. "Drink," she commanded, and I did. I felt weird, tingly. Then I could see the girl drinking it, and she collapsed, she joined me, and we saw the aliens eating our corpses. | |
[WP] One time, your drunk friend said he was a wizard. You jokingly asked him if he could make you immortal and he agreed. That was 200 years ago. | Two men walk into a bar, knock back some ale, and invoke a dark rite to the elder gods.
In hindsight, it wasn't the best joke ever told.
How the fuck was I meant to know Edmund was really a wizard though? He'd claimed to be enough things over the years; a werewolf, a temporarily embarrassed member of the Dutch royal family, even once, briefly, the second coming of Christ - though a clip round the ear from one of the more devout patrons put that one sharply to rest.
But no; of all the drunken, spurious, nonsense that belligerent imp of a man had spouted - this was the *one* bloody thing he was honest about. It's beggar's belief, really, the words that sealed my fate. "Alright sugartits, if you're a wizard then make me live forever! I'm off for a piss".
By the time I came back from relieving myself it was too late, Eddie's eyes were clouded and his head snapped back, muscles contorting as he communed with whatever vile host vested him with such powers. The other patrons seemed oblivious, totally blind to the vortex of power which whorled around him. Tendrils of distorted light that moved like smoke - ripples in the matter of being, eddying around him and snaking out between the patrons. Reaching for me.
I had, until this time, considered magic to be a mythical gift bestowed upon the recipient, an expression of benevolence from a powerful benefactor. These notions are untrue. The power that came over me froze me to the spot, and burned through me.
I felt it grasping at me, pulling at the fringes of my being. My blood stopped pumping, leaving my veins to be replaced with this coarse energy. It raced through me like fractures through a sheet of ice, and with that, stole from me the ever-dwindling fire of mortality.
Eddie's eyes cleared and again I was faced with the stupored, glazed expression of a man that's too many drinks deep to be anything other than a liability. He lurched to his feet, slurred "think I needa get some air, g'night" and staggered outside to be sick down the leg of an unfortunate horse hitched nearby.
That was the last I saw of dear old Edmund. He traded my mortality to something beyond this material world, then drowned falling into the canal on his way home. Stupid drunk prick.
Truly, we both died that night.
I know, it sounds absurd. How can I be dead if I'm sat right here with you now? But I ask you this; what good is light to a blind man? He cannot see the beauty it illuminates. Without death, I cannot live.
Life is precious because it is finite, there is a meaning in its scarcity. When that scarcity was stolen from me I didn't gain some clairvoyance into the universe - though I suppose my studies are far from over.
No, I was blinded!
I have seen everyone I have ever loved die, and I will watch the world wither, but I shall never be a part of that cycle. I am exiled from the beauty of death, no matter how I yearn for it. A hero's death, a coward's death. Death in old age, death in infancy. Death in war and death in peace. They're all beautiful. Every second of life has a value that can only be counted in summation.
For me there is no final tally. I shall simply continue amidst bloom and decay until all matter decays into chaos, and the bells toll one last time, for beauty itself.
Thank you for sitting with me friend, and indulging an old man in his prattling. I hope you take from this the learnings I have tried to distill, and above all, I wish you a beautiful death. | "Todd!" I yelled over the music; Todd had picked up a bottle of vodka and was chugging it like it was the end of the world, "Todd, I think it's time to go, you said you'd be the sober one!" Todd looked at me, dead in the eye, and said, "wizards can't get drunk."
"Yeah Todd, and you're a wizard," I said, with spiteful sarcasm. Todd swore he was going to be sober, so I had a few, ok ten, shots, and I was not looking to getting pulled over by the police. "I am!" He shouted, sounding aggravated.
"Okay," I said, mockingly, "if you're really a wizard, make me immortal."
"Bet," he said. He pulled out a tubleware tin and flicked a blue liquid at my forehead and snapped his fingers.
​
I woke up from the dream, the same dream that I have every night. The incident that happened two hundred years ago, and boy was he right! I had three wives, five successful companies, faked three deaths, made four fake identities, and went through the apocalypse. Now it's just me and the twenty-foot dung beetle looking aliens. Ever since the invasion, I had been on the run, to find a way out. Out of this body, out of this life, I just wanted to leave! I looked in the bathroom mirror to see if I had aged at all, and nope, I was still a two-hundred-twenty-two-year-old in a twenty-two-year-old's body. I had settled in an abandoned mall, and to my surprise, there was still electricity, I guess because in 2109, every country converted to solar power. All the food ran out, so I hunt the aliens, and eat them.
As I was hunting, a mysterious figure crept toward me, a girl's voice said from under the cloak, "you want to die, right?"
"Yes," I said, "who are you?"
"An immortal, I can make you die," she said.
"How?" I asked skeptically.
"This," she said, pulling a bottle out from her sleeve. It will be quick and painless."
"Okay." I reached for the bottle, my hand shaking, I opened it. "Drink," she commanded, and I did. I felt weird, tingly. Then I could see the girl drinking it, and she collapsed, she joined me, and we saw the aliens eating our corpses. | |
[WP] One time, your drunk friend said he was a wizard. You jokingly asked him if he could make you immortal and he agreed. That was 200 years ago. | A wizard’s pre-funeral, apparently, was filled with tens of people wearing earth-tone variations of robes and a hat, wisely rubbing their beards, nodding and saying: “It really is about time, isn’t it?”
It was a pre-funeral, not an actual one, because the wizard was not yet dead. It was the privilege of such powerful, arcane beings, apparently, to choose when to die—a deal struck with the devil, a contract written in ink presumably by Merlin. My once-friend—Finthir Cressborn—sat upright in a simple wooden coffin with a sunny smile, a bright spot under today’s grey skies, where ominous, rain-filled clouds loomed large and close like baleful blimps drifting in the sky.
I quietly took my place at the back of the line that snaked in front of Finthir. I thought I had dressed well for a funeral—a simple black suit, only half a century old—but I stood out like a foreign weed in a well-kept garden. Everybody else seemed to know each other, easily slipping into conversation like a fitted glove, while I only received cursory glances and nods.
So I waited. It was fine to be at the back. I’ve waited a few hundred years to ask Finthir a question. A few more minutes mattered little.
I watched the pleasantries proceed politely, the wizard not losing a beat in his greetings and farewells. Then, it was finally my turn.
“Fin.”
The wizard’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and it’s easy to recognize the light of recognition falter, falter, then blink on.
“Lex,” he said, a smile slowly turning wide. “It’s been a long time.”
“We’ve not talked in two hundred years, give or take,” I said.
“That long?”
“Yes,” I said. “I suppose I have you to thank. I wouldn’t have lived this long otherwise.”
“Ah,” Finthir said. For a moment, it looked like he shrunk into the dreariness of the surrounding weather—but a warm mirth shook him and the coffin.
“I was drunk,” he recalled, tapping his temple. “You asked me for immortality.”
“And it happened,” I whispered. “It actually happened.”
Then, the century-old question:
“Why?”
I trembled as I said it. It had to have been a mistake, an error. A wizard, apparently, can choose to die. Am I a painting, a forever remnant of the wizard’s past? Or a occult puppet, whose strings will never be pulled once the master falls?
Both were equally terrifying prospects.
Finthir grew grave, and sat quiet for a moment.
“Have you enjoyed immortality?”
“Can I not?”
“Speak the truth, friend.”
“No,” I admitted. “Not entirely, at least.”
“And that’s why you can be immortal,” Finthir shook his head. “It’s sort of… paradoxical. But then, the arcane is not a science. But we know this, in our heart of hearts—an immortal man is powerful enough. An immortal wizard is too much. I’ll be drunk with power, enjoying every moment—but at what cost?”
“I’m but a man,” I said, kneeling down besides the coffin. “Have I done right these past centuries? I’m… not sure.”
“As a wizard, I’m obliged to inform you: I can remove it, if you want,” Finthir lowered his voice. “I have enough arcane power left to undo my magic. Do you think it a blessing or curse?”
“What about as a friend?”
“I’ve always believed you can be immortal. You were a good friend, and arguably a better man,” he winked. “I was drunk—but sometimes, that’s what inspires one to make a right choice.”
“How do you know I can do right by that choice?”
“You owe nothing to me, and you’ll have the rest of your life to find out, Alex,” Finthir said, his voice fading ever so slightly. He laid back down, and his eyelids shut. “The offer stands for about… a few minutes, I think.”
“I thought you can choose when to die,” I said.
“As can you,” Finthir smiled. “But you wouldn’t make a choice right now without the deadline, will you?”
“Probably not,” I smiled, and shook my head.
I stared up at the skies, the slight peeking of a shy sun through the great grey curtains of the sky. It is beautiful, magnificent, and something I’ll like very much to see again.
“I think it’s a blessing,” I said.
“I’m glad you think so. And I know you’ll give your time to others,” Finthir said. “Speaking of, it’s about time…”
I watched the wizard wane with a satisfied smirk, washed aglow by the emerging sun, always, always beating the day’s grey embrace.
---
r/dexdrafts | There’s a hill behind my house, and whenever we were drunk Sylvie called it The Mountain. I said The Mountain was a pretentious name, and she, after elbowing me stiffly between me the ribs, thumbed through my stack of ratty paperbacks until she found a copy of Sir Edmund Hillary’s *High Adventure* hidden beneath a dogeared *Moby Dick*. She laughed and said that now the hill was Everest, and I said that I owned the house, and the hill, and the book, and that if I said it was just a hill, it was just a hill. Now, whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before that age yellowed picture I took that night, her face half-buried in my shoulder because the flash had scared her, I grab my hat and coat and go out to scale Everest.
I’m up there again today. Yuengling has gone out of business but Guinness never will, and Sylvie didn’t hate their porter, so I've brought my last few bottles of West Indies. The name exists, even if the islands don't.
Today the only damp or drizzle is in my head. When I checked the weather report it just said “beautiful,” and if I squint I can just make out the windmills in the distance, turning lazy circles above the town.
“Hey,” I say softly.
The wind carries the word away, and the birds drown it out with high, sad tones, all the pretty songbirds lost in time. I sit down in the dewy grass and take her picture out of my pocket, the one I always stare at, the one I took that night, and I hold it up to the sunrise.
She wore her favorite leggings and the hoodie that she stole from me. She was rosy-cheeked and giggling, and right after she’d looked me dead in the eye and said “I’m a wizard, Harry,” and then I’d said I always knew she was a witch, and then I’d said I misspoke, that I’d meant to say that she was a bitch, and could she please give me back my favorite hoodie?
I take my jacket off and fold it up, lay the picture on it. It’s in a little gilt frame that I got in France, “the motherland,” as Sylvie would have called it, even though she’d been born in Kansas too, and had never gone farther than Illinois.
I lay back in the grass, listening to all the damp, drizzly November-ness of the day in my head. It’s so much worse this time of year.
“I’m serious,” she said.
“Me too,” I deadpanned.
“Dude,” she said, all the giggle going out of her voice. “Stop that.”
And even though two hundred years have passed since that night, and even though I’ve relived that night ten thousand times in the bed we sometimes shared, or up here on Everest with a bottle of beer she didn’t hate I still don’t know why I didn’t believe her.
All the signs were there. There was the odd seriousness in her pretty, elfin features. She held her mouth at just *that* angle, and when she took my hand and tugged me out of the house and up the slope there was an urgency, a wild abandon—desperation.
There were all the signs of a girl who wanted to be believed.
“What?” I said. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Not enough,” she said. “I’m serious, I’m a wizard. Not a witch, witches are different.
“Sylvie,” I said, “I’ve known you since fourth grade.”
“And?”
“And when exactly did this happen?”
Sylvie shrugged.
I remember that I snapped my fingers. I remember that she jumped. I remember taking a long sip and finding the bottom of the bottle, tossing it down Everest, and watching it roll into the darkness at the base of the hill. And I remember saying, “Then why are you still in Kansas?”
And she said, “I never said I was a good one.”
I take a deep, shaky breath. The sun is clear of the horizon now, golden rays spill across the fields, corn as far as the eye can see. In two hundred years, I think corn is the one part of Kansas that never changed. If Sylvie were here, sprawled out across Everest with me, I could take her chin and point her gaze to the horizon and even though the birds were wrong she’d feel right at home.
But the sun illuminates her picture, and I’m on my last beer, and there’s a glint in the corner of my eye that I can scarcely look at, because if I do, if I turn my head at all, this substitute for pistol and ball will go straight to hell like it always does.
So I stare at the picture. I pick it up, and I let myself slip back into Sylvie, my best friend. For a moment, the noise quiets, the pitter-patter of the frigid rain in my head slips away.
“So what you’re saying,” I’d said, “is that you can’t prove it.”
“I never said that,” Sylvie said.
“Yeah? Then what will you do?”
Sylvie made an annoyed expression, lips pursed, and then she swept me off my feet, pushing me backward until we both sprawled across the grass. In the two hundred years since then, I think that she did it so I wouldn’t see her, at least for the moment she needed to compose herself. I think Sylvie did it because she was nervous.
“I’ll blow your fucking mind,” she said, looking down at me.
I laughed, and smiled, and joked—I swear I joked. “So make me immortal or something,” I said.
Sylvie went a little pale. Her eyes tightened, the smudged wings of her eyeliner managed to highlight her surprise. “I never said I was—”
“What,” I interrupted, “a witch?”
And then the paleness was gone, replaced by fire, and the girl who’d pushed me down just to hide herself. She made a little grunting sound in the back of her throat, and then she said a quick phrase beneath her breath, words that twisted and fractured in the gloom.
Sylvie grabbed me by the collar, swung a leg across my body, and kissed me as hard as she ever had.
When it was done, it was like all the air had gone out of the world. I lay there panting, staring up at her. She was so beautiful, a willowy, dark-haired girl, body swimming in my hoodie, the sleeves rolled up so they wouldn’t spill over her hands.
“See?” Sylvie said, softly.
Then again, as if from a great distance, “See?”
A third time, like she was lost on Everest: “See?”
And then something else. It might have been, “Oh god.”
Sylvie crumpled forward, lifelessly, onto my chest. A wizard, but not a good one. Like me: a friend, but the worst one anyone ever had.
And then the sun hits that perfect angle, and back in the real world, two hundred years later, I glance over at the blinding glint in the corner of my eye. The marble headstone that marks the spot where she died, sprawled across my chest, lost along with the last human bits of me.
There’s a rag in my jacket pocket, a bottle of polish. I keep Sylvie’s stone spotless and beautiful, so bright I can’t help but look at it, no matter how hard I try not to.
“Hey,” I say again. “I miss you.”
And then, “I’m sorry.”
And then, “Take it back.”
When the sun hits high noon I start polishing. When the sun goes down I stop. And when it rises the next day I’m back on Everest again, still the same man I was the night before, with the same wounds, and the same aching hole where Sylvie should be.
An immortal, timeless, in a place that only time could heal.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
As always, there's tons more at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you. | |
[WP] One time, your drunk friend said he was a wizard. You jokingly asked him if he could make you immortal and he agreed. That was 200 years ago. | A wizard’s pre-funeral, apparently, was filled with tens of people wearing earth-tone variations of robes and a hat, wisely rubbing their beards, nodding and saying: “It really is about time, isn’t it?”
It was a pre-funeral, not an actual one, because the wizard was not yet dead. It was the privilege of such powerful, arcane beings, apparently, to choose when to die—a deal struck with the devil, a contract written in ink presumably by Merlin. My once-friend—Finthir Cressborn—sat upright in a simple wooden coffin with a sunny smile, a bright spot under today’s grey skies, where ominous, rain-filled clouds loomed large and close like baleful blimps drifting in the sky.
I quietly took my place at the back of the line that snaked in front of Finthir. I thought I had dressed well for a funeral—a simple black suit, only half a century old—but I stood out like a foreign weed in a well-kept garden. Everybody else seemed to know each other, easily slipping into conversation like a fitted glove, while I only received cursory glances and nods.
So I waited. It was fine to be at the back. I’ve waited a few hundred years to ask Finthir a question. A few more minutes mattered little.
I watched the pleasantries proceed politely, the wizard not losing a beat in his greetings and farewells. Then, it was finally my turn.
“Fin.”
The wizard’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and it’s easy to recognize the light of recognition falter, falter, then blink on.
“Lex,” he said, a smile slowly turning wide. “It’s been a long time.”
“We’ve not talked in two hundred years, give or take,” I said.
“That long?”
“Yes,” I said. “I suppose I have you to thank. I wouldn’t have lived this long otherwise.”
“Ah,” Finthir said. For a moment, it looked like he shrunk into the dreariness of the surrounding weather—but a warm mirth shook him and the coffin.
“I was drunk,” he recalled, tapping his temple. “You asked me for immortality.”
“And it happened,” I whispered. “It actually happened.”
Then, the century-old question:
“Why?”
I trembled as I said it. It had to have been a mistake, an error. A wizard, apparently, can choose to die. Am I a painting, a forever remnant of the wizard’s past? Or a occult puppet, whose strings will never be pulled once the master falls?
Both were equally terrifying prospects.
Finthir grew grave, and sat quiet for a moment.
“Have you enjoyed immortality?”
“Can I not?”
“Speak the truth, friend.”
“No,” I admitted. “Not entirely, at least.”
“And that’s why you can be immortal,” Finthir shook his head. “It’s sort of… paradoxical. But then, the arcane is not a science. But we know this, in our heart of hearts—an immortal man is powerful enough. An immortal wizard is too much. I’ll be drunk with power, enjoying every moment—but at what cost?”
“I’m but a man,” I said, kneeling down besides the coffin. “Have I done right these past centuries? I’m… not sure.”
“As a wizard, I’m obliged to inform you: I can remove it, if you want,” Finthir lowered his voice. “I have enough arcane power left to undo my magic. Do you think it a blessing or curse?”
“What about as a friend?”
“I’ve always believed you can be immortal. You were a good friend, and arguably a better man,” he winked. “I was drunk—but sometimes, that’s what inspires one to make a right choice.”
“How do you know I can do right by that choice?”
“You owe nothing to me, and you’ll have the rest of your life to find out, Alex,” Finthir said, his voice fading ever so slightly. He laid back down, and his eyelids shut. “The offer stands for about… a few minutes, I think.”
“I thought you can choose when to die,” I said.
“As can you,” Finthir smiled. “But you wouldn’t make a choice right now without the deadline, will you?”
“Probably not,” I smiled, and shook my head.
I stared up at the skies, the slight peeking of a shy sun through the great grey curtains of the sky. It is beautiful, magnificent, and something I’ll like very much to see again.
“I think it’s a blessing,” I said.
“I’m glad you think so. And I know you’ll give your time to others,” Finthir said. “Speaking of, it’s about time…”
I watched the wizard wane with a satisfied smirk, washed aglow by the emerging sun, always, always beating the day’s grey embrace.
---
r/dexdrafts | You know what is hilarious- drunk friends. You know what is absolutely not hilarious, them being a wizard. Yeah, yeah, I know, a wizard would be a great friend and all but not when you ask them to prove it to you by, drumroll please, making you immortal. And 200 years later, you are still cursing both your younger self and your wizard friend.
You have guessed right, I'm the moron who ended up being immortal. People love saying "if I had more time" and "this ended too early" but believe me when I say this you had the perfect the amount of time and things ended when they should have or otherwise you would be stuck like me, watching everyone you love grow old and die and nothing sucks more than losing everyone you have loved. Knowing that you are truly alone in this world.
You must be thinking, 'why did he not look for his wizard friend?' believe me, I did. But apparently these spells are irreversible. I really chose the wrong moment to be funny, didn't I?
How do I know if I'm actually immortal, you ask? I tried to kill myself after losing my wife but nothing happened. I tried to jump off a building but except a few minor scrapes I was fine and dandy. Thus began my journey of downward spiral. The crushing depression, the overwhelming sadness, the certainty of being alone for all eternity was enough to send me to a therapist.
"So what do you think is the reason behind your depression?" The therapist asked.
Immortality. "I don't know. Being alone."
She talked to me, gave me numbers of few support groups and medications. To think 200 years in the future science would have made some breakthrough on depression. But as it turns out depression is like fucking hydra, you chop of one head and more rises.
I started attending the meetings, which I want to say helped but didn't because no one knew what I was going through. I started my medications, which did make me feel better but also made me feel hollow. I tried to do new things but my heart wasn't in on it. Everyday was a task. Living was a task.
It wasn't until one day that I ran into my wizard friend that my life truly changed, well again.
"You don't look so well, my friend." He said sympathetically.
"No shit, Sherlock." I replied.
"I, um-" he hesitated, "I may have a solution to your problem."
Relief then rage ran through me. "And you are telling me this now!"
He raised his hands in defence. "I didn't know this but I have been reading-"
"And?"
"And the only way out of this is to die."
A hysterical laughter left my lips. I laughed so hard that tears started leaking from my eyes. What part of immortality ends with death?
"Hey, man, you okay?"
"I'm not." I said wiping my tears. "Do you realise how many times I have tried that. Kill myself. Countless. And yet here I am. Hell my arm looks like a sleeve with so many knife marks. And you tell me I just have to die!"
He looked at me with pity. "Tomorrow meet me at the pub. Tomorrow you die."
~
Despite having absolutely no hope, I went to the pub. When I saw him sitting at the same place where we sat all those years back.
"Come, have a drink." He said pointing to the seat beside him.
I took of my jacket and took a sip. "So what is it?"
"Murder." He answered.
"I'm sorry, what?"
He shrugged. "Murder is the only way."
I was desperate to die but I am not desperate enough to kill someone. "Hey, now-"
A blessed calmness spread inside me. Something was happening, and I felt light, lighter than air.
It wasn't until I was surrounded by white light, looking at my lifeless body on the ground when I realised what he meant by murder. | |
[WP] One time, your drunk friend said he was a wizard. You jokingly asked him if he could make you immortal and he agreed. That was 200 years ago. | **The Millennium Bender**
How do you catch a drunk that literally never stops drinking?
A creature that prowls the night plying itself with liquor, immune from collapsing in doorways or slumping against dumpsters.
A force of nature that consumes and destroys in a chaotic whirl of mayhem and sorrow, its only fixture a tattered, black pointed hat – the kind that went out of style during the reign of Henry IV. Under its brim, the small face of a vindictive and nasty little man with a toothy grin.
That is what I hunt. And to think we used to be such good friends.
It’s December 2021. My investments in surveillance technology, facial recognition software, and internet scraping algorithms have paid off. I didn’t anticipate this area would become jet fuel for a new brand of authoritarianism, but franky, I don’t care.
I’m tired of this place. I’m tired of this body. I’m tired of outwitting death.
All I want is to find him. On this day, my private investigator hands me a tablet, holding the sleeve it came out of in his other hand, like he’s peeled off the skin of some exotic fruit and now he wants me to taste its fleshy insides.
Thirty photographs, a video, an audio file. The investigator watches my face. He’s pushing sixty but to my eyes he is a child. They all are. He’s so nervous. He hopes this is what I want.
He won’t be disappointed. It only takes the first photo to confirm my suspicions.
“It’s him,” I say. “My people will wire you the other half this afternoon.”
A wave of relief washes over him. He practically leaps with joy, all the little gray hairs in his bushy eyebrows reaching for the sky.
“So, that’s—uh…”
“Forty million. You can go.”
The investigator is set for life, his dreams actualized, yet he leaves my office the unhappier man. He has handed me salvation and he doesn’t even know it.
Four hours later I am on a private plane bound for Seoul, South Korea. I make arrangements with my contacts there – a strong network I forged during multi-year negotiations to acquire Samsung’s American operations. A man has to keep busy.
The man in the black pointed hat was trolling bars just outside the city. The investigator indicated he was headed to Guri next, roughly 14 kilometers from Seoul.
I set the 21st Century variation of the trap I’ve laid a dozen times in the past two hundred years, but this time I’m confident it will work. He has not adapted to this new world as I have. He has not noticed how rapidly things have changed.
Humanity has entered a new age of enlightenment; the light of it is blinding so he has turned away, delving deeper into his endless drunken binge.
I have embraced the light. Shaped it.
One of my agents is already in Guri. By the time I arrive he will have purchased several of the city’s finest drinking establishments on my behalf, each for exorbitant prices, paid in cash. The owners will walk away millionaires, their lives changed forever.
Cheeky Kiki Bar. Blacklist. Hidden Cellar. I send a dozen agents to each location. For myself, I choose the Hidden Cellar. After all these years, I still have a poet in me. The tavern where I used to drink with him, with the devil, in Boston back in the 1820’s, was called Barmey’s Cellar. I have a feeling he’ll be drawn here too.
I take a table in the corner. I fold my black overcoat and place it on the seat beside me. I order a red wine and I prepare my agents. If we don't do this right, he could slip through my fingers once again. And leave carnage in his wake.
I wait. And I wait. And I wait.
Until I hear it: A crowd of people laughing, yelling, dancing down the street. The door to the Hidden Cellar bursts open, a cool wind gushes in. My agents stiffen. The agent at the bar falls into character.
A group of strangers, all brought together by an enigmatic and delightful newcomer with a remarkably old-school fashion sense, tumbles in.
It’s late, they’re drunk, my heart is racing. As they fan out at the bar, demanding bottles of this and bottles of that, I see him. His pointed hat cocked to one side. His yellow teeth. His arms reaching over the bar, snatching a bottle of whiskey and chugging it.
I signal to the bartender. He pulls a handgun from his waistband and fires a round at the ceiling. A blank, of course. We wouldn’t want any corpses complicating the return trip – it’ll be bad enough as it is.
The other drinkers fall silent. He keeps chugging. The bartender is joined by more agents, who circle the group, weapons out, urging calm in trained, soothing voices. No one is in trouble.
He finishes the whiskey and smashes it on the ground.
“Hello, old friend,” I say from my table. “Care for a drink?”
He sees me. From under his hat, those devilish eyes glint as they meet mine. He stumbles toward me, plops down at the table, belches directly into my face, and starts to drink right from the wine bottle.
“Haven’t seen shoe – you, in a minute, have I, love?”
“You’re drunk,” I say, “You might want to lay off the stuff for a while.”
“Lay off? Pah! I’m a man of principle. I’ve a bet, I’m on. Surely you ‘member that!”
I say nothing. My agents move into position. A van, used by Swiss banks to transport solid gold bars, parks in front of the Hidden Cellar.
“You bet me that I couldn’t drink every single bottle at that little tavern, didn’t ya.”
“Indeed.”
“And I said ‘No, I can drink every bottle in every little tavern on the planet!' Course, back then I’d no idea how big it was. Many people. How fast they’d make them bottles…”
He trails off, his lucidity fading.
“That was two hundred years ago,” I say. “How do you think I’m still here? Do you remember that?”
He is confused. His bottom lip juts out as he thinks.
“Ah, bloody hell. Yah. I said I’d could make you one them immortals, so you could watch it done. And you said ‘wah, no you can’t, that's impossible,' silly wanker. So’s I did. That’s that.”
My agents are nearly done clearing the room of his drinking buddies. The path to the door is clear. The back of the armored truck is open. It’s on me, now.
“It’s time to make me mortal again,” I say.
He pauses, then spreads a wide grin.
“Ah-ah-ah, not till I’ve won our little competition. Speaking of--"
He spins in his chair and calls out “bartender!”
I give the signal. The agents rush toward us. He snaps into action, his reflexes kicking in. He rises up from his chair, levitating in the air. The room turns freezing cold. The lights in the tavern burst.
All falls into darkness. He starts to cast a devastating spell, creating sparks of magic that swirl between us. I lurch across the table and cover his mouth with my hand.
The sparks break against me and dissipate.
I force him back into the chair. The agents seize him. They force the straight-jacket onto him, and pull the muzzle on over the back of his head. He is incantating but my hand won’t let a syllable out.
Panicking now, he bites down on my finger. I feel my bone break. Blood gushes out. I can’t slip. I can’t let him say a word. He bites again, tearing a chunk out of the side of my hand.
The agents pull the muzzle tight over his face. I yank my hand away. The muzzle locks in.
He is mine.
As I nurse my hand, knowing it will never be the same, the agents lay him on a stretcher and rush him out the door. He thrashes the whole way. I hear the back of the van slam shut and lock.
A doctor is nearby. He’s on his way, they tell me.
My mind is already on phase two of the plan. The question I’ve never really stopped to ponder, because it always seemed so far away, is now staring me in the face.
Can the best rehab in the world cure an immortal wizard’s alcoholism?
Only time will tell.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/ididwritethismr \-- After having so much fun responding to these prompts, today I finally made a subreddit for all of my fiction. I pinned my personal favorite story to the top. I'd love to have you join. Happy New Year! | You know what is hilarious- drunk friends. You know what is absolutely not hilarious, them being a wizard. Yeah, yeah, I know, a wizard would be a great friend and all but not when you ask them to prove it to you by, drumroll please, making you immortal. And 200 years later, you are still cursing both your younger self and your wizard friend.
You have guessed right, I'm the moron who ended up being immortal. People love saying "if I had more time" and "this ended too early" but believe me when I say this you had the perfect the amount of time and things ended when they should have or otherwise you would be stuck like me, watching everyone you love grow old and die and nothing sucks more than losing everyone you have loved. Knowing that you are truly alone in this world.
You must be thinking, 'why did he not look for his wizard friend?' believe me, I did. But apparently these spells are irreversible. I really chose the wrong moment to be funny, didn't I?
How do I know if I'm actually immortal, you ask? I tried to kill myself after losing my wife but nothing happened. I tried to jump off a building but except a few minor scrapes I was fine and dandy. Thus began my journey of downward spiral. The crushing depression, the overwhelming sadness, the certainty of being alone for all eternity was enough to send me to a therapist.
"So what do you think is the reason behind your depression?" The therapist asked.
Immortality. "I don't know. Being alone."
She talked to me, gave me numbers of few support groups and medications. To think 200 years in the future science would have made some breakthrough on depression. But as it turns out depression is like fucking hydra, you chop of one head and more rises.
I started attending the meetings, which I want to say helped but didn't because no one knew what I was going through. I started my medications, which did make me feel better but also made me feel hollow. I tried to do new things but my heart wasn't in on it. Everyday was a task. Living was a task.
It wasn't until one day that I ran into my wizard friend that my life truly changed, well again.
"You don't look so well, my friend." He said sympathetically.
"No shit, Sherlock." I replied.
"I, um-" he hesitated, "I may have a solution to your problem."
Relief then rage ran through me. "And you are telling me this now!"
He raised his hands in defence. "I didn't know this but I have been reading-"
"And?"
"And the only way out of this is to die."
A hysterical laughter left my lips. I laughed so hard that tears started leaking from my eyes. What part of immortality ends with death?
"Hey, man, you okay?"
"I'm not." I said wiping my tears. "Do you realise how many times I have tried that. Kill myself. Countless. And yet here I am. Hell my arm looks like a sleeve with so many knife marks. And you tell me I just have to die!"
He looked at me with pity. "Tomorrow meet me at the pub. Tomorrow you die."
~
Despite having absolutely no hope, I went to the pub. When I saw him sitting at the same place where we sat all those years back.
"Come, have a drink." He said pointing to the seat beside him.
I took of my jacket and took a sip. "So what is it?"
"Murder." He answered.
"I'm sorry, what?"
He shrugged. "Murder is the only way."
I was desperate to die but I am not desperate enough to kill someone. "Hey, now-"
A blessed calmness spread inside me. Something was happening, and I felt light, lighter than air.
It wasn't until I was surrounded by white light, looking at my lifeless body on the ground when I realised what he meant by murder. | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | I enjoy my fire in the yard. It's visible from the street and in this dark it might just get a bit chilly. By the fire it's warm. Comfortable even. With a case of beers and a wooden stump tonight is great.
"Greetings..." it rasped, "...may I share your fire tonight?".
Two glowing eyes peered at me from the street. Not the warm or sweltering red glow of fire or heat, but a cold grey glow. A glow of old age. Of knowledge. Of the past and aeons witnessed.
"Be my guest". I raise the case up to make a seat. "Can I offer you a beer? I have little else at hand".
The strangers gets closer and I see a wiry man, grey of hair and cloaked in a tattered coat. He sighs as he sits down. "I would be delighted". I open a beer and had it to him.
We clink the bottles and join in on a silent salute. I look at my beer and notice something strange. "Is it just me or does beer taste better in company?"
My guest smirks. "Least I could do. Once were the times I wielded lighting and ruled the skies. Or that I rode a horse that ran as if he were two. Those times have gone past, but hospitality remains. It might not be much, this at least I can give."
We sit for some time until the fire dies down and only glowing coals remain. I offer my guest a place in my home. "I couldn't accept that, I have nothing left to offer. Maybe in better days." He rises and enters into the night. | I yawn and stretch in the early January night, watching the last of the fire die down for the night. Shivering, I slowly lean over from my log bench, grabbing the last of the sticks and tossing them on the fire. As it flares up, I spot a pair of eyes, seeming to almost glow a bronze "Greetings" the eyes said after a uncomfortable few seconds of staring, causing me to jump and curse under my breath at the sound. "I mean no harm, but I must ask, may I share your fire for the time? The wind is dreadful." "Well, I figure I can't really say no, since you asked so politely" I try to keep my thoughts under control, motioning the eyes to come on over as I try to relax. "I do thank you for your hospitality". The eyes seem to move up, towering over me as they come closer, revealing what my first thought was, Skinwalker. Or skins, as we called em, to not let them know who you were talking about. The figure came closer, before sitting down crosslegged in the front of the fire, stretching it's long arms out, as if to warm itself. "It has been some time since I was accepted at a fire, and for that, I will repay you as fitting" it suddenly rasps out, it's voice a little quieter than before, but scratchier it seems. "T-thank you" I stutter out, still a little more than terrified at what I can only assume is my death sitting across my fire from me. "Oh, you have nothing to fear from me, I mean you no harm. These woods though, hold many things worse than me" it gestures in a wide arc to the woods around my house "But I can see why none of them have bothered you. You are a good soul." At those words, I shudder and begin to stand. "Well, it is getting late, and if you wish to enjoy to fire a bit longer, feel free. I gotta head to bed, got work in the morning." "Farewell, young one" its voice carrying easily across the small fire, which I notice seems a little dimmer, the creatures eyes a bit brighter. I go to stand, but fall over, unable to move as I can only stare in horror as it looks at me, reaching a arms out. "Sleep well....." That's the last thing I hear, before I jolt awake, the fire barely more than a few coals burning, as I look around, rubbing the back of my head as I hop up, heading inside to a warm house and bed "bleh, gotta stop doing that, ain't good for my back....." | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | I enjoy my fire in the yard. It's visible from the street and in this dark it might just get a bit chilly. By the fire it's warm. Comfortable even. With a case of beers and a wooden stump tonight is great.
"Greetings..." it rasped, "...may I share your fire tonight?".
Two glowing eyes peered at me from the street. Not the warm or sweltering red glow of fire or heat, but a cold grey glow. A glow of old age. Of knowledge. Of the past and aeons witnessed.
"Be my guest". I raise the case up to make a seat. "Can I offer you a beer? I have little else at hand".
The strangers gets closer and I see a wiry man, grey of hair and cloaked in a tattered coat. He sighs as he sits down. "I would be delighted". I open a beer and had it to him.
We clink the bottles and join in on a silent salute. I look at my beer and notice something strange. "Is it just me or does beer taste better in company?"
My guest smirks. "Least I could do. Once were the times I wielded lighting and ruled the skies. Or that I rode a horse that ran as if he were two. Those times have gone past, but hospitality remains. It might not be much, this at least I can give."
We sit for some time until the fire dies down and only glowing coals remain. I offer my guest a place in my home. "I couldn't accept that, I have nothing left to offer. Maybe in better days." He rises and enters into the night. | "Sure." I said and the demon took a seat on the ground by the fire.
Some time passed in an enjoyed silence before the demon spoke.
"So...you seen the newest season of The Witcher? I think they're ruining Yennefer."
"No, I don't watch that show. I played the game though." I said.
"Which one? Probably the third one, right?"
"I guess, whatever the newer one is."
"Oh yeah that's the third one."
...
"How about this wea..."
"Alright Imma head in. You're welcome to stay out here if you want." I said interrupt-tingly.
"Oh, yeah no problem. I'll stay here for a bit then get out of your hair" said the demon with an awkward parlance.
Then a meteor hit and everyone on Earth died. | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | I enjoy my fire in the yard. It's visible from the street and in this dark it might just get a bit chilly. By the fire it's warm. Comfortable even. With a case of beers and a wooden stump tonight is great.
"Greetings..." it rasped, "...may I share your fire tonight?".
Two glowing eyes peered at me from the street. Not the warm or sweltering red glow of fire or heat, but a cold grey glow. A glow of old age. Of knowledge. Of the past and aeons witnessed.
"Be my guest". I raise the case up to make a seat. "Can I offer you a beer? I have little else at hand".
The strangers gets closer and I see a wiry man, grey of hair and cloaked in a tattered coat. He sighs as he sits down. "I would be delighted". I open a beer and had it to him.
We clink the bottles and join in on a silent salute. I look at my beer and notice something strange. "Is it just me or does beer taste better in company?"
My guest smirks. "Least I could do. Once were the times I wielded lighting and ruled the skies. Or that I rode a horse that ran as if he were two. Those times have gone past, but hospitality remains. It might not be much, this at least I can give."
We sit for some time until the fire dies down and only glowing coals remain. I offer my guest a place in my home. "I couldn't accept that, I have nothing left to offer. Maybe in better days." He rises and enters into the night. | Beer’s almost gone, fire’s almost out, wife’s probably asleep by now, thank god, I can go inside and see how bad I did with the fantasy football this week. Life’s a gift, ain’t it?
Two eyes appear on the other side of the fire, glowing and red. I thought I only had the three cans of beer. Did I have six? Sometimes it’s hard to keep count when you don’t give a shit.
“Greetings,” a voice rasps. You know, like the sound a rasp makes as it scrapes away at the bars of the cage holding back insanity. “May I share your fire tonight?”
I should be terrified, right? But I’m annoyed. Do you know how long it took me to build this fire? And did anyone help me? And then, what, the spawn of Satan shows up and wants to share?
Then again, if this is the spawn of Satan, or whatever, maybe I should play nice. After all, that’s what I did with the last spawn of Satan I met, and look how that turned out. Six years of blissful marriage. “Be my guest,” I say.
“Obliged,” the voice says, and then the eyes close, and then, well, to the sound of chewing, the fire is gone. And all that beer does nothing to hold back the cold.
“Okay,” I say. Now what. Does it eat beer cans too, maybe? Or running backs that go in the first round and then can’t get more than 20 yards in a single game?
Or wives?
“Uh, you still there?” I say, feeling foolish as soon as the words come out of my mouth.
“For your kindness,” the voice says. And then there’s a scream from inside the house.
I’m in motion and running up the back steps before my feet realize we’re way to inebriated to negotiate stairs at this speed. I trip on the top riser and fall on my face. Someone’s giggling. Oh wait that’s me. I find my knees and do enough complicated geometry to stand up again. I go through the kitchen, the living room, the hallway. Our bedroom door is closed. My hand is on the door knob.
I can’t bring myself to open the door. Is she dead? Is this my fault? Did I do this? I never asked for it, not out loud. Not when anyone was close enough to hear. Should I feel guilty? Ashamed? Should I feel ashamed that I don’t feel ashamed? I’m sweating, I can’t catch my breath, my hand is shaking on the doorknob. Should I feel terrible about the tiny, ridiculous spark of hope buried deep in my chest?
Okay. Okay okay okay. I can do this. I count’ down from three. Three, I’m just drunk, there was no body outside with me just now. Two, nothing asked to share my fire, and then ate it. One, my wife is not dead, not at all, not even a little bit. Zero. Open the damn door.
I open the damn door. I hear another scream and a boom and there’s a flash and something hits me in the chest and I’m stumbling backwards and hitting the wall in the hall and I fall and I loll. I’ve never lolled before. Why am I lolling. Who lolls. I weigh about a thousand pounds now and I’m frickin freezing. Who’s says frickin. What’s the word I want. Fuckin.
And now here’s my wife. Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod she’s saying, shouting, screaming. A dream a dream I had a bad dream I woke up I thought it was real I woke up I thought someone was in the house I didn’t know ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod.
She’s about a hundred miles away now. Think I might take a little nap, maybe. She’s so beautiful. Look at here, crying there. So beautiful. Glad she’s not dead. That woulda been a shame. Yep, a nap sounds like a good idea. I should ask for a blanket first. Nah.
Baby baby baby she’s shouting. Why was there a gun in our bed, when did you buy a gun, I just grabbed it, it was a dream, I thought you were an intruder baby when did you buy a gun.
I never bought a gun. Hate the damn things. They kill people. Flip it. No, I mean frick it. No, the other one. We’ll talk about it after my nap. Get me a blanket. Fuck it. | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | The low voice drones through you. You can feel it vibrate your body. Your heart skips a beat, then your chest tightens. Those eyes… They’re much too far apart for anything resembling your size. This is not good.
“Well?” The voice once again drones.
A cold sweat like you’ve never experienced springs from every part of your skin. It feels like your every hair stands on end. All you can do is stare at those glowing orbs boring holes into your soul and hope desperately that this is a dream. Even though no dream you’ve had has ever been quite this vivid.
“It’s almost going out.” The voice says.
The eyes have now focused on the fading embers in between the two of you. It sounds… disappointed, perhaps even annoyed. This clears the paralysis you’ve been feeling right up. If there’s anything you don’t want to do right now, is annoy whatever those eyes might belong to.
“O-of course, sorry”, you stammer.
You grab some of the bits of wood from the pile to your side. You clumsily throw them into the pit and agitate the coals with your stick until the new logs catch fire. From the moment you’ve started to move, it seems like you can’t stop shaking. You’re not entirely sure what this thing is, but you’ve heard stories. Great beasts, monsters, dangerous or evil things. Out beyond the edges of civilization, sometimes violently intruding on those edges. You shudder at the many thoughts of what this thing could be.
“Ah, that’s better…” The voice exclaims. Its low rasp drawing out into something of a growl.
The eyes get a bit closer to the ground, partly closing into bright, vertical slits.
“Y-yea, uhm. No. No problem.” you manage to get out.
Your stare is glued to those eyes as the fire starts up, dimly lighting the area around the pit. What does it want from you? Is there any chance you’ll live through this? Unlikely. It feels like there’s nothing you can do, though. Nothing but sit and stare. A second that feels like an hour ticks by, until the voice speaks up again.
“Don’t worry, small one. I’m not here to hurt you.”
“My town, then?” You blurt out. You’re almost startled at your own voice, having spoken without even thinking. Your throat feels as dry as bone.
“No, small one. No destruction from me today. I’ve only come to indulge in your fire.” After a beat, it adds, “With permission.” That last word sounds like a half question, the eyes linger on you.
“Yea-” You stop to clear your throat and swallow, trying to rid yourself of the dryness. It does not work. “Yea, sure. My guest.” You awkwardly exclaim.
“Thank you” it growls, seemingly satisfied. Its eyes focusing back on growing fire.
Though this fire now seems much tinier to you than usual, considering. It pales in comparison to the immense size of the thing in front of you. Though, simultaneously, it feels much, much bigger than it ever has. Its tie to your survival more direct and much more grand than it even is normally. As the fire grows, however, you notice something strange. Though the many objects and features around you start to take shape as the light draws out their forms and casts their shadows, the big thing across from you simply doesn’t take shape at all. The only thing you can see is the trees in the distance off to the sides, those eyes, and blackness. It’s as if on the other side of the pit, nothing had changed at all. And the pitch black of night simply remains. You’re made aware of the tightness in your chest again. Whatever you might have expected to see once the fire rose, this certainly wasn’t it. You’re so distracted by the baffling void that you don’t realize the eyes are once again trained on you.
“You’re still scared, small one. I can assure you, there is nothing to be worried about. Tell me, what is going through your mind?”
Despite the assurances, the tension does not leave your body. It hasn’t seemed aggressive so far, you suppose. So you may as well ask…
“What… What are you?”
The eyes close for a second, during which a long, drawn out sigh rumbles over you from across the pit. The flames barely flicker despite the great volume of air that must have been behind that exhale.
“I suppose it makes sense to be scared. Having, I suspect, never seen anything quite like me.” The voice starts. “Unfortunately. That’s a long, complicated story. I’ve been quite a few things in my long existence. Some of which might be hard for you to understand. Some of which I don’t wish to divulge. But there’s enough that I can state, simply, that should be sufficient to make you understand why I’m here and that I wish you no harm.” The voice pauses. It waits as its eyes keep trained on you. You figure you better say something.
“Yea. Okay. Eh, sounds good?” You half-heartedly utter.
“Alright. Suffice to say… I was once a being that had a great affiliation with fire. It was my source, it was my weapon, it was my home. It brought me a great deal of power, as well as a great deal of comfort. Eventually, in the long run, I outgrew its power. My existence moved on to other things, other sources, more reliable aspects. More… Ethereal means, even. I very much enjoy all the opportunities this has given me, but…” The eyes sink down to the tiny pit once more “I do miss it… Sometimes...” Again, a pause. Though this time, it seems almost lost in thought.
“Oh. Wow. That’s uhm. That’s quite a lot.” You admit. You’re not sure if that has made it any clearer to you what this thing is. Maybe you’re just too tense to think.
“Is that structure behind you your original home, small one?” The voice asks, not looking up from the fire.
“Oh, my house? Well. No, I mean. My parents, uhm. I’m from another town over, originally.”
“Do you ever miss it? Where you were spawned?”
“Yeah. I mean, I go there every so often. It’s not the easiest travel, but. It’s nice to go back when I can.”
“Yes. Yes it is.”
You both sit there in silence for a moment, watching the flames dance over the wood in front of you. Against your own expectation, you actually crack a smile. You throw another two logs into the pit and the fire brightens even further.
“Thank you, small one.”
“Yea. No problem.” | The last thing I remembered since when I was just a little insignificant brat, was a campfire. I was always fond of them.
On the night of Christmas eve, I sat outside chilling with my friends by my campfire. We had fun talking to each other, roasting marshmallows and even making, well funny jokes. We sat there like selfish people not caring of other houses.
After all my friends left, so did the embers of fire. The final crackling sounds of the ember suddenly reminded me of something...
A few years ago, on this exact date, I remembered about my mom and my dad's conflict, leaving me and mom alone.
Looking back at the campfire, I see glowing crimson eyes, filled with nothingness.
At this moment I knew, he had loss all hope in this world.
"Greetings." it rasped, "would you excuse me for some fire tonight?"
"Uhm, sure..." I replied as I tried to avoid eye contact.
"So who are you?"
"Timmy... You've grown up haven't you. Where is your mom now, still home?"
"Dad?"
"Yeah it's me, Tim."
He had disappeared so many years ago, abandoning me and my mother without much money.
"I just wanted to let you know I'm leaving all my money behind for you." He said,"thing ain't goin well for me sonny boy..."
Silence.
I wasn't sure if I was happy or not, missing for all these years and coming back, why couldn't he just have came back earlier?
Conflicting emotions objected around in my head.
*COUGH COUGH*
"Dad? Lets go inside now shall we?"
He followed me in as a layed him in bed.
He whispered some stories about when I was young.
He finally fell in deep sleep.
Passing away. | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | “Sure.” The words left my lips in a little more than a whisper. I hold the gun sitting in my lap tightly. I know there’s no point in running now. I feel a bead of sweat rolling down my back as the eyes come closer, staring at me unwavering.
“What do you want?” I summon the courage to actually speak with conviction this time. My words coming out in plumes as my hot breath meets the cold air.
“I do not want.” It creeped closer to the fire. “I’m just here to rest and have a chat with a stranger. It’s cold this night.” It’s voice was just like the others of its kind. Drawn out hisses on the s words and a guttural gravel voice. “Sssssoooo it’sss not the ussssual that I’d run into one of your kind anymore.” The way they speak always send shivers down my spine. Also doesn’t help the words are coming out of some kind of human lizard hybrid with fucking knifes for teeth and crazy eyes. I’m surprised it knows human English.
What’s it been, 5 winters now? Two since I saw another human besides myself. Cold regions are pretty much the only places left safe because the bastards can’t let their temps drop below 40 degrees Fahrenheit. Luckily the freaks are also anti-technology. Something about electronics and machinery messes with their senses. Oh, how things have changed since the earth split open and we faced a fucking army of sharp teeth and tough skinned freaks.
“No your kind has made sure mine will no longer exist.” I spat out into the cold air between us.
“Mmmmm… it’s not what all of us wanted. But your kind doesn’t know peace.” The thing was close now. Right up to the coals. I’m sure it’s freezing. It must have a deathwish to be this far north in October. Then again, I’ve never seen one actually have a coat on until now.
“You don’t remember the before like we do, human. You see us as something new. Yet we have been together long before you primates could make the fire.” It paused to look around at the forest and stretched its human-like clawed hands over the dying flames. “We are each other. Just on different paths.”
“Well it was a hell of a family reunion.” I chucked another log in the fire and the freak made some kind of purring sound as the heat rose.
“Indeed.” We sat in silence for about 15 minutes before the creature sighed and began backing away. “You should head further North. We are doing details this direction. There’s warm air moving in from the west soon.” The freak was engulfed in darkness now and once again a set of glowing eyes in the woods.
“Thanks.” I huffed and went back to my cabin to begin packing. Moving at night was always safer because of the cold.
With my trusty backpack, compass, and torch I began the journey further north. Living to die another day. | The last thing I remembered since when I was just a little insignificant brat, was a campfire. I was always fond of them.
On the night of Christmas eve, I sat outside chilling with my friends by my campfire. We had fun talking to each other, roasting marshmallows and even making, well funny jokes. We sat there like selfish people not caring of other houses.
After all my friends left, so did the embers of fire. The final crackling sounds of the ember suddenly reminded me of something...
A few years ago, on this exact date, I remembered about my mom and my dad's conflict, leaving me and mom alone.
Looking back at the campfire, I see glowing crimson eyes, filled with nothingness.
At this moment I knew, he had loss all hope in this world.
"Greetings." it rasped, "would you excuse me for some fire tonight?"
"Uhm, sure..." I replied as I tried to avoid eye contact.
"So who are you?"
"Timmy... You've grown up haven't you. Where is your mom now, still home?"
"Dad?"
"Yeah it's me, Tim."
He had disappeared so many years ago, abandoning me and my mother without much money.
"I just wanted to let you know I'm leaving all my money behind for you." He said,"thing ain't goin well for me sonny boy..."
Silence.
I wasn't sure if I was happy or not, missing for all these years and coming back, why couldn't he just have came back earlier?
Conflicting emotions objected around in my head.
*COUGH COUGH*
"Dad? Lets go inside now shall we?"
He followed me in as a layed him in bed.
He whispered some stories about when I was young.
He finally fell in deep sleep.
Passing away. | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | Friend, Stranger, and Foe
“What a beautiful night, but it is depressing seeing Orion.” I said to myself; contemplating how the arrival of his constellation signaled impending winter cold. I used my fire poker to trace out the stars that made his belt and bow. Then, lazily stirred the warm embers. To most, embers signal the end of a fire. To me, it was the most magical part of it: their orange glow creating illusions of light and shadow more relaxed than that of the furious pace of bonfire flames. Embers suited me better.
“Greetings,” someone hissed from the edge of my tree line. “May I share your fire with you tonight?” Its red eyes glowed as it mouth the sad sounding request.
“Friend, stranger, and even foe are all welcome to share my fire. I find a warm fire and the conversation it provides do adequate at making the the two later into the first. What is your name, stranger?” I asked, making sure to word the question so as not to make my guest think I was trying to steal their name as the fae of old had done. Beings such as this, what we called mythical, were keenly attuned to those types of things. I was keenly attuned to not being perceived as a threat.
The beast smiled at the welcome; its fangs showing long and sharp, yellow even in the orange glow. “I am the one who is called Detonian the vile.” It approached low, not moving upright as a person or Minotaur. I couldn’t yet make out the features of its body or limbs, if it even had those. I had learned shortly after moving in to this home not to assume things like physical features and species.
As Detonian made their way opposite me at the fire I began to make out its form. I understood the title “The Vile” immediately. They were a sludge beast; creatures known to be ill tempered under normal circumstances, quite dangerous when provoked. Their bodies were wormlike with several pores that oozed a tar like liquid. I was surprised at the lack of smell. That was clearly an embellished detail passed on in lore. The arms extending shortly below the head were roughly half the length of its six foot body; eight inch talons ended them.
“It is not common for a human to extend such a courtesy to my kind. It is much appreciated, I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.” He growled.
“And you won’t, either. It is my name and I intend to keep it.” I replied, making sure to flex my knowledge of the tricks cryptids could use to take advantage of a mere mortal.
“Hwaa ha ha haaa,” howled Detonian, “Good sir, while I do not intend to use your name other than to know how to refer to you, I am pleased to meet a hu-man that knows of our ways. If you allow, may I rephrase my question?”
“You may.”
“Sir,” he smiled a threatening but polite toothy smile, “how may I refer to you?”
“Please, call me Richard.” I considered lying, but lore said Detonian’s kind were intuitive and bringing trouble to myself this evening was undesirable.
“Richard, I am grateful for your fire this evening. My kind are not accustomed to the cold of this area.”
I added a few small logs to the fire and we spoke long into the early hours of the morning. Each of us shared our understandings of the other’s kind. Each of us learning that our knowledge was lacking, as hardly anything we knew was correct. We became friends and by the time the fire had died agreed to meet again. I assured him he was welcome to my fire anytime. This was a night bridges were built and neither would forget. | The last thing I remembered since when I was just a little insignificant brat, was a campfire. I was always fond of them.
On the night of Christmas eve, I sat outside chilling with my friends by my campfire. We had fun talking to each other, roasting marshmallows and even making, well funny jokes. We sat there like selfish people not caring of other houses.
After all my friends left, so did the embers of fire. The final crackling sounds of the ember suddenly reminded me of something...
A few years ago, on this exact date, I remembered about my mom and my dad's conflict, leaving me and mom alone.
Looking back at the campfire, I see glowing crimson eyes, filled with nothingness.
At this moment I knew, he had loss all hope in this world.
"Greetings." it rasped, "would you excuse me for some fire tonight?"
"Uhm, sure..." I replied as I tried to avoid eye contact.
"So who are you?"
"Timmy... You've grown up haven't you. Where is your mom now, still home?"
"Dad?"
"Yeah it's me, Tim."
He had disappeared so many years ago, abandoning me and my mother without much money.
"I just wanted to let you know I'm leaving all my money behind for you." He said,"thing ain't goin well for me sonny boy..."
Silence.
I wasn't sure if I was happy or not, missing for all these years and coming back, why couldn't he just have came back earlier?
Conflicting emotions objected around in my head.
*COUGH COUGH*
"Dad? Lets go inside now shall we?"
He followed me in as a layed him in bed.
He whispered some stories about when I was young.
He finally fell in deep sleep.
Passing away. | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | “Greetings…” it rasped at me from across the dying fire. I couldn’t see much, glowing red eyes, a human like silhouette. Tall, maybe a foot or so taller than any human I had met. “May I Share your fire tonight?”
Of course, I handled the situation as any stoner would. I simply closed my eyes, took a few deep breaths, opened the-
Fuck, it was still there… it was… shivering? It had to be eighty degrees out, even here in west Kentucky that was warm for the end of October…
“Hey, you ok?” I asked as I sat up in my lawn chair, looking over the fire to see it had its arms wrapped around its midsections.
“I… I am cold. I have been gone from home too long.” It stated, trying to move closer to the minuscule heat of the embers.
Home… he couldn’t be… no, they weren’t real. That would mean that the stories that my crazed grandfather told…
Oh well, I don’t work tomorrow and the wife was away in Vegas with her friends. I threw another log on the embers, grabbing a handful of the straw I had to my right and tossed it over the log.
It payed living next to a farmer, Darrel was a good guy after all. Never any fuss, gave him fire wood and straw, and all he had to do was keep quiet about the pot farm next to his property line.
Soon the fire caught again, light returning to the small clearing, illuminating the creatur-woman?
Sure as day, it was a woman. Long black hair, long black dress, the palest skin he had ever seen. The fire seemed to breath some relief into her, she huddled up to the flames, his body slowly stopping the tremors that had inhabited her form.
Her eyes were now coal black as well, a blank of charcoal, speckled with white spots that took in the fire between them.
“Thank the lord above that their is still some kindness in you humans.” She breathed out in relief, her voice no longer a raspy tome of suffering, but a lighter, softer, deep timber.
“Us humans?” He asked the woman as a smile formed on her face.
“We don’t get to see the good side of humanity very often back home…”
“… Home… it’s what we call hell, isn’t it?” I asked, my heart pounding a Barry white song in my chest.
Her smile turned kind, as she nodded.
A billion thought ran through my mind as I looked her over.
“Did my grandfather really beat the devil in a fucking fiddle contest?!” I blurt out, unable to stop myself.
She giggles.
“Oh, so that’s why you can communicate with me. Most humans can’t even see us. Your grandfather received a golden gift.” She leaned over the fire, her eyes glowing red again and her skin turning black. “My husband has been complaining about that contest for a century. How is John doing?” | The last thing I remembered since when I was just a little insignificant brat, was a campfire. I was always fond of them.
On the night of Christmas eve, I sat outside chilling with my friends by my campfire. We had fun talking to each other, roasting marshmallows and even making, well funny jokes. We sat there like selfish people not caring of other houses.
After all my friends left, so did the embers of fire. The final crackling sounds of the ember suddenly reminded me of something...
A few years ago, on this exact date, I remembered about my mom and my dad's conflict, leaving me and mom alone.
Looking back at the campfire, I see glowing crimson eyes, filled with nothingness.
At this moment I knew, he had loss all hope in this world.
"Greetings." it rasped, "would you excuse me for some fire tonight?"
"Uhm, sure..." I replied as I tried to avoid eye contact.
"So who are you?"
"Timmy... You've grown up haven't you. Where is your mom now, still home?"
"Dad?"
"Yeah it's me, Tim."
He had disappeared so many years ago, abandoning me and my mother without much money.
"I just wanted to let you know I'm leaving all my money behind for you." He said,"thing ain't goin well for me sonny boy..."
Silence.
I wasn't sure if I was happy or not, missing for all these years and coming back, why couldn't he just have came back earlier?
Conflicting emotions objected around in my head.
*COUGH COUGH*
"Dad? Lets go inside now shall we?"
He followed me in as a layed him in bed.
He whispered some stories about when I was young.
He finally fell in deep sleep.
Passing away. | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | “Sure.” The words left my lips in a little more than a whisper. I hold the gun sitting in my lap tightly. I know there’s no point in running now. I feel a bead of sweat rolling down my back as the eyes come closer, staring at me unwavering.
“What do you want?” I summon the courage to actually speak with conviction this time. My words coming out in plumes as my hot breath meets the cold air.
“I do not want.” It creeped closer to the fire. “I’m just here to rest and have a chat with a stranger. It’s cold this night.” It’s voice was just like the others of its kind. Drawn out hisses on the s words and a guttural gravel voice. “Sssssoooo it’sss not the ussssual that I’d run into one of your kind anymore.” The way they speak always send shivers down my spine. Also doesn’t help the words are coming out of some kind of human lizard hybrid with fucking knifes for teeth and crazy eyes. I’m surprised it knows human English.
What’s it been, 5 winters now? Two since I saw another human besides myself. Cold regions are pretty much the only places left safe because the bastards can’t let their temps drop below 40 degrees Fahrenheit. Luckily the freaks are also anti-technology. Something about electronics and machinery messes with their senses. Oh, how things have changed since the earth split open and we faced a fucking army of sharp teeth and tough skinned freaks.
“No your kind has made sure mine will no longer exist.” I spat out into the cold air between us.
“Mmmmm… it’s not what all of us wanted. But your kind doesn’t know peace.” The thing was close now. Right up to the coals. I’m sure it’s freezing. It must have a deathwish to be this far north in October. Then again, I’ve never seen one actually have a coat on until now.
“You don’t remember the before like we do, human. You see us as something new. Yet we have been together long before you primates could make the fire.” It paused to look around at the forest and stretched its human-like clawed hands over the dying flames. “We are each other. Just on different paths.”
“Well it was a hell of a family reunion.” I chucked another log in the fire and the freak made some kind of purring sound as the heat rose.
“Indeed.” We sat in silence for about 15 minutes before the creature sighed and began backing away. “You should head further North. We are doing details this direction. There’s warm air moving in from the west soon.” The freak was engulfed in darkness now and once again a set of glowing eyes in the woods.
“Thanks.” I huffed and went back to my cabin to begin packing. Moving at night was always safer because of the cold.
With my trusty backpack, compass, and torch I began the journey further north. Living to die another day. | The house was simply perfection. We fell in love with it at first sight of the photos on the Internet. Heck, we weren't even house shopping when we saw it. 6 months later, we are enjoying a nice adult night with friends out by the fire pit. Our back yard bordered a national forest so we were the popular spot for "fire pit nights" among our friends. Of course, people go home, and I am usually left by myself enjoying the last bit of the fire after even the family has gone inside.
As I finished my beer, I noticed what seemed to be a trick of the light in the edge of my yard. While it is fenced, there is a gate at the back so I can blow leaves out to the forest outside. Two glowing eyes slowly made their way to the fire pit area. Around them was inky shapeless blackness. They slowly came to the edge of the light from the fire and stopped.
"Greetings" it rasped in a voice from that general direction, but it felt also like it was inside my head, "May I share your fire tonight?"
It was probably the relaxation from the beer, but I nodded toward a chair across the fire from me, and spoke, "Sure, would you like a beer? I've got a couple left here in the cooler."
"Thanksssss" I heard the drawn out acceptance of my hospitality. In an instant, the darkness took the form of a man wearing a nice suit. They reached into my cooler and retrieved a beer and started to twist the cap off.
"Those aren't twist off..." I started to say, but they removed the cap with ease.
"They are for me, thank you." They sat down in the chair and stared at the fire for a few moments and silently drank the beer. They looked around the back yard, taking note of my koi pond and other landscaping I had done.
I broke the silence... "So, do you live... Out there?"
"Something like that. Out there is a good description. " They set the beer down and held their hands near the fire to warm them up. "My... *People*, live in many places that your people do not." It was then I noticed their ears were pointed as one peeked out from underneath their long black hair. "Ah, yes. You noticed I'm not... well, human. It is okay, I accept your hospitality and no harm will come to you or your family, I assure you. I have not shared a campfire with your people in a number of years, and it is nice sometimes."
"Um, thank you. When you say my people, and not human, how do you identify your people?" I was probably a little too relaxed at the moment. Beer will do that, well, several beers will do that.
"My... people, are, well, we've been called many things by your people. We live mostly in the shadows in between the places and things. We cannot resist a warm fire, however on a chilly night. Especially when we know the creator of the fire has done so in hospitality." they paused. "But I have not answered your question, have I ?"
"To be honest, I don't know that I need that answer since we are simply enjoying the dying embers of a fire built in friendship. Besides, I can't tell them..." I nodded toward the house, " that I enjoyed a beer with a Fae, Vampire or Koushtaka. I'm guessing you aren't a Wendigo, because we are too far south, and you aren't trying to eat me." I waited to see if they confirmed anything.
"Ah, so you know of the death otters?" They seemed intrigued.
"Well, in stories, like, what are considered fantasy works of fiction by modern writers. I figure most *myths* are somewhat rooted either in truth, or in a desire to explain the unexplained, or unexplainable."
"Myths..." they considered the word and how I defined it. "Well, you put that very eloquently. I am, my people are, or have been confused with, I should say, those that you mentioned. Except for the wendigo, they, are people in the north who became ill with the disease rabies and lashed out. It was easier to say a spirit corrupted them than admit that they succumbed to a disease of animals. The early humans who lived here, before those from your lineage in Africa and then Europe, although, go back far enough and it is all African via different routes. They feared and worshiped us, initially. Then, they met your ancestors who decided they would conquer instead of coexist. Our people knew after the Jamestown incident that we wouldn't stop colonization, so we stayed on our side of the veil mostly. " they shrugged. "Perhaps you know already and are simply looking for confirmation. "
"I don't require a label to be honest. I can sit and enjoy the warmth of the coals and the night sounds." I felt like I didn't need to push it in any direction. I couldn't tell anyone about this anyway. NOBODY would understand.
"Your hospitality is appreciated, especially without the questions. Sometimes, the answers to the questions cause excitement that..." their voice trailed off.
"How's your beer doing? I've got one more here, and I do not need to drink another one." I held up the bottle.
"No thank you. The fire is enough. Seeing how the fire is almost out, I will bid you thanks, and return to my home. Thank you for your hospitality, it is appreciated more than you know."
"You are welcome to return to future fire pit nights if you choose. You have been a wonderful guest this evening."
"Perhaps..."
With that, they stood up and walked over to offer their hand which I shook. The moment I released their hand, they turned into the inky blackness I had seen with the two glowing eyes and shot back into the woods.
"Well that was weird." I muttered under my breath as I poured my fire bucket on the last of the embers. Satisfied that the fire was out, I went inside. | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | Friend, Stranger, and Foe
“What a beautiful night, but it is depressing seeing Orion.” I said to myself; contemplating how the arrival of his constellation signaled impending winter cold. I used my fire poker to trace out the stars that made his belt and bow. Then, lazily stirred the warm embers. To most, embers signal the end of a fire. To me, it was the most magical part of it: their orange glow creating illusions of light and shadow more relaxed than that of the furious pace of bonfire flames. Embers suited me better.
“Greetings,” someone hissed from the edge of my tree line. “May I share your fire with you tonight?” Its red eyes glowed as it mouth the sad sounding request.
“Friend, stranger, and even foe are all welcome to share my fire. I find a warm fire and the conversation it provides do adequate at making the the two later into the first. What is your name, stranger?” I asked, making sure to word the question so as not to make my guest think I was trying to steal their name as the fae of old had done. Beings such as this, what we called mythical, were keenly attuned to those types of things. I was keenly attuned to not being perceived as a threat.
The beast smiled at the welcome; its fangs showing long and sharp, yellow even in the orange glow. “I am the one who is called Detonian the vile.” It approached low, not moving upright as a person or Minotaur. I couldn’t yet make out the features of its body or limbs, if it even had those. I had learned shortly after moving in to this home not to assume things like physical features and species.
As Detonian made their way opposite me at the fire I began to make out its form. I understood the title “The Vile” immediately. They were a sludge beast; creatures known to be ill tempered under normal circumstances, quite dangerous when provoked. Their bodies were wormlike with several pores that oozed a tar like liquid. I was surprised at the lack of smell. That was clearly an embellished detail passed on in lore. The arms extending shortly below the head were roughly half the length of its six foot body; eight inch talons ended them.
“It is not common for a human to extend such a courtesy to my kind. It is much appreciated, I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.” He growled.
“And you won’t, either. It is my name and I intend to keep it.” I replied, making sure to flex my knowledge of the tricks cryptids could use to take advantage of a mere mortal.
“Hwaa ha ha haaa,” howled Detonian, “Good sir, while I do not intend to use your name other than to know how to refer to you, I am pleased to meet a hu-man that knows of our ways. If you allow, may I rephrase my question?”
“You may.”
“Sir,” he smiled a threatening but polite toothy smile, “how may I refer to you?”
“Please, call me Richard.” I considered lying, but lore said Detonian’s kind were intuitive and bringing trouble to myself this evening was undesirable.
“Richard, I am grateful for your fire this evening. My kind are not accustomed to the cold of this area.”
I added a few small logs to the fire and we spoke long into the early hours of the morning. Each of us shared our understandings of the other’s kind. Each of us learning that our knowledge was lacking, as hardly anything we knew was correct. We became friends and by the time the fire had died agreed to meet again. I assured him he was welcome to my fire anytime. This was a night bridges were built and neither would forget. | The house was simply perfection. We fell in love with it at first sight of the photos on the Internet. Heck, we weren't even house shopping when we saw it. 6 months later, we are enjoying a nice adult night with friends out by the fire pit. Our back yard bordered a national forest so we were the popular spot for "fire pit nights" among our friends. Of course, people go home, and I am usually left by myself enjoying the last bit of the fire after even the family has gone inside.
As I finished my beer, I noticed what seemed to be a trick of the light in the edge of my yard. While it is fenced, there is a gate at the back so I can blow leaves out to the forest outside. Two glowing eyes slowly made their way to the fire pit area. Around them was inky shapeless blackness. They slowly came to the edge of the light from the fire and stopped.
"Greetings" it rasped in a voice from that general direction, but it felt also like it was inside my head, "May I share your fire tonight?"
It was probably the relaxation from the beer, but I nodded toward a chair across the fire from me, and spoke, "Sure, would you like a beer? I've got a couple left here in the cooler."
"Thanksssss" I heard the drawn out acceptance of my hospitality. In an instant, the darkness took the form of a man wearing a nice suit. They reached into my cooler and retrieved a beer and started to twist the cap off.
"Those aren't twist off..." I started to say, but they removed the cap with ease.
"They are for me, thank you." They sat down in the chair and stared at the fire for a few moments and silently drank the beer. They looked around the back yard, taking note of my koi pond and other landscaping I had done.
I broke the silence... "So, do you live... Out there?"
"Something like that. Out there is a good description. " They set the beer down and held their hands near the fire to warm them up. "My... *People*, live in many places that your people do not." It was then I noticed their ears were pointed as one peeked out from underneath their long black hair. "Ah, yes. You noticed I'm not... well, human. It is okay, I accept your hospitality and no harm will come to you or your family, I assure you. I have not shared a campfire with your people in a number of years, and it is nice sometimes."
"Um, thank you. When you say my people, and not human, how do you identify your people?" I was probably a little too relaxed at the moment. Beer will do that, well, several beers will do that.
"My... people, are, well, we've been called many things by your people. We live mostly in the shadows in between the places and things. We cannot resist a warm fire, however on a chilly night. Especially when we know the creator of the fire has done so in hospitality." they paused. "But I have not answered your question, have I ?"
"To be honest, I don't know that I need that answer since we are simply enjoying the dying embers of a fire built in friendship. Besides, I can't tell them..." I nodded toward the house, " that I enjoyed a beer with a Fae, Vampire or Koushtaka. I'm guessing you aren't a Wendigo, because we are too far south, and you aren't trying to eat me." I waited to see if they confirmed anything.
"Ah, so you know of the death otters?" They seemed intrigued.
"Well, in stories, like, what are considered fantasy works of fiction by modern writers. I figure most *myths* are somewhat rooted either in truth, or in a desire to explain the unexplained, or unexplainable."
"Myths..." they considered the word and how I defined it. "Well, you put that very eloquently. I am, my people are, or have been confused with, I should say, those that you mentioned. Except for the wendigo, they, are people in the north who became ill with the disease rabies and lashed out. It was easier to say a spirit corrupted them than admit that they succumbed to a disease of animals. The early humans who lived here, before those from your lineage in Africa and then Europe, although, go back far enough and it is all African via different routes. They feared and worshiped us, initially. Then, they met your ancestors who decided they would conquer instead of coexist. Our people knew after the Jamestown incident that we wouldn't stop colonization, so we stayed on our side of the veil mostly. " they shrugged. "Perhaps you know already and are simply looking for confirmation. "
"I don't require a label to be honest. I can sit and enjoy the warmth of the coals and the night sounds." I felt like I didn't need to push it in any direction. I couldn't tell anyone about this anyway. NOBODY would understand.
"Your hospitality is appreciated, especially without the questions. Sometimes, the answers to the questions cause excitement that..." their voice trailed off.
"How's your beer doing? I've got one more here, and I do not need to drink another one." I held up the bottle.
"No thank you. The fire is enough. Seeing how the fire is almost out, I will bid you thanks, and return to my home. Thank you for your hospitality, it is appreciated more than you know."
"You are welcome to return to future fire pit nights if you choose. You have been a wonderful guest this evening."
"Perhaps..."
With that, they stood up and walked over to offer their hand which I shook. The moment I released their hand, they turned into the inky blackness I had seen with the two glowing eyes and shot back into the woods.
"Well that was weird." I muttered under my breath as I poured my fire bucket on the last of the embers. Satisfied that the fire was out, I went inside. | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | “Greetings…” it rasped at me from across the dying fire. I couldn’t see much, glowing red eyes, a human like silhouette. Tall, maybe a foot or so taller than any human I had met. “May I Share your fire tonight?”
Of course, I handled the situation as any stoner would. I simply closed my eyes, took a few deep breaths, opened the-
Fuck, it was still there… it was… shivering? It had to be eighty degrees out, even here in west Kentucky that was warm for the end of October…
“Hey, you ok?” I asked as I sat up in my lawn chair, looking over the fire to see it had its arms wrapped around its midsections.
“I… I am cold. I have been gone from home too long.” It stated, trying to move closer to the minuscule heat of the embers.
Home… he couldn’t be… no, they weren’t real. That would mean that the stories that my crazed grandfather told…
Oh well, I don’t work tomorrow and the wife was away in Vegas with her friends. I threw another log on the embers, grabbing a handful of the straw I had to my right and tossed it over the log.
It payed living next to a farmer, Darrel was a good guy after all. Never any fuss, gave him fire wood and straw, and all he had to do was keep quiet about the pot farm next to his property line.
Soon the fire caught again, light returning to the small clearing, illuminating the creatur-woman?
Sure as day, it was a woman. Long black hair, long black dress, the palest skin he had ever seen. The fire seemed to breath some relief into her, she huddled up to the flames, his body slowly stopping the tremors that had inhabited her form.
Her eyes were now coal black as well, a blank of charcoal, speckled with white spots that took in the fire between them.
“Thank the lord above that their is still some kindness in you humans.” She breathed out in relief, her voice no longer a raspy tome of suffering, but a lighter, softer, deep timber.
“Us humans?” He asked the woman as a smile formed on her face.
“We don’t get to see the good side of humanity very often back home…”
“… Home… it’s what we call hell, isn’t it?” I asked, my heart pounding a Barry white song in my chest.
Her smile turned kind, as she nodded.
A billion thought ran through my mind as I looked her over.
“Did my grandfather really beat the devil in a fucking fiddle contest?!” I blurt out, unable to stop myself.
She giggles.
“Oh, so that’s why you can communicate with me. Most humans can’t even see us. Your grandfather received a golden gift.” She leaned over the fire, her eyes glowing red again and her skin turning black. “My husband has been complaining about that contest for a century. How is John doing?” | The house was simply perfection. We fell in love with it at first sight of the photos on the Internet. Heck, we weren't even house shopping when we saw it. 6 months later, we are enjoying a nice adult night with friends out by the fire pit. Our back yard bordered a national forest so we were the popular spot for "fire pit nights" among our friends. Of course, people go home, and I am usually left by myself enjoying the last bit of the fire after even the family has gone inside.
As I finished my beer, I noticed what seemed to be a trick of the light in the edge of my yard. While it is fenced, there is a gate at the back so I can blow leaves out to the forest outside. Two glowing eyes slowly made their way to the fire pit area. Around them was inky shapeless blackness. They slowly came to the edge of the light from the fire and stopped.
"Greetings" it rasped in a voice from that general direction, but it felt also like it was inside my head, "May I share your fire tonight?"
It was probably the relaxation from the beer, but I nodded toward a chair across the fire from me, and spoke, "Sure, would you like a beer? I've got a couple left here in the cooler."
"Thanksssss" I heard the drawn out acceptance of my hospitality. In an instant, the darkness took the form of a man wearing a nice suit. They reached into my cooler and retrieved a beer and started to twist the cap off.
"Those aren't twist off..." I started to say, but they removed the cap with ease.
"They are for me, thank you." They sat down in the chair and stared at the fire for a few moments and silently drank the beer. They looked around the back yard, taking note of my koi pond and other landscaping I had done.
I broke the silence... "So, do you live... Out there?"
"Something like that. Out there is a good description. " They set the beer down and held their hands near the fire to warm them up. "My... *People*, live in many places that your people do not." It was then I noticed their ears were pointed as one peeked out from underneath their long black hair. "Ah, yes. You noticed I'm not... well, human. It is okay, I accept your hospitality and no harm will come to you or your family, I assure you. I have not shared a campfire with your people in a number of years, and it is nice sometimes."
"Um, thank you. When you say my people, and not human, how do you identify your people?" I was probably a little too relaxed at the moment. Beer will do that, well, several beers will do that.
"My... people, are, well, we've been called many things by your people. We live mostly in the shadows in between the places and things. We cannot resist a warm fire, however on a chilly night. Especially when we know the creator of the fire has done so in hospitality." they paused. "But I have not answered your question, have I ?"
"To be honest, I don't know that I need that answer since we are simply enjoying the dying embers of a fire built in friendship. Besides, I can't tell them..." I nodded toward the house, " that I enjoyed a beer with a Fae, Vampire or Koushtaka. I'm guessing you aren't a Wendigo, because we are too far south, and you aren't trying to eat me." I waited to see if they confirmed anything.
"Ah, so you know of the death otters?" They seemed intrigued.
"Well, in stories, like, what are considered fantasy works of fiction by modern writers. I figure most *myths* are somewhat rooted either in truth, or in a desire to explain the unexplained, or unexplainable."
"Myths..." they considered the word and how I defined it. "Well, you put that very eloquently. I am, my people are, or have been confused with, I should say, those that you mentioned. Except for the wendigo, they, are people in the north who became ill with the disease rabies and lashed out. It was easier to say a spirit corrupted them than admit that they succumbed to a disease of animals. The early humans who lived here, before those from your lineage in Africa and then Europe, although, go back far enough and it is all African via different routes. They feared and worshiped us, initially. Then, they met your ancestors who decided they would conquer instead of coexist. Our people knew after the Jamestown incident that we wouldn't stop colonization, so we stayed on our side of the veil mostly. " they shrugged. "Perhaps you know already and are simply looking for confirmation. "
"I don't require a label to be honest. I can sit and enjoy the warmth of the coals and the night sounds." I felt like I didn't need to push it in any direction. I couldn't tell anyone about this anyway. NOBODY would understand.
"Your hospitality is appreciated, especially without the questions. Sometimes, the answers to the questions cause excitement that..." their voice trailed off.
"How's your beer doing? I've got one more here, and I do not need to drink another one." I held up the bottle.
"No thank you. The fire is enough. Seeing how the fire is almost out, I will bid you thanks, and return to my home. Thank you for your hospitality, it is appreciated more than you know."
"You are welcome to return to future fire pit nights if you choose. You have been a wonderful guest this evening."
"Perhaps..."
With that, they stood up and walked over to offer their hand which I shook. The moment I released their hand, they turned into the inky blackness I had seen with the two glowing eyes and shot back into the woods.
"Well that was weird." I muttered under my breath as I poured my fire bucket on the last of the embers. Satisfied that the fire was out, I went inside. | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | Friend, Stranger, and Foe
“What a beautiful night, but it is depressing seeing Orion.” I said to myself; contemplating how the arrival of his constellation signaled impending winter cold. I used my fire poker to trace out the stars that made his belt and bow. Then, lazily stirred the warm embers. To most, embers signal the end of a fire. To me, it was the most magical part of it: their orange glow creating illusions of light and shadow more relaxed than that of the furious pace of bonfire flames. Embers suited me better.
“Greetings,” someone hissed from the edge of my tree line. “May I share your fire with you tonight?” Its red eyes glowed as it mouth the sad sounding request.
“Friend, stranger, and even foe are all welcome to share my fire. I find a warm fire and the conversation it provides do adequate at making the the two later into the first. What is your name, stranger?” I asked, making sure to word the question so as not to make my guest think I was trying to steal their name as the fae of old had done. Beings such as this, what we called mythical, were keenly attuned to those types of things. I was keenly attuned to not being perceived as a threat.
The beast smiled at the welcome; its fangs showing long and sharp, yellow even in the orange glow. “I am the one who is called Detonian the vile.” It approached low, not moving upright as a person or Minotaur. I couldn’t yet make out the features of its body or limbs, if it even had those. I had learned shortly after moving in to this home not to assume things like physical features and species.
As Detonian made their way opposite me at the fire I began to make out its form. I understood the title “The Vile” immediately. They were a sludge beast; creatures known to be ill tempered under normal circumstances, quite dangerous when provoked. Their bodies were wormlike with several pores that oozed a tar like liquid. I was surprised at the lack of smell. That was clearly an embellished detail passed on in lore. The arms extending shortly below the head were roughly half the length of its six foot body; eight inch talons ended them.
“It is not common for a human to extend such a courtesy to my kind. It is much appreciated, I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.” He growled.
“And you won’t, either. It is my name and I intend to keep it.” I replied, making sure to flex my knowledge of the tricks cryptids could use to take advantage of a mere mortal.
“Hwaa ha ha haaa,” howled Detonian, “Good sir, while I do not intend to use your name other than to know how to refer to you, I am pleased to meet a hu-man that knows of our ways. If you allow, may I rephrase my question?”
“You may.”
“Sir,” he smiled a threatening but polite toothy smile, “how may I refer to you?”
“Please, call me Richard.” I considered lying, but lore said Detonian’s kind were intuitive and bringing trouble to myself this evening was undesirable.
“Richard, I am grateful for your fire this evening. My kind are not accustomed to the cold of this area.”
I added a few small logs to the fire and we spoke long into the early hours of the morning. Each of us shared our understandings of the other’s kind. Each of us learning that our knowledge was lacking, as hardly anything we knew was correct. We became friends and by the time the fire had died agreed to meet again. I assured him he was welcome to my fire anytime. This was a night bridges were built and neither would forget. | “Sure.” The words left my lips in a little more than a whisper. I hold the gun sitting in my lap tightly. I know there’s no point in running now. I feel a bead of sweat rolling down my back as the eyes come closer, staring at me unwavering.
“What do you want?” I summon the courage to actually speak with conviction this time. My words coming out in plumes as my hot breath meets the cold air.
“I do not want.” It creeped closer to the fire. “I’m just here to rest and have a chat with a stranger. It’s cold this night.” It’s voice was just like the others of its kind. Drawn out hisses on the s words and a guttural gravel voice. “Sssssoooo it’sss not the ussssual that I’d run into one of your kind anymore.” The way they speak always send shivers down my spine. Also doesn’t help the words are coming out of some kind of human lizard hybrid with fucking knifes for teeth and crazy eyes. I’m surprised it knows human English.
What’s it been, 5 winters now? Two since I saw another human besides myself. Cold regions are pretty much the only places left safe because the bastards can’t let their temps drop below 40 degrees Fahrenheit. Luckily the freaks are also anti-technology. Something about electronics and machinery messes with their senses. Oh, how things have changed since the earth split open and we faced a fucking army of sharp teeth and tough skinned freaks.
“No your kind has made sure mine will no longer exist.” I spat out into the cold air between us.
“Mmmmm… it’s not what all of us wanted. But your kind doesn’t know peace.” The thing was close now. Right up to the coals. I’m sure it’s freezing. It must have a deathwish to be this far north in October. Then again, I’ve never seen one actually have a coat on until now.
“You don’t remember the before like we do, human. You see us as something new. Yet we have been together long before you primates could make the fire.” It paused to look around at the forest and stretched its human-like clawed hands over the dying flames. “We are each other. Just on different paths.”
“Well it was a hell of a family reunion.” I chucked another log in the fire and the freak made some kind of purring sound as the heat rose.
“Indeed.” We sat in silence for about 15 minutes before the creature sighed and began backing away. “You should head further North. We are doing details this direction. There’s warm air moving in from the west soon.” The freak was engulfed in darkness now and once again a set of glowing eyes in the woods.
“Thanks.” I huffed and went back to my cabin to begin packing. Moving at night was always safer because of the cold.
With my trusty backpack, compass, and torch I began the journey further north. Living to die another day. | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | “Greetings…” it rasped at me from across the dying fire. I couldn’t see much, glowing red eyes, a human like silhouette. Tall, maybe a foot or so taller than any human I had met. “May I Share your fire tonight?”
Of course, I handled the situation as any stoner would. I simply closed my eyes, took a few deep breaths, opened the-
Fuck, it was still there… it was… shivering? It had to be eighty degrees out, even here in west Kentucky that was warm for the end of October…
“Hey, you ok?” I asked as I sat up in my lawn chair, looking over the fire to see it had its arms wrapped around its midsections.
“I… I am cold. I have been gone from home too long.” It stated, trying to move closer to the minuscule heat of the embers.
Home… he couldn’t be… no, they weren’t real. That would mean that the stories that my crazed grandfather told…
Oh well, I don’t work tomorrow and the wife was away in Vegas with her friends. I threw another log on the embers, grabbing a handful of the straw I had to my right and tossed it over the log.
It payed living next to a farmer, Darrel was a good guy after all. Never any fuss, gave him fire wood and straw, and all he had to do was keep quiet about the pot farm next to his property line.
Soon the fire caught again, light returning to the small clearing, illuminating the creatur-woman?
Sure as day, it was a woman. Long black hair, long black dress, the palest skin he had ever seen. The fire seemed to breath some relief into her, she huddled up to the flames, his body slowly stopping the tremors that had inhabited her form.
Her eyes were now coal black as well, a blank of charcoal, speckled with white spots that took in the fire between them.
“Thank the lord above that their is still some kindness in you humans.” She breathed out in relief, her voice no longer a raspy tome of suffering, but a lighter, softer, deep timber.
“Us humans?” He asked the woman as a smile formed on her face.
“We don’t get to see the good side of humanity very often back home…”
“… Home… it’s what we call hell, isn’t it?” I asked, my heart pounding a Barry white song in my chest.
Her smile turned kind, as she nodded.
A billion thought ran through my mind as I looked her over.
“Did my grandfather really beat the devil in a fucking fiddle contest?!” I blurt out, unable to stop myself.
She giggles.
“Oh, so that’s why you can communicate with me. Most humans can’t even see us. Your grandfather received a golden gift.” She leaned over the fire, her eyes glowing red again and her skin turning black. “My husband has been complaining about that contest for a century. How is John doing?” | *This is a sequel to another prompt I did a while back, [which is here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/dl8nrh/wp_after_a_genie_serves_1000_masters_and_gives/f4pj1ur/). It's definitely a divergence from the thread prompt, but I liked the setup it gave me and have been meaning to write a sequel. Enjoy!*
Toryik leaned into the step, working out the soreness of the day in the warmth of his fire. It was a familiar feeling, one that came most days in this place.
Every morning he got up, made a hearty meal, and upon being summoned to a new mortal, granted their desire. Then he returned, hunted for game or firewood till the sun began to dip, and was summoned to the mortal's aid once more, often so they could compound on their wishes in greed. He'd tidy up from the day's work, set a fire for the nights cooking, and return to the mortal for one last mistake, or on rare occasions, a righting of several. Finally, it was back to his home and dinner, perfect and delicious as always.
Toryik didn't particularly mind his fate. His people, now a distant memory in the oceans of time, had told stories of afterlives of glory and honor, constant war and grand feast halls. If such things existed, they would have bored him. Toryik had been a simple mortal, and never wanted for more than he needed. In many ways, his so-called enslavement had been a boon; his fellow raiders had been put to the sword in a far-off land, while he had gained a private cottage and immortality.
He glanced at the dying fire, eyes pausing on the other haunch of lynx appraisingly, then groaned back into a sitting position. As he reached for his stick to stir the embers, he froze.
Across from him, hovering at chest height in the dark of the firs, two eyes smoldered like green coals. As they locked to his own, a glint of white fang opened underneath, and a voice like the bark of an ash tree rasped out.
"Greetings," the beast spoke. "May I share the warmth of your fire?"
Toryik pondered his options. His axe was far from him, his hunting knife insufficient to kill before a bear or wolf reached his throat. The stick in his hand, meant for stirring the fire, was possibly sturdy enough to break a mundane wolf's charge, but the beast was large enough that it would probably snap it like so much kindling. With only a plan to kick up embers in mind, Toryik decided to nod, beckoning the monster forth.
It was not a bear, or a wolf, or indeed anything Toryik had ever seen. The beast most resembled his dinner in life, a lynx, but of a scale even legends of monsters would have thought more ridiculous than terrible; an opinion he no longer shared. Its muzzle could have opened to take in a man's head, its paws dinnerplates. The fur was golden, the body as large as any bear, and around its neck a mane the color of a maple tree in the harvest season flowed down the shoulders like a cape. When it moved, it was as water flowed; where it went, a smell like the warm fields of the southern lands followed. As Toryik watched, hand gripping the stick and aches forgotten, the cat sat by the fire across from him, light glimmering in its eyes.
"What are you?" Toryik asked. "A spirit? Some god, come to show me humility? A fever dream?"
The beast flashed fangs again, in a very human smile that raised his own hackles all the worse than a snarl might have. "All of that and none, my friend," it replied in a voice like rainfall on leaves, "as I would say of you."
Toryik's eyes widened, and he let go of the stick. It would be useless for a fight after all; only his axe could possibly help here. Instead, he leaned forward with some interest, asking what he already knew. "You are like me? A wish-giver?"
"A different binding, but we are kin," it replied, laying down to cover half the area around the fire. "For tonight, I am your guest, and you may ask one favor of me."
"A favor?"
"A wish," it clarified, "but that is work, and work comes after the fire is put out in the morning."
Toryik decided to accept this after a moment, despite his thoughts on how his 'guest' had gained that title. He opted to take up the stick once again, and return to tending the now-smoldering fire.
"Can I offer you something?" he asked the beast. "I'm going to get some more wood, and won't be back for a while."
"That shank looks delicious," it replied, eyeing the lynx. "I would not want to impose, but drink might be welcome. It is a night to celebrate, after all."
Toryik pushed the lynx over as he got up, soreness making itself known once more as he headed into the cottage. Emerging with a small cask of monk's whiskey(an old, treasured bit of plunder that thankfully followed him to this place) and his axe, he asked of the cat, "A night to celebrate? What, your arrival?"
"You don't know?". It took a bite of meat as he set down the cask and walked to the chopping block. "Tonight, you have served a thousand masters, and granted each all they were entitled to ask for. Now it is your turn."
Toryik hefted the axe, bringing it down on an overlarge log as he thought. A thousand masters? Was that all? Surely it was more, and there was no need for fanfare. He did his job and liked it, far more than he'd ever liked raiding. It felt almost perverse to get a reward, when he had everything he needed already.
He returned to the fire in silence, stacking up a new chimney on the guttering coals to make a proper roasting fire. The lynx would not be enough for them, once they'd gotten into the drink, and he had a small boar hanging up that he'd been saving for the next wood day. Taking his axe up again, he slipped into the forest, cut down a yearling tree, and dragged it back to the fire to fashion a spit.
The cat watched in silence, finishing its snack, and only broke the silence once he'd set up the boar and fetched some mugs. | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | I don't say anything. Just nod and gesture to a place by the dying flames.
The thing drags itself out of the dark using two long pale arms, probably strong enough to rip me in two. It's draped with scrapes of burlap, denim, silk, binding a shell of garbage and waste. It slowly crawls towards the fire, the earth torn up at the passing as the light glints off plastic and metal edges.
"I find myself surprised," it says, its voice somewhere between nails on a chalkboard and someone who hasn't drunk water in days, "you are the first to not fear me. Did you think I'd not harm you?"
"I gave ye succor. Heat, food, drink, it all counts. You are bound to me and mine and I to you. Host and guest."
"*ʃe̞t kænənekt,*" it says in a tongue that's old as the trees surrounding my moldy cabin, "you know of Old Ways, human. The way of bone and blood and wildflowers."
"Got ma moments. More binding to ye then me," I say, "still, I'll follow them if you do."
"An accord is struck," said the thing as it moved closer to the fire. It might've been beautiful once. Now it dragged a cloak of trash with it like a slug, coated with a layer of slime, dirt, and oil for good measure.
"What's one of yer kind doing here? I thought you preferred the deeper woods."
"I wander. Especially on beautiful nights like this one."
I think I see glimmer of gossamer wings through a whole in the cloak of refuse. It's got a purplish or blue sheen to it.
"I see that," I say - there's not much more as we watch the last few embers die down and listen to the crickets sing. The thing crosses its pale, clammy arms, and breathes slowly as it stares into the flames. When they've finally gone dark, I'm left with the thing to be solely illuminated through starlight. .
"I was just thinking..." it says with a chuckle.
"Hm?"
"It's rather ironic. All we had to do was wait in the end. There were so many that were convinced that humans were unstoppable."
"We were too."
"Evidently."
The nuclear winter put us back in our place real quick, I think but do not add.
"Avarice and arrogance are not a recipe for sustainable long term goals," I say.
"You're a Hunter, aren't you? I smelt the blood a mile way."
I say nothing - there's no reason to deny or affirm it either way. Fortunately for me, the pager in my pocket goes off. Two creatures. Shoot to kill."
"I'll be back soon. Feel free to stay by what remains," I say as I pick a rifle and move out into the trees.
It doesn't take me long to find them - they're in woods I know like the back of my hands, including what's left of the old trail system. I aim, drop the first - the second wee beastie falls as well after manging to scream for a baby.
There's no blood or guts on me, just silence and red-stained snow as I walk back. I like it that way - clean, professional, precise. I might not do the work with great enthusiasm , but I do do it well.
And when I come back from the hunt, I see hat the load on the elf has gotten a little smaller.
​
*I write all sorts of things over at* /r/The_Alloqium*.* | *This is a sequel to another prompt I did a while back, [which is here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/dl8nrh/wp_after_a_genie_serves_1000_masters_and_gives/f4pj1ur/). It's definitely a divergence from the thread prompt, but I liked the setup it gave me and have been meaning to write a sequel. Enjoy!*
Toryik leaned into the step, working out the soreness of the day in the warmth of his fire. It was a familiar feeling, one that came most days in this place.
Every morning he got up, made a hearty meal, and upon being summoned to a new mortal, granted their desire. Then he returned, hunted for game or firewood till the sun began to dip, and was summoned to the mortal's aid once more, often so they could compound on their wishes in greed. He'd tidy up from the day's work, set a fire for the nights cooking, and return to the mortal for one last mistake, or on rare occasions, a righting of several. Finally, it was back to his home and dinner, perfect and delicious as always.
Toryik didn't particularly mind his fate. His people, now a distant memory in the oceans of time, had told stories of afterlives of glory and honor, constant war and grand feast halls. If such things existed, they would have bored him. Toryik had been a simple mortal, and never wanted for more than he needed. In many ways, his so-called enslavement had been a boon; his fellow raiders had been put to the sword in a far-off land, while he had gained a private cottage and immortality.
He glanced at the dying fire, eyes pausing on the other haunch of lynx appraisingly, then groaned back into a sitting position. As he reached for his stick to stir the embers, he froze.
Across from him, hovering at chest height in the dark of the firs, two eyes smoldered like green coals. As they locked to his own, a glint of white fang opened underneath, and a voice like the bark of an ash tree rasped out.
"Greetings," the beast spoke. "May I share the warmth of your fire?"
Toryik pondered his options. His axe was far from him, his hunting knife insufficient to kill before a bear or wolf reached his throat. The stick in his hand, meant for stirring the fire, was possibly sturdy enough to break a mundane wolf's charge, but the beast was large enough that it would probably snap it like so much kindling. With only a plan to kick up embers in mind, Toryik decided to nod, beckoning the monster forth.
It was not a bear, or a wolf, or indeed anything Toryik had ever seen. The beast most resembled his dinner in life, a lynx, but of a scale even legends of monsters would have thought more ridiculous than terrible; an opinion he no longer shared. Its muzzle could have opened to take in a man's head, its paws dinnerplates. The fur was golden, the body as large as any bear, and around its neck a mane the color of a maple tree in the harvest season flowed down the shoulders like a cape. When it moved, it was as water flowed; where it went, a smell like the warm fields of the southern lands followed. As Toryik watched, hand gripping the stick and aches forgotten, the cat sat by the fire across from him, light glimmering in its eyes.
"What are you?" Toryik asked. "A spirit? Some god, come to show me humility? A fever dream?"
The beast flashed fangs again, in a very human smile that raised his own hackles all the worse than a snarl might have. "All of that and none, my friend," it replied in a voice like rainfall on leaves, "as I would say of you."
Toryik's eyes widened, and he let go of the stick. It would be useless for a fight after all; only his axe could possibly help here. Instead, he leaned forward with some interest, asking what he already knew. "You are like me? A wish-giver?"
"A different binding, but we are kin," it replied, laying down to cover half the area around the fire. "For tonight, I am your guest, and you may ask one favor of me."
"A favor?"
"A wish," it clarified, "but that is work, and work comes after the fire is put out in the morning."
Toryik decided to accept this after a moment, despite his thoughts on how his 'guest' had gained that title. He opted to take up the stick once again, and return to tending the now-smoldering fire.
"Can I offer you something?" he asked the beast. "I'm going to get some more wood, and won't be back for a while."
"That shank looks delicious," it replied, eyeing the lynx. "I would not want to impose, but drink might be welcome. It is a night to celebrate, after all."
Toryik pushed the lynx over as he got up, soreness making itself known once more as he headed into the cottage. Emerging with a small cask of monk's whiskey(an old, treasured bit of plunder that thankfully followed him to this place) and his axe, he asked of the cat, "A night to celebrate? What, your arrival?"
"You don't know?". It took a bite of meat as he set down the cask and walked to the chopping block. "Tonight, you have served a thousand masters, and granted each all they were entitled to ask for. Now it is your turn."
Toryik hefted the axe, bringing it down on an overlarge log as he thought. A thousand masters? Was that all? Surely it was more, and there was no need for fanfare. He did his job and liked it, far more than he'd ever liked raiding. It felt almost perverse to get a reward, when he had everything he needed already.
He returned to the fire in silence, stacking up a new chimney on the guttering coals to make a proper roasting fire. The lynx would not be enough for them, once they'd gotten into the drink, and he had a small boar hanging up that he'd been saving for the next wood day. Taking his axe up again, he slipped into the forest, cut down a yearling tree, and dragged it back to the fire to fashion a spit.
The cat watched in silence, finishing its snack, and only broke the silence once he'd set up the boar and fetched some mugs. | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | I’ve always enjoyed this little cabin with it’s view of the mountains and view of Deep Lake. Far from civilization it gives me a sense of calm unlike anywhere else. Watching the moon rise over the mountains while I sit by the firepit out front has been one of my favorite pastimes for so many years now it’s hard to remember when I started.
As my fire burned down and I was tired enough for the evening, at the edge of the trees I could see a pair of eyes softly glowing in the distance.
“I can see you over there, you can come closer, I'm not going to bite.”
The eyes unblinkingly grew closer.
At the edge of my light they spoke, “Greetings, may I share the fire with you tonight?”
“I don’t see why not,” I reach for the last pair of logs near my chair, “I think I can keep the fire going a little while longer.”
“Thank you.”
The eyes got closer but stayed just out of the light, unmoving.
“Why don’t you come over here and have a seat closer to the fire,” I gestured to the other chairs, “have your pick, they're nice and sturdy, I built them years ago with my grandkids,” I smiled, “We worked a whole summer out here making them and my cabin.”
“Some find my form… unsettling, you may not wish to see me now.”
“Alright then if you prefer,” silence followed for what felt like forever. “So what brings you out to my neck of the woods?”
“I’m picking up an old friend. But they don’t know it yet.”
“Whisking someone off in the dead of night without them knowing? Little spooky don’t you think?”
“I’ll talk with them first so it’s not too upsetting. It’s the preferred way.”
“How’s that the preferred way?”
Silence followed for so long I was about to speak, “It’s easier,” there was a pain in their voice. I knew I shouldn’t press further.
“So are you meeting them by the lake? You should know the forecast said a snowstorm was moving in.”
“It won’t be much of a concern for us, the weather never is.”
“The prepared type huh? That’s always good.”
We sat in silence as the fire burned down and was barely more than embers. It had gotten very cold by now. I looked to the stars above and saw the clouds had moved in without me noticing. And a snowflake touched my nose. When I looked back down the eyes were in the chair across from me. I couldn’t make out the details of what they looked like, just the eyes stood out. A soft glow from them not too dissimilar to the glowing embers of a fire.
“Finally felt like taking a seat, huh?”
“They looked quite comfortable and I didn’t want to miss the chance. I could rest for a long time in one of these.”
“I always think the same thing, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fallen asleep out here in this chair thinking about that summer”
“I believe it,” the tone, it was almost like they wanted to say, “I know.”
“I’m pretty tired, so I’m going to go to sleep,” my eyes were feeling heavier with each breath, “you can stay as long as you like just be sure that the fire is out before you leave.”
My limbs were feeling too heavy to move. Maybe I just nap a little before I head inside.
“I always do.” | *This is a sequel to another prompt I did a while back, [which is here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/dl8nrh/wp_after_a_genie_serves_1000_masters_and_gives/f4pj1ur/). It's definitely a divergence from the thread prompt, but I liked the setup it gave me and have been meaning to write a sequel. Enjoy!*
Toryik leaned into the step, working out the soreness of the day in the warmth of his fire. It was a familiar feeling, one that came most days in this place.
Every morning he got up, made a hearty meal, and upon being summoned to a new mortal, granted their desire. Then he returned, hunted for game or firewood till the sun began to dip, and was summoned to the mortal's aid once more, often so they could compound on their wishes in greed. He'd tidy up from the day's work, set a fire for the nights cooking, and return to the mortal for one last mistake, or on rare occasions, a righting of several. Finally, it was back to his home and dinner, perfect and delicious as always.
Toryik didn't particularly mind his fate. His people, now a distant memory in the oceans of time, had told stories of afterlives of glory and honor, constant war and grand feast halls. If such things existed, they would have bored him. Toryik had been a simple mortal, and never wanted for more than he needed. In many ways, his so-called enslavement had been a boon; his fellow raiders had been put to the sword in a far-off land, while he had gained a private cottage and immortality.
He glanced at the dying fire, eyes pausing on the other haunch of lynx appraisingly, then groaned back into a sitting position. As he reached for his stick to stir the embers, he froze.
Across from him, hovering at chest height in the dark of the firs, two eyes smoldered like green coals. As they locked to his own, a glint of white fang opened underneath, and a voice like the bark of an ash tree rasped out.
"Greetings," the beast spoke. "May I share the warmth of your fire?"
Toryik pondered his options. His axe was far from him, his hunting knife insufficient to kill before a bear or wolf reached his throat. The stick in his hand, meant for stirring the fire, was possibly sturdy enough to break a mundane wolf's charge, but the beast was large enough that it would probably snap it like so much kindling. With only a plan to kick up embers in mind, Toryik decided to nod, beckoning the monster forth.
It was not a bear, or a wolf, or indeed anything Toryik had ever seen. The beast most resembled his dinner in life, a lynx, but of a scale even legends of monsters would have thought more ridiculous than terrible; an opinion he no longer shared. Its muzzle could have opened to take in a man's head, its paws dinnerplates. The fur was golden, the body as large as any bear, and around its neck a mane the color of a maple tree in the harvest season flowed down the shoulders like a cape. When it moved, it was as water flowed; where it went, a smell like the warm fields of the southern lands followed. As Toryik watched, hand gripping the stick and aches forgotten, the cat sat by the fire across from him, light glimmering in its eyes.
"What are you?" Toryik asked. "A spirit? Some god, come to show me humility? A fever dream?"
The beast flashed fangs again, in a very human smile that raised his own hackles all the worse than a snarl might have. "All of that and none, my friend," it replied in a voice like rainfall on leaves, "as I would say of you."
Toryik's eyes widened, and he let go of the stick. It would be useless for a fight after all; only his axe could possibly help here. Instead, he leaned forward with some interest, asking what he already knew. "You are like me? A wish-giver?"
"A different binding, but we are kin," it replied, laying down to cover half the area around the fire. "For tonight, I am your guest, and you may ask one favor of me."
"A favor?"
"A wish," it clarified, "but that is work, and work comes after the fire is put out in the morning."
Toryik decided to accept this after a moment, despite his thoughts on how his 'guest' had gained that title. He opted to take up the stick once again, and return to tending the now-smoldering fire.
"Can I offer you something?" he asked the beast. "I'm going to get some more wood, and won't be back for a while."
"That shank looks delicious," it replied, eyeing the lynx. "I would not want to impose, but drink might be welcome. It is a night to celebrate, after all."
Toryik pushed the lynx over as he got up, soreness making itself known once more as he headed into the cottage. Emerging with a small cask of monk's whiskey(an old, treasured bit of plunder that thankfully followed him to this place) and his axe, he asked of the cat, "A night to celebrate? What, your arrival?"
"You don't know?". It took a bite of meat as he set down the cask and walked to the chopping block. "Tonight, you have served a thousand masters, and granted each all they were entitled to ask for. Now it is your turn."
Toryik hefted the axe, bringing it down on an overlarge log as he thought. A thousand masters? Was that all? Surely it was more, and there was no need for fanfare. He did his job and liked it, far more than he'd ever liked raiding. It felt almost perverse to get a reward, when he had everything he needed already.
He returned to the fire in silence, stacking up a new chimney on the guttering coals to make a proper roasting fire. The lynx would not be enough for them, once they'd gotten into the drink, and he had a small boar hanging up that he'd been saving for the next wood day. Taking his axe up again, he slipped into the forest, cut down a yearling tree, and dragged it back to the fire to fashion a spit.
The cat watched in silence, finishing its snack, and only broke the silence once he'd set up the boar and fetched some mugs. | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | “Greetings…” it rasped at me from across the dying fire. I couldn’t see much, glowing red eyes, a human like silhouette. Tall, maybe a foot or so taller than any human I had met. “May I Share your fire tonight?”
Of course, I handled the situation as any stoner would. I simply closed my eyes, took a few deep breaths, opened the-
Fuck, it was still there… it was… shivering? It had to be eighty degrees out, even here in west Kentucky that was warm for the end of October…
“Hey, you ok?” I asked as I sat up in my lawn chair, looking over the fire to see it had its arms wrapped around its midsections.
“I… I am cold. I have been gone from home too long.” It stated, trying to move closer to the minuscule heat of the embers.
Home… he couldn’t be… no, they weren’t real. That would mean that the stories that my crazed grandfather told…
Oh well, I don’t work tomorrow and the wife was away in Vegas with her friends. I threw another log on the embers, grabbing a handful of the straw I had to my right and tossed it over the log.
It payed living next to a farmer, Darrel was a good guy after all. Never any fuss, gave him fire wood and straw, and all he had to do was keep quiet about the pot farm next to his property line.
Soon the fire caught again, light returning to the small clearing, illuminating the creatur-woman?
Sure as day, it was a woman. Long black hair, long black dress, the palest skin he had ever seen. The fire seemed to breath some relief into her, she huddled up to the flames, his body slowly stopping the tremors that had inhabited her form.
Her eyes were now coal black as well, a blank of charcoal, speckled with white spots that took in the fire between them.
“Thank the lord above that their is still some kindness in you humans.” She breathed out in relief, her voice no longer a raspy tome of suffering, but a lighter, softer, deep timber.
“Us humans?” He asked the woman as a smile formed on her face.
“We don’t get to see the good side of humanity very often back home…”
“… Home… it’s what we call hell, isn’t it?” I asked, my heart pounding a Barry white song in my chest.
Her smile turned kind, as she nodded.
A billion thought ran through my mind as I looked her over.
“Did my grandfather really beat the devil in a fucking fiddle contest?!” I blurt out, unable to stop myself.
She giggles.
“Oh, so that’s why you can communicate with me. Most humans can’t even see us. Your grandfather received a golden gift.” She leaned over the fire, her eyes glowing red again and her skin turning black. “My husband has been complaining about that contest for a century. How is John doing?” | The gentle roar of flames filled Haakon's ears with a fading din of life. The sounds seemed to die along with his faltering gaze. Darkness crept slowly inwards from his periphery, and now, he found himself staring at the embers of his campfire.
"Woden," he muttered with a half grin. He didn't want to move anymore. He didn't want to disturb the bandage on his gut. But he could not continue to ignore the cold, and he knew this.
Sleep threatened to take him. His eyes slowly closed before jutting open in self realization. The brief blackness was met with the familiar sight of embers. Embers and... something else. Something that seemed to dance on the edge of his vision, above and beyond the fire.
"May I share your campfire," asked a raspy voice from beyond the embers.
Haakon's eyes shot upwards. There was still speed in him. He fixed his gaze onto what he thought were two eyes. Large and feline. Yellow and deep against the blackness of his village in night.
His shoulders tensed and his grip tightened over the hilt of his battle axe.
"Dreygur," he asked while maintaining his stare. He was still.
"A traveler, nothing more," said the eyes. "I enjoy meeting new folk and learning of them.
"Helping them," said the eyes playfully.
Haakon had fought in a hundred battles, he had killed, pillaged, raped, saved, stolen, fathered, wedded, and even loved. He had known brotherhood, loneliness, companionship, terror, and victory. He had lived a hard life. One in which every footfall was a contest against chaos, a struggle for purchase, and a slog to a destination that he and his people knew they would never reach.
He knew who he was. What he was. He knew what he valued. What he believed.
And he did believe.
With great effort, he stood.
The eyes followed him, they were much larger than he had originally thought. And they hung high in the air, higher than could be found on any animal of four legs.
"Asta," muttered Haakon. The words took great effort to say. "Asta... Kari."
He wanted to walk backwards, to keep sight of those eyes. But he knew he would never make it beyond his hearth if he tried.
He turned slowly. Apprehensively. And began to walk into the darkness towards where his family's home had been. The flames that had engulfed his village were now long extinguished and he would have to feel his way through his door.
With each footstep, he listened. He listened for the approach of whatever stood beyond the flame. Whatever had decided to speak to him. He walked and walked. Growing colder and yet feeling more relieved.
He found the doorframe that he and his father had built. His fingers glided over the etched wood that summoned memories, even now, into his fading mind. This is where he would sit. Surrounded by his family, and his ancestors.
At first. He didn't want to turn. But he knew who he was. And even if he wasn't strong right now, this place filled him with strength.
He turned and sat. He looked towards the campfire.
There was nothing.
With a final half smile, Haakon rested his head against his etched doorway and fell into a blissful sleep. | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | I don't say anything. Just nod and gesture to a place by the dying flames.
The thing drags itself out of the dark using two long pale arms, probably strong enough to rip me in two. It's draped with scrapes of burlap, denim, silk, binding a shell of garbage and waste. It slowly crawls towards the fire, the earth torn up at the passing as the light glints off plastic and metal edges.
"I find myself surprised," it says, its voice somewhere between nails on a chalkboard and someone who hasn't drunk water in days, "you are the first to not fear me. Did you think I'd not harm you?"
"I gave ye succor. Heat, food, drink, it all counts. You are bound to me and mine and I to you. Host and guest."
"*ʃe̞t kænənekt,*" it says in a tongue that's old as the trees surrounding my moldy cabin, "you know of Old Ways, human. The way of bone and blood and wildflowers."
"Got ma moments. More binding to ye then me," I say, "still, I'll follow them if you do."
"An accord is struck," said the thing as it moved closer to the fire. It might've been beautiful once. Now it dragged a cloak of trash with it like a slug, coated with a layer of slime, dirt, and oil for good measure.
"What's one of yer kind doing here? I thought you preferred the deeper woods."
"I wander. Especially on beautiful nights like this one."
I think I see glimmer of gossamer wings through a whole in the cloak of refuse. It's got a purplish or blue sheen to it.
"I see that," I say - there's not much more as we watch the last few embers die down and listen to the crickets sing. The thing crosses its pale, clammy arms, and breathes slowly as it stares into the flames. When they've finally gone dark, I'm left with the thing to be solely illuminated through starlight. .
"I was just thinking..." it says with a chuckle.
"Hm?"
"It's rather ironic. All we had to do was wait in the end. There were so many that were convinced that humans were unstoppable."
"We were too."
"Evidently."
The nuclear winter put us back in our place real quick, I think but do not add.
"Avarice and arrogance are not a recipe for sustainable long term goals," I say.
"You're a Hunter, aren't you? I smelt the blood a mile way."
I say nothing - there's no reason to deny or affirm it either way. Fortunately for me, the pager in my pocket goes off. Two creatures. Shoot to kill."
"I'll be back soon. Feel free to stay by what remains," I say as I pick a rifle and move out into the trees.
It doesn't take me long to find them - they're in woods I know like the back of my hands, including what's left of the old trail system. I aim, drop the first - the second wee beastie falls as well after manging to scream for a baby.
There's no blood or guts on me, just silence and red-stained snow as I walk back. I like it that way - clean, professional, precise. I might not do the work with great enthusiasm , but I do do it well.
And when I come back from the hunt, I see hat the load on the elf has gotten a little smaller.
​
*I write all sorts of things over at* /r/The_Alloqium*.* | The gentle roar of flames filled Haakon's ears with a fading din of life. The sounds seemed to die along with his faltering gaze. Darkness crept slowly inwards from his periphery, and now, he found himself staring at the embers of his campfire.
"Woden," he muttered with a half grin. He didn't want to move anymore. He didn't want to disturb the bandage on his gut. But he could not continue to ignore the cold, and he knew this.
Sleep threatened to take him. His eyes slowly closed before jutting open in self realization. The brief blackness was met with the familiar sight of embers. Embers and... something else. Something that seemed to dance on the edge of his vision, above and beyond the fire.
"May I share your campfire," asked a raspy voice from beyond the embers.
Haakon's eyes shot upwards. There was still speed in him. He fixed his gaze onto what he thought were two eyes. Large and feline. Yellow and deep against the blackness of his village in night.
His shoulders tensed and his grip tightened over the hilt of his battle axe.
"Dreygur," he asked while maintaining his stare. He was still.
"A traveler, nothing more," said the eyes. "I enjoy meeting new folk and learning of them.
"Helping them," said the eyes playfully.
Haakon had fought in a hundred battles, he had killed, pillaged, raped, saved, stolen, fathered, wedded, and even loved. He had known brotherhood, loneliness, companionship, terror, and victory. He had lived a hard life. One in which every footfall was a contest against chaos, a struggle for purchase, and a slog to a destination that he and his people knew they would never reach.
He knew who he was. What he was. He knew what he valued. What he believed.
And he did believe.
With great effort, he stood.
The eyes followed him, they were much larger than he had originally thought. And they hung high in the air, higher than could be found on any animal of four legs.
"Asta," muttered Haakon. The words took great effort to say. "Asta... Kari."
He wanted to walk backwards, to keep sight of those eyes. But he knew he would never make it beyond his hearth if he tried.
He turned slowly. Apprehensively. And began to walk into the darkness towards where his family's home had been. The flames that had engulfed his village were now long extinguished and he would have to feel his way through his door.
With each footstep, he listened. He listened for the approach of whatever stood beyond the flame. Whatever had decided to speak to him. He walked and walked. Growing colder and yet feeling more relieved.
He found the doorframe that he and his father had built. His fingers glided over the etched wood that summoned memories, even now, into his fading mind. This is where he would sit. Surrounded by his family, and his ancestors.
At first. He didn't want to turn. But he knew who he was. And even if he wasn't strong right now, this place filled him with strength.
He turned and sat. He looked towards the campfire.
There was nothing.
With a final half smile, Haakon rested his head against his etched doorway and fell into a blissful sleep. | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | A voice from the corner of the eyes, theirs sparkling with the sight of the bonfire.
A voice, that asks with courtesy, kindly.
"May I share your fire tonight?"
 
Who was I to refuse? I was always told that with my nature, if a murderer were to ask politely, I'd let them kill me.
Manners do maketh someone, after all.
"Certainly", I would respond.
They slowly approached, almost fearful of waking the very earth they stepped on.
But I do suppose that those who tiptoe do so for a reason.
 
Describe them, you say?
Well, they seemed rather.. soft. Not in the sense that they would seem weak, or that they would seem unwanted, but they just looked soft. Rather, adorable.
They trembled. Whether out of the cold they were in a moment ago, or whether they were scared of this new face before them, I could not tell you.
 
"Would you like something to drink?", I asked.
"Yes please, if that's okay", they said in response.
So I poured them a bit of something to warm them up. Nothing to hinder the head, mind you.
They must have quite enjoyed it, as their eyes practically twinkled with what I could have sworn was starlight.
 
Oh! I have some with me here, if you'd like to try a bit.
No? Ah, I suppose that's fair.
 
Anyway, where was I?
Right. There they were, with such a shine, so delicate that I felt if I were to even breath I'd shatter the splendor before me.
Then, they took a deep breath and told me "That was pretty good. Thank you".
I asked a question that I'm glad I did. I asked, "If it's okay with you, may I give you a hug?".
I don't know why, but they were willing to oblige. I leaned in and wrapped my arms around, fully embracing them and their warmth. It felt rather pleasant.
 
I'm not really sure why, but right into my ear, they whispered to me "You're good enough".
Regardless of why, I think I needed to hear that. It felt so magical then, being able to be comforted by an almost familiar stranger.
Without realising, though, I took my last gaze upon them.
When I blinked next, they were inexplicably gone.
I felt.. emptier in that moment.
 
But the fire kept me warm as I slowly dozed off, knowing that somewhere, someone was content with who I was.
 
sorry if not good :( | The gentle roar of flames filled Haakon's ears with a fading din of life. The sounds seemed to die along with his faltering gaze. Darkness crept slowly inwards from his periphery, and now, he found himself staring at the embers of his campfire.
"Woden," he muttered with a half grin. He didn't want to move anymore. He didn't want to disturb the bandage on his gut. But he could not continue to ignore the cold, and he knew this.
Sleep threatened to take him. His eyes slowly closed before jutting open in self realization. The brief blackness was met with the familiar sight of embers. Embers and... something else. Something that seemed to dance on the edge of his vision, above and beyond the fire.
"May I share your campfire," asked a raspy voice from beyond the embers.
Haakon's eyes shot upwards. There was still speed in him. He fixed his gaze onto what he thought were two eyes. Large and feline. Yellow and deep against the blackness of his village in night.
His shoulders tensed and his grip tightened over the hilt of his battle axe.
"Dreygur," he asked while maintaining his stare. He was still.
"A traveler, nothing more," said the eyes. "I enjoy meeting new folk and learning of them.
"Helping them," said the eyes playfully.
Haakon had fought in a hundred battles, he had killed, pillaged, raped, saved, stolen, fathered, wedded, and even loved. He had known brotherhood, loneliness, companionship, terror, and victory. He had lived a hard life. One in which every footfall was a contest against chaos, a struggle for purchase, and a slog to a destination that he and his people knew they would never reach.
He knew who he was. What he was. He knew what he valued. What he believed.
And he did believe.
With great effort, he stood.
The eyes followed him, they were much larger than he had originally thought. And they hung high in the air, higher than could be found on any animal of four legs.
"Asta," muttered Haakon. The words took great effort to say. "Asta... Kari."
He wanted to walk backwards, to keep sight of those eyes. But he knew he would never make it beyond his hearth if he tried.
He turned slowly. Apprehensively. And began to walk into the darkness towards where his family's home had been. The flames that had engulfed his village were now long extinguished and he would have to feel his way through his door.
With each footstep, he listened. He listened for the approach of whatever stood beyond the flame. Whatever had decided to speak to him. He walked and walked. Growing colder and yet feeling more relieved.
He found the doorframe that he and his father had built. His fingers glided over the etched wood that summoned memories, even now, into his fading mind. This is where he would sit. Surrounded by his family, and his ancestors.
At first. He didn't want to turn. But he knew who he was. And even if he wasn't strong right now, this place filled him with strength.
He turned and sat. He looked towards the campfire.
There was nothing.
With a final half smile, Haakon rested his head against his etched doorway and fell into a blissful sleep. | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | I’ve always enjoyed this little cabin with it’s view of the mountains and view of Deep Lake. Far from civilization it gives me a sense of calm unlike anywhere else. Watching the moon rise over the mountains while I sit by the firepit out front has been one of my favorite pastimes for so many years now it’s hard to remember when I started.
As my fire burned down and I was tired enough for the evening, at the edge of the trees I could see a pair of eyes softly glowing in the distance.
“I can see you over there, you can come closer, I'm not going to bite.”
The eyes unblinkingly grew closer.
At the edge of my light they spoke, “Greetings, may I share the fire with you tonight?”
“I don’t see why not,” I reach for the last pair of logs near my chair, “I think I can keep the fire going a little while longer.”
“Thank you.”
The eyes got closer but stayed just out of the light, unmoving.
“Why don’t you come over here and have a seat closer to the fire,” I gestured to the other chairs, “have your pick, they're nice and sturdy, I built them years ago with my grandkids,” I smiled, “We worked a whole summer out here making them and my cabin.”
“Some find my form… unsettling, you may not wish to see me now.”
“Alright then if you prefer,” silence followed for what felt like forever. “So what brings you out to my neck of the woods?”
“I’m picking up an old friend. But they don’t know it yet.”
“Whisking someone off in the dead of night without them knowing? Little spooky don’t you think?”
“I’ll talk with them first so it’s not too upsetting. It’s the preferred way.”
“How’s that the preferred way?”
Silence followed for so long I was about to speak, “It’s easier,” there was a pain in their voice. I knew I shouldn’t press further.
“So are you meeting them by the lake? You should know the forecast said a snowstorm was moving in.”
“It won’t be much of a concern for us, the weather never is.”
“The prepared type huh? That’s always good.”
We sat in silence as the fire burned down and was barely more than embers. It had gotten very cold by now. I looked to the stars above and saw the clouds had moved in without me noticing. And a snowflake touched my nose. When I looked back down the eyes were in the chair across from me. I couldn’t make out the details of what they looked like, just the eyes stood out. A soft glow from them not too dissimilar to the glowing embers of a fire.
“Finally felt like taking a seat, huh?”
“They looked quite comfortable and I didn’t want to miss the chance. I could rest for a long time in one of these.”
“I always think the same thing, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fallen asleep out here in this chair thinking about that summer”
“I believe it,” the tone, it was almost like they wanted to say, “I know.”
“I’m pretty tired, so I’m going to go to sleep,” my eyes were feeling heavier with each breath, “you can stay as long as you like just be sure that the fire is out before you leave.”
My limbs were feeling too heavy to move. Maybe I just nap a little before I head inside.
“I always do.” | The gentle roar of flames filled Haakon's ears with a fading din of life. The sounds seemed to die along with his faltering gaze. Darkness crept slowly inwards from his periphery, and now, he found himself staring at the embers of his campfire.
"Woden," he muttered with a half grin. He didn't want to move anymore. He didn't want to disturb the bandage on his gut. But he could not continue to ignore the cold, and he knew this.
Sleep threatened to take him. His eyes slowly closed before jutting open in self realization. The brief blackness was met with the familiar sight of embers. Embers and... something else. Something that seemed to dance on the edge of his vision, above and beyond the fire.
"May I share your campfire," asked a raspy voice from beyond the embers.
Haakon's eyes shot upwards. There was still speed in him. He fixed his gaze onto what he thought were two eyes. Large and feline. Yellow and deep against the blackness of his village in night.
His shoulders tensed and his grip tightened over the hilt of his battle axe.
"Dreygur," he asked while maintaining his stare. He was still.
"A traveler, nothing more," said the eyes. "I enjoy meeting new folk and learning of them.
"Helping them," said the eyes playfully.
Haakon had fought in a hundred battles, he had killed, pillaged, raped, saved, stolen, fathered, wedded, and even loved. He had known brotherhood, loneliness, companionship, terror, and victory. He had lived a hard life. One in which every footfall was a contest against chaos, a struggle for purchase, and a slog to a destination that he and his people knew they would never reach.
He knew who he was. What he was. He knew what he valued. What he believed.
And he did believe.
With great effort, he stood.
The eyes followed him, they were much larger than he had originally thought. And they hung high in the air, higher than could be found on any animal of four legs.
"Asta," muttered Haakon. The words took great effort to say. "Asta... Kari."
He wanted to walk backwards, to keep sight of those eyes. But he knew he would never make it beyond his hearth if he tried.
He turned slowly. Apprehensively. And began to walk into the darkness towards where his family's home had been. The flames that had engulfed his village were now long extinguished and he would have to feel his way through his door.
With each footstep, he listened. He listened for the approach of whatever stood beyond the flame. Whatever had decided to speak to him. He walked and walked. Growing colder and yet feeling more relieved.
He found the doorframe that he and his father had built. His fingers glided over the etched wood that summoned memories, even now, into his fading mind. This is where he would sit. Surrounded by his family, and his ancestors.
At first. He didn't want to turn. But he knew who he was. And even if he wasn't strong right now, this place filled him with strength.
He turned and sat. He looked towards the campfire.
There was nothing.
With a final half smile, Haakon rested his head against his etched doorway and fell into a blissful sleep. | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | I’ve always enjoyed this little cabin with it’s view of the mountains and view of Deep Lake. Far from civilization it gives me a sense of calm unlike anywhere else. Watching the moon rise over the mountains while I sit by the firepit out front has been one of my favorite pastimes for so many years now it’s hard to remember when I started.
As my fire burned down and I was tired enough for the evening, at the edge of the trees I could see a pair of eyes softly glowing in the distance.
“I can see you over there, you can come closer, I'm not going to bite.”
The eyes unblinkingly grew closer.
At the edge of my light they spoke, “Greetings, may I share the fire with you tonight?”
“I don’t see why not,” I reach for the last pair of logs near my chair, “I think I can keep the fire going a little while longer.”
“Thank you.”
The eyes got closer but stayed just out of the light, unmoving.
“Why don’t you come over here and have a seat closer to the fire,” I gestured to the other chairs, “have your pick, they're nice and sturdy, I built them years ago with my grandkids,” I smiled, “We worked a whole summer out here making them and my cabin.”
“Some find my form… unsettling, you may not wish to see me now.”
“Alright then if you prefer,” silence followed for what felt like forever. “So what brings you out to my neck of the woods?”
“I’m picking up an old friend. But they don’t know it yet.”
“Whisking someone off in the dead of night without them knowing? Little spooky don’t you think?”
“I’ll talk with them first so it’s not too upsetting. It’s the preferred way.”
“How’s that the preferred way?”
Silence followed for so long I was about to speak, “It’s easier,” there was a pain in their voice. I knew I shouldn’t press further.
“So are you meeting them by the lake? You should know the forecast said a snowstorm was moving in.”
“It won’t be much of a concern for us, the weather never is.”
“The prepared type huh? That’s always good.”
We sat in silence as the fire burned down and was barely more than embers. It had gotten very cold by now. I looked to the stars above and saw the clouds had moved in without me noticing. And a snowflake touched my nose. When I looked back down the eyes were in the chair across from me. I couldn’t make out the details of what they looked like, just the eyes stood out. A soft glow from them not too dissimilar to the glowing embers of a fire.
“Finally felt like taking a seat, huh?”
“They looked quite comfortable and I didn’t want to miss the chance. I could rest for a long time in one of these.”
“I always think the same thing, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fallen asleep out here in this chair thinking about that summer”
“I believe it,” the tone, it was almost like they wanted to say, “I know.”
“I’m pretty tired, so I’m going to go to sleep,” my eyes were feeling heavier with each breath, “you can stay as long as you like just be sure that the fire is out before you leave.”
My limbs were feeling too heavy to move. Maybe I just nap a little before I head inside.
“I always do.” | I don't say anything. Just nod and gesture to a place by the dying flames.
The thing drags itself out of the dark using two long pale arms, probably strong enough to rip me in two. It's draped with scrapes of burlap, denim, silk, binding a shell of garbage and waste. It slowly crawls towards the fire, the earth torn up at the passing as the light glints off plastic and metal edges.
"I find myself surprised," it says, its voice somewhere between nails on a chalkboard and someone who hasn't drunk water in days, "you are the first to not fear me. Did you think I'd not harm you?"
"I gave ye succor. Heat, food, drink, it all counts. You are bound to me and mine and I to you. Host and guest."
"*ʃe̞t kænənekt,*" it says in a tongue that's old as the trees surrounding my moldy cabin, "you know of Old Ways, human. The way of bone and blood and wildflowers."
"Got ma moments. More binding to ye then me," I say, "still, I'll follow them if you do."
"An accord is struck," said the thing as it moved closer to the fire. It might've been beautiful once. Now it dragged a cloak of trash with it like a slug, coated with a layer of slime, dirt, and oil for good measure.
"What's one of yer kind doing here? I thought you preferred the deeper woods."
"I wander. Especially on beautiful nights like this one."
I think I see glimmer of gossamer wings through a whole in the cloak of refuse. It's got a purplish or blue sheen to it.
"I see that," I say - there's not much more as we watch the last few embers die down and listen to the crickets sing. The thing crosses its pale, clammy arms, and breathes slowly as it stares into the flames. When they've finally gone dark, I'm left with the thing to be solely illuminated through starlight. .
"I was just thinking..." it says with a chuckle.
"Hm?"
"It's rather ironic. All we had to do was wait in the end. There were so many that were convinced that humans were unstoppable."
"We were too."
"Evidently."
The nuclear winter put us back in our place real quick, I think but do not add.
"Avarice and arrogance are not a recipe for sustainable long term goals," I say.
"You're a Hunter, aren't you? I smelt the blood a mile way."
I say nothing - there's no reason to deny or affirm it either way. Fortunately for me, the pager in my pocket goes off. Two creatures. Shoot to kill."
"I'll be back soon. Feel free to stay by what remains," I say as I pick a rifle and move out into the trees.
It doesn't take me long to find them - they're in woods I know like the back of my hands, including what's left of the old trail system. I aim, drop the first - the second wee beastie falls as well after manging to scream for a baby.
There's no blood or guts on me, just silence and red-stained snow as I walk back. I like it that way - clean, professional, precise. I might not do the work with great enthusiasm , but I do do it well.
And when I come back from the hunt, I see hat the load on the elf has gotten a little smaller.
​
*I write all sorts of things over at* /r/The_Alloqium*.* | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | I’ve always enjoyed this little cabin with it’s view of the mountains and view of Deep Lake. Far from civilization it gives me a sense of calm unlike anywhere else. Watching the moon rise over the mountains while I sit by the firepit out front has been one of my favorite pastimes for so many years now it’s hard to remember when I started.
As my fire burned down and I was tired enough for the evening, at the edge of the trees I could see a pair of eyes softly glowing in the distance.
“I can see you over there, you can come closer, I'm not going to bite.”
The eyes unblinkingly grew closer.
At the edge of my light they spoke, “Greetings, may I share the fire with you tonight?”
“I don’t see why not,” I reach for the last pair of logs near my chair, “I think I can keep the fire going a little while longer.”
“Thank you.”
The eyes got closer but stayed just out of the light, unmoving.
“Why don’t you come over here and have a seat closer to the fire,” I gestured to the other chairs, “have your pick, they're nice and sturdy, I built them years ago with my grandkids,” I smiled, “We worked a whole summer out here making them and my cabin.”
“Some find my form… unsettling, you may not wish to see me now.”
“Alright then if you prefer,” silence followed for what felt like forever. “So what brings you out to my neck of the woods?”
“I’m picking up an old friend. But they don’t know it yet.”
“Whisking someone off in the dead of night without them knowing? Little spooky don’t you think?”
“I’ll talk with them first so it’s not too upsetting. It’s the preferred way.”
“How’s that the preferred way?”
Silence followed for so long I was about to speak, “It’s easier,” there was a pain in their voice. I knew I shouldn’t press further.
“So are you meeting them by the lake? You should know the forecast said a snowstorm was moving in.”
“It won’t be much of a concern for us, the weather never is.”
“The prepared type huh? That’s always good.”
We sat in silence as the fire burned down and was barely more than embers. It had gotten very cold by now. I looked to the stars above and saw the clouds had moved in without me noticing. And a snowflake touched my nose. When I looked back down the eyes were in the chair across from me. I couldn’t make out the details of what they looked like, just the eyes stood out. A soft glow from them not too dissimilar to the glowing embers of a fire.
“Finally felt like taking a seat, huh?”
“They looked quite comfortable and I didn’t want to miss the chance. I could rest for a long time in one of these.”
“I always think the same thing, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fallen asleep out here in this chair thinking about that summer”
“I believe it,” the tone, it was almost like they wanted to say, “I know.”
“I’m pretty tired, so I’m going to go to sleep,” my eyes were feeling heavier with each breath, “you can stay as long as you like just be sure that the fire is out before you leave.”
My limbs were feeling too heavy to move. Maybe I just nap a little before I head inside.
“I always do.” | A voice from the corner of the eyes, theirs sparkling with the sight of the bonfire.
A voice, that asks with courtesy, kindly.
"May I share your fire tonight?"
 
Who was I to refuse? I was always told that with my nature, if a murderer were to ask politely, I'd let them kill me.
Manners do maketh someone, after all.
"Certainly", I would respond.
They slowly approached, almost fearful of waking the very earth they stepped on.
But I do suppose that those who tiptoe do so for a reason.
 
Describe them, you say?
Well, they seemed rather.. soft. Not in the sense that they would seem weak, or that they would seem unwanted, but they just looked soft. Rather, adorable.
They trembled. Whether out of the cold they were in a moment ago, or whether they were scared of this new face before them, I could not tell you.
 
"Would you like something to drink?", I asked.
"Yes please, if that's okay", they said in response.
So I poured them a bit of something to warm them up. Nothing to hinder the head, mind you.
They must have quite enjoyed it, as their eyes practically twinkled with what I could have sworn was starlight.
 
Oh! I have some with me here, if you'd like to try a bit.
No? Ah, I suppose that's fair.
 
Anyway, where was I?
Right. There they were, with such a shine, so delicate that I felt if I were to even breath I'd shatter the splendor before me.
Then, they took a deep breath and told me "That was pretty good. Thank you".
I asked a question that I'm glad I did. I asked, "If it's okay with you, may I give you a hug?".
I don't know why, but they were willing to oblige. I leaned in and wrapped my arms around, fully embracing them and their warmth. It felt rather pleasant.
 
I'm not really sure why, but right into my ear, they whispered to me "You're good enough".
Regardless of why, I think I needed to hear that. It felt so magical then, being able to be comforted by an almost familiar stranger.
Without realising, though, I took my last gaze upon them.
When I blinked next, they were inexplicably gone.
I felt.. emptier in that moment.
 
But the fire kept me warm as I slowly dozed off, knowing that somewhere, someone was content with who I was.
 
sorry if not good :( | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | It was a dark and moonless night at the edge of the Everwood, and Artem sat staring into the dying embers of the fire as its sheltering warmth surrendered to the cool air. He’d been on the verge of sleep when he heard a heavy shuffling nearby that put him on alert. This close to the Everwood it wasn’t uncommon to hear wildlife nearby, but they rarely left the treeline to approach homes.
Two amber glowing orbs stood across the pit from Artem, just outside the firelight, belonging to the largest creature Artem had ever seen. As he was about to flee it spoke, “Greetings, may I share your fire tonight?”
The words froze Artem in place. A Shaper. A hundred thoughts flooded Artem’s brain in the following seconds. Why would a Shaper leave the forest? Why would it speak to him? All he managed to say was, “Sure.”
A bear moved fully into the light revealing an impossibly large head, and a massive body with patterns of green fur tracing rune like symbols on top of its thick brown coat. As it settled down next to the fire Artem felt a tremor through the ground.
“You sit here alone every night human. Staring into that fire as if searching for something. What do you hope to find?” it asked.
The reminder of his loss cast a shadow over his fear. He hesitated to speak, but when a Shaper of the Everwood sits across from you there is a desire to do what it asks. “I sit here to remember those who can no longer sit with me. I sit here because there is nothing else for me in this world.”
A deep noise came from the bear as if the words were thrown to the ground between them, and it could only but acknowledge their falling. They sat for a time in silence watching the blackened logs slowly losing their glow. Eventually the bear spoke, “I cannot take away this weight that burdens you, but know that you do not carry it alone." After a pause it continued, "I came to bring a warning to the people of your town. The clearing has awakened. Men in the thousands march out from the heart of the Everwood appearing from the air itself.”
Artem bolted to his feet, staring at the bear. “Why tell me? Why speak to me when your kind have never been seen in this area as long as I’ve lived here?” he asked.
“Your people have always respected the Everwood, and so we respected you. Our presence only incites fear and aggression among your kind. Still we have worked to keep the less peaceful of the forest's occupants from you. This new threat is different. We have lost many in guarding the forest, but they cut through to your world just the same.” The bear said while continuing to lounge next to the fire looking towards Artem.
“If your kind can’t stand against them then what hope do we have? We have no weapons to stand against an army!” Artem nearly yelled, glancing towards the impenetrable darkness of the trees.
With a rumbling grunt the bear got up from the ground and began walking away, “Flee. Warn your people. A war comes that even the Shapers cannot prevent.” | "You *are* the fire," Marci said, looking down into the glowing embers which had rearranged themselves into a pair of two golden eyes. "What do you want?"
The embers, slowly losing their spark, kept its eyes on the witch. "A body, please," it said, "before I disappear."
"As you wish," Marci said with a sigh. She wasn't in the mood to deal with a Lost Spirit, but it's what she was hired to do, so, despite the late hour, and the silence of the night, and the giant harvest moon above, she conjured a temporary body. "There. Tell me you at least know how to haunt it."
The body she created was a loose gathering of particles, something half baked between reality and dreams. It was enough, though, for the spirit to use.
Two eyes appeared on the mishmash of energy. They opened, looking just like they had in the embers.
"That's a first," Marci said, a little intrigued now, "a fire spirit with eyes made of gold. Usually it's just the flames that give that effect."
The spirit looked down at itself, at the stardust and magic which was sloppily held together, and decided it would be enough.
"Hello," it said, "and thank you. I am a lost spirit and I need your-..."
With a wave of her hand the spirit's voice stopped.
"Yeah, yeah. I know. Just tell me where you came from and where you want to go."
The spirit pointed to its mouth, its fingers twinkling in the moonlight.
"Oh, sorry," Marci said, waving her hand again. "There."
"My name is Augustus Auria. I was directed here by a witch named Sunny, and I am trying to go to the far East. To the village of Mandolin."
A rogue vein tried to escape from behind Macri's forehead. "Wait. You said Sunny sent you?"
"That is correct."
"FUCK!" she screamed. With a snap of her fingers, the two were transported far away, now inside someone's bedroom. The moon shone in through the window, and snoring loudly under the covers was a sizeable lump.
The spirit stood in the corner as the candles lit themselves under Marci's command. She tugged on the sheets, pulling them off, and underneath laid a fat woman, in her underwear, still snoring away. Macri grabbed her by the shoulders and began pushing her back and forth. Eventually, the woman came to.
"W-who's here so late?" the woman asked, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "Macri, is that you?"
"What did I tell you about this?" Marci shouted, pointing to the spirit still in the corner. It bashfully waved towards the girls. "I said last time would be the last, and I meant it."
Sunny, now jolted awake, scurried to the back of her bed. She needed to get as far away as possible.
Macri took out her wand. She held it above her head, and the air around began to shimmer. Then, a blinding blue ball of light took shape. Bits of lightening could be seen trying to escape from the ball, and Sunny desperately looked around for her own wand. She saw it lying across the room.
"Please, Marci!" Sunny screamed, not wanting her cottage burned down, "I messed up! I wasn't thinking! I forgot you didn't want any spirits from me! Calm down!"
"I. SAID. NO. MORE!"
The blue ball of lightening left her wand and the spirit braced itself for impact. Sunny lunged across the room, but she was too late, for the everlasting scream of magic could be heard and everything became white.
Once the light faded, both Marci and the spirit were back at her home, in front of the campfire, which had somehow been set aflame again.
"Sorry you had to see that," she said, "but the damned woman doesn't know how to listen. Some people learn best through experience."
The spirit nodded, unsure of whether her mood had carried over from Sunny's place.
"So, Mandolin," Marci said, as she drew a symbol in the air with her wand and flicked it at the spirit. It smiled as the glowing rune landed on its forehead. "Have a safe trip. I hope you find the one you're looking for."
"Thank you," the spirit said, as the temporary body dissipated into thin air.
Marci, all alone now, with the fire blazing, decided she'd return to Sunny's tomorrow to apologize.
"I hope I didn't overdo it..." | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | I’ve always enjoyed this little cabin with it’s view of the mountains and view of Deep Lake. Far from civilization it gives me a sense of calm unlike anywhere else. Watching the moon rise over the mountains while I sit by the firepit out front has been one of my favorite pastimes for so many years now it’s hard to remember when I started.
As my fire burned down and I was tired enough for the evening, at the edge of the trees I could see a pair of eyes softly glowing in the distance.
“I can see you over there, you can come closer, I'm not going to bite.”
The eyes unblinkingly grew closer.
At the edge of my light they spoke, “Greetings, may I share the fire with you tonight?”
“I don’t see why not,” I reach for the last pair of logs near my chair, “I think I can keep the fire going a little while longer.”
“Thank you.”
The eyes got closer but stayed just out of the light, unmoving.
“Why don’t you come over here and have a seat closer to the fire,” I gestured to the other chairs, “have your pick, they're nice and sturdy, I built them years ago with my grandkids,” I smiled, “We worked a whole summer out here making them and my cabin.”
“Some find my form… unsettling, you may not wish to see me now.”
“Alright then if you prefer,” silence followed for what felt like forever. “So what brings you out to my neck of the woods?”
“I’m picking up an old friend. But they don’t know it yet.”
“Whisking someone off in the dead of night without them knowing? Little spooky don’t you think?”
“I’ll talk with them first so it’s not too upsetting. It’s the preferred way.”
“How’s that the preferred way?”
Silence followed for so long I was about to speak, “It’s easier,” there was a pain in their voice. I knew I shouldn’t press further.
“So are you meeting them by the lake? You should know the forecast said a snowstorm was moving in.”
“It won’t be much of a concern for us, the weather never is.”
“The prepared type huh? That’s always good.”
We sat in silence as the fire burned down and was barely more than embers. It had gotten very cold by now. I looked to the stars above and saw the clouds had moved in without me noticing. And a snowflake touched my nose. When I looked back down the eyes were in the chair across from me. I couldn’t make out the details of what they looked like, just the eyes stood out. A soft glow from them not too dissimilar to the glowing embers of a fire.
“Finally felt like taking a seat, huh?”
“They looked quite comfortable and I didn’t want to miss the chance. I could rest for a long time in one of these.”
“I always think the same thing, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fallen asleep out here in this chair thinking about that summer”
“I believe it,” the tone, it was almost like they wanted to say, “I know.”
“I’m pretty tired, so I’m going to go to sleep,” my eyes were feeling heavier with each breath, “you can stay as long as you like just be sure that the fire is out before you leave.”
My limbs were feeling too heavy to move. Maybe I just nap a little before I head inside.
“I always do.” | "You *are* the fire," Marci said, looking down into the glowing embers which had rearranged themselves into a pair of two golden eyes. "What do you want?"
The embers, slowly losing their spark, kept its eyes on the witch. "A body, please," it said, "before I disappear."
"As you wish," Marci said with a sigh. She wasn't in the mood to deal with a Lost Spirit, but it's what she was hired to do, so, despite the late hour, and the silence of the night, and the giant harvest moon above, she conjured a temporary body. "There. Tell me you at least know how to haunt it."
The body she created was a loose gathering of particles, something half baked between reality and dreams. It was enough, though, for the spirit to use.
Two eyes appeared on the mishmash of energy. They opened, looking just like they had in the embers.
"That's a first," Marci said, a little intrigued now, "a fire spirit with eyes made of gold. Usually it's just the flames that give that effect."
The spirit looked down at itself, at the stardust and magic which was sloppily held together, and decided it would be enough.
"Hello," it said, "and thank you. I am a lost spirit and I need your-..."
With a wave of her hand the spirit's voice stopped.
"Yeah, yeah. I know. Just tell me where you came from and where you want to go."
The spirit pointed to its mouth, its fingers twinkling in the moonlight.
"Oh, sorry," Marci said, waving her hand again. "There."
"My name is Augustus Auria. I was directed here by a witch named Sunny, and I am trying to go to the far East. To the village of Mandolin."
A rogue vein tried to escape from behind Macri's forehead. "Wait. You said Sunny sent you?"
"That is correct."
"FUCK!" she screamed. With a snap of her fingers, the two were transported far away, now inside someone's bedroom. The moon shone in through the window, and snoring loudly under the covers was a sizeable lump.
The spirit stood in the corner as the candles lit themselves under Marci's command. She tugged on the sheets, pulling them off, and underneath laid a fat woman, in her underwear, still snoring away. Macri grabbed her by the shoulders and began pushing her back and forth. Eventually, the woman came to.
"W-who's here so late?" the woman asked, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "Macri, is that you?"
"What did I tell you about this?" Marci shouted, pointing to the spirit still in the corner. It bashfully waved towards the girls. "I said last time would be the last, and I meant it."
Sunny, now jolted awake, scurried to the back of her bed. She needed to get as far away as possible.
Macri took out her wand. She held it above her head, and the air around began to shimmer. Then, a blinding blue ball of light took shape. Bits of lightening could be seen trying to escape from the ball, and Sunny desperately looked around for her own wand. She saw it lying across the room.
"Please, Marci!" Sunny screamed, not wanting her cottage burned down, "I messed up! I wasn't thinking! I forgot you didn't want any spirits from me! Calm down!"
"I. SAID. NO. MORE!"
The blue ball of lightening left her wand and the spirit braced itself for impact. Sunny lunged across the room, but she was too late, for the everlasting scream of magic could be heard and everything became white.
Once the light faded, both Marci and the spirit were back at her home, in front of the campfire, which had somehow been set aflame again.
"Sorry you had to see that," she said, "but the damned woman doesn't know how to listen. Some people learn best through experience."
The spirit nodded, unsure of whether her mood had carried over from Sunny's place.
"So, Mandolin," Marci said, as she drew a symbol in the air with her wand and flicked it at the spirit. It smiled as the glowing rune landed on its forehead. "Have a safe trip. I hope you find the one you're looking for."
"Thank you," the spirit said, as the temporary body dissipated into thin air.
Marci, all alone now, with the fire blazing, decided she'd return to Sunny's tomorrow to apologize.
"I hope I didn't overdo it..." | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | I’ve always enjoyed this little cabin with it’s view of the mountains and view of Deep Lake. Far from civilization it gives me a sense of calm unlike anywhere else. Watching the moon rise over the mountains while I sit by the firepit out front has been one of my favorite pastimes for so many years now it’s hard to remember when I started.
As my fire burned down and I was tired enough for the evening, at the edge of the trees I could see a pair of eyes softly glowing in the distance.
“I can see you over there, you can come closer, I'm not going to bite.”
The eyes unblinkingly grew closer.
At the edge of my light they spoke, “Greetings, may I share the fire with you tonight?”
“I don’t see why not,” I reach for the last pair of logs near my chair, “I think I can keep the fire going a little while longer.”
“Thank you.”
The eyes got closer but stayed just out of the light, unmoving.
“Why don’t you come over here and have a seat closer to the fire,” I gestured to the other chairs, “have your pick, they're nice and sturdy, I built them years ago with my grandkids,” I smiled, “We worked a whole summer out here making them and my cabin.”
“Some find my form… unsettling, you may not wish to see me now.”
“Alright then if you prefer,” silence followed for what felt like forever. “So what brings you out to my neck of the woods?”
“I’m picking up an old friend. But they don’t know it yet.”
“Whisking someone off in the dead of night without them knowing? Little spooky don’t you think?”
“I’ll talk with them first so it’s not too upsetting. It’s the preferred way.”
“How’s that the preferred way?”
Silence followed for so long I was about to speak, “It’s easier,” there was a pain in their voice. I knew I shouldn’t press further.
“So are you meeting them by the lake? You should know the forecast said a snowstorm was moving in.”
“It won’t be much of a concern for us, the weather never is.”
“The prepared type huh? That’s always good.”
We sat in silence as the fire burned down and was barely more than embers. It had gotten very cold by now. I looked to the stars above and saw the clouds had moved in without me noticing. And a snowflake touched my nose. When I looked back down the eyes were in the chair across from me. I couldn’t make out the details of what they looked like, just the eyes stood out. A soft glow from them not too dissimilar to the glowing embers of a fire.
“Finally felt like taking a seat, huh?”
“They looked quite comfortable and I didn’t want to miss the chance. I could rest for a long time in one of these.”
“I always think the same thing, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fallen asleep out here in this chair thinking about that summer”
“I believe it,” the tone, it was almost like they wanted to say, “I know.”
“I’m pretty tired, so I’m going to go to sleep,” my eyes were feeling heavier with each breath, “you can stay as long as you like just be sure that the fire is out before you leave.”
My limbs were feeling too heavy to move. Maybe I just nap a little before I head inside.
“I always do.” | It was a dark and moonless night at the edge of the Everwood, and Artem sat staring into the dying embers of the fire as its sheltering warmth surrendered to the cool air. He’d been on the verge of sleep when he heard a heavy shuffling nearby that put him on alert. This close to the Everwood it wasn’t uncommon to hear wildlife nearby, but they rarely left the treeline to approach homes.
Two amber glowing orbs stood across the pit from Artem, just outside the firelight, belonging to the largest creature Artem had ever seen. As he was about to flee it spoke, “Greetings, may I share your fire tonight?”
The words froze Artem in place. A Shaper. A hundred thoughts flooded Artem’s brain in the following seconds. Why would a Shaper leave the forest? Why would it speak to him? All he managed to say was, “Sure.”
A bear moved fully into the light revealing an impossibly large head, and a massive body with patterns of green fur tracing rune like symbols on top of its thick brown coat. As it settled down next to the fire Artem felt a tremor through the ground.
“You sit here alone every night human. Staring into that fire as if searching for something. What do you hope to find?” it asked.
The reminder of his loss cast a shadow over his fear. He hesitated to speak, but when a Shaper of the Everwood sits across from you there is a desire to do what it asks. “I sit here to remember those who can no longer sit with me. I sit here because there is nothing else for me in this world.”
A deep noise came from the bear as if the words were thrown to the ground between them, and it could only but acknowledge their falling. They sat for a time in silence watching the blackened logs slowly losing their glow. Eventually the bear spoke, “I cannot take away this weight that burdens you, but know that you do not carry it alone." After a pause it continued, "I came to bring a warning to the people of your town. The clearing has awakened. Men in the thousands march out from the heart of the Everwood appearing from the air itself.”
Artem bolted to his feet, staring at the bear. “Why tell me? Why speak to me when your kind have never been seen in this area as long as I’ve lived here?” he asked.
“Your people have always respected the Everwood, and so we respected you. Our presence only incites fear and aggression among your kind. Still we have worked to keep the less peaceful of the forest's occupants from you. This new threat is different. We have lost many in guarding the forest, but they cut through to your world just the same.” The bear said while continuing to lounge next to the fire looking towards Artem.
“If your kind can’t stand against them then what hope do we have? We have no weapons to stand against an army!” Artem nearly yelled, glancing towards the impenetrable darkness of the trees.
With a rumbling grunt the bear got up from the ground and began walking away, “Flee. Warn your people. A war comes that even the Shapers cannot prevent.” | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | I always enjoyed a campfire to warm myself up during the winter, it reminded me of the forests that I used to camp at before I moved to the city. My house had a big yard that was fenced off from a Grove of trees that the neighbors always refused to cut down. I didn't mind this since it added to my felling of the forest.
As the embers slowly danced and faded I went to snuff it out for the night but my eyes caught a glimpse of a pair of eyes staring at me.
*"Greetings,"* it rasped, *"may I share your fire tonight?"*
My vison shot back up to the creature but I didn't feel fear. The eyes glowed with the dying ember color, it's pupils were near invisible within the glow of the fire. The eyes weren't aggressive, but gentle in a way, as if they had experienced a thousand stories and are waiting to experience a thousand more.
*"Yes, you may, let me grab more wood."*
*"That won't be necessary."*
The creature creaked and rumbled as if it was made of wood and stone. It stretched out its hand, human-like with moss covering it. The creature flexed its hand and a small fire appeared. As the fire danced in its hand the creature dropped it into the campfire giving the embers life once more as they danced in the dark revealing the identity of the creature.
It was large, but not opposing, it's fur was mossy and covered in leaves. Most of its body looked as if it was made of the forest itself. The face that bared the glowing eyes was human with a bit of goat mixed in. The top of its head it bore two long tree like antlers. It sat on the ground on the other side of the fire.
After a long silence I finally decided to break it with questions.
*"If you don't mind me asking, "* I begin, *"what are you?"*
It looked up from the fire up to me and it's eyes seemed to try to study the question, but it soon gave its answer.
*"I am what your kind consider another story to put fear into your young, another lie to let the mob see us as the monsters, another theme that is used within the fantasies that your kind make to escape the real world."*
It leaned forward closer to the fire and sadness was all that I could see from the creature.
*"A troll is what I am, best to remember that."* | The warm flickers of the flame offered comfort in the chilly night. My hands outstretched towards the fire, trapping the heat between my fingers, trying to keep my body heat. The others had gone to bed, leaving me to watch the dying flames waiting for their light to extinguish. As a stray yawn left my lips, goosebumps surfaced along my arms, accompanied by a feeling of dread. Such a feeling was common at night, but this felt more sinister, as though it were more real than the strange imaginings of my mind.
My hands shifted together, rubbing with added intensity, trying to soothe the growing discomfort. Suddenly, the warmth of the fire did nothing more than offer a small sanctuary of safety from the ever-suffocating darkness of my property. Unable to seek comfort in its warmth like I previously had.
“Greetings.” A raspy voice spoke up. I was certain the voice had come from the street and yet I couldn’t see anyone under the streetlights. I rose from my chair, trying to get a better view of the stranger, but no matter where my gaze went, I could not spot them.
Maybe it was a group of teenagers trying to scare me? I knew having the campfire set up on my front lawn was a bad idea. It just invited weirdos to come and bother me. My foot tapped against the ground, trying to tire out my anxieties as I sat down again, praying that it was all in my head.
“May I share your fire tonight?” As those words were spoken, a pair of deep, ruby colored eyes opened in the distance. In the darkness, I couldn’t make out anything other than their eyes, forced to stare into their gaze as they patiently waited for my answer.
“Excuse me? This is private property.” Were they standing on my property? How could I even tell? They were still a few feet away from me, observing me from a distance. Maybe they were still on the street?
“I understand, which is why I’m asking for permission to join you. That fire will die out soon. I was hoping to warm my body before that happens. If you would be kind enough to let me join you.”
Nothing about their tone sounded threatening. I made a motion with my hand, silently telling them to join me. Despite my motions, they refused to move from their spot, still gazing in my direction, not even blinking.
“Please tell me I can join you.”
“You can join me?” Even with my confusion, that was enough of an invitation for the stranger. They made their way over to the flames and found themselves a chair. With the light of the campfire now on them, I could see more of their body.
She was tall, that much was obvious given how she stared down at me, her wrinkled face holding a smile as she placed her worn, skeletal fingers on the embers, stealing whatever warmth she could from them. “Thank you. It’s rare to find someone that would be so trusting of a stranger. I’m Victoria.”
I didn’t respond at first, lost in the red pits of her eyes. Something about them held my attention, only able to pull myself away when she blinked. “I’m Luke. I don’t mean to be rude, but is it safe for an older woman like you to be out this late?” My attempt at being tactful failed, her face only stirring into a frown as she twisted her fingers near the embers, warming the back of her hands.
“Perhaps not, but I enjoy a midnight walk. It’s one of the rare times I’m allowed to be outside. So, why are you out here alone? I thought a handsome man like you would have a partner to share this with.”
“A partner? Oh, no. I wish. I was just spending the night outside with my friends. We like to have a fire. It helps give us something to do. They ended up getting tired, so I offered to extinguish the fire for them. Guess I got a little distracted.”
“No partner? I have a daughter you would like.” Victoria considered before letting out a dry laugh. “Are my walking habits your only concern? Usually people mention my eyes.”
It was true. Her eyes were strange and still I felt compelled not to ask about them. Whether it was out of fear or a worry that bringing up such a thing would be a touchy subject. “I admit, it has crossed my mind, but I didn’t want to offend you.”
“You’re a kind soul, a little dimwitted, but kind. I will spare you tonight. Do you know about the witching hour?” Her eyes dulled, returning to a normal blue and suddenly I felt awake, as though that cloudy haze of confusion had fled.
“The hour is nearly over; I intend to go home. Just so you know, Luke. I intended to kill you tonight. I was only waiting for you to mention my eyes. Most of us have a method to our monstrous nature. I wait for my victims to point out my eyes before trapping them inside, making them watch as I lure others into the same fate as them. You got lucky. If you wish to try that luck again, keep camping like this. Maybe you will enter the witching hour again.”
I awoke to the dying flame at my feet, its warmth long since fading. “What a strange dream. I can’t believe I dozed off.” I found myself a bucket, filling it with water and dousing the remains of the flame. “There, that should do it. I really should go to bed. It’s creepy sleeping outside. Anyone could have just walked over to me.”
As I headed inside, I tried to piece together the remnants of the dream. There was an old woman and some strange eyes? That was about as much as I could piece together. Well, that and the fact that if I wanted to see her, I needed to set up a campfire again. I’m sure my friends would love to hear that story the next time we did this. Maybe I might even see her again. I chuckled at the thought, certain the story would scare at least one of them.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | I always enjoyed a campfire to warm myself up during the winter, it reminded me of the forests that I used to camp at before I moved to the city. My house had a big yard that was fenced off from a Grove of trees that the neighbors always refused to cut down. I didn't mind this since it added to my felling of the forest.
As the embers slowly danced and faded I went to snuff it out for the night but my eyes caught a glimpse of a pair of eyes staring at me.
*"Greetings,"* it rasped, *"may I share your fire tonight?"*
My vison shot back up to the creature but I didn't feel fear. The eyes glowed with the dying ember color, it's pupils were near invisible within the glow of the fire. The eyes weren't aggressive, but gentle in a way, as if they had experienced a thousand stories and are waiting to experience a thousand more.
*"Yes, you may, let me grab more wood."*
*"That won't be necessary."*
The creature creaked and rumbled as if it was made of wood and stone. It stretched out its hand, human-like with moss covering it. The creature flexed its hand and a small fire appeared. As the fire danced in its hand the creature dropped it into the campfire giving the embers life once more as they danced in the dark revealing the identity of the creature.
It was large, but not opposing, it's fur was mossy and covered in leaves. Most of its body looked as if it was made of the forest itself. The face that bared the glowing eyes was human with a bit of goat mixed in. The top of its head it bore two long tree like antlers. It sat on the ground on the other side of the fire.
After a long silence I finally decided to break it with questions.
*"If you don't mind me asking, "* I begin, *"what are you?"*
It looked up from the fire up to me and it's eyes seemed to try to study the question, but it soon gave its answer.
*"I am what your kind consider another story to put fear into your young, another lie to let the mob see us as the monsters, another theme that is used within the fantasies that your kind make to escape the real world."*
It leaned forward closer to the fire and sadness was all that I could see from the creature.
*"A troll is what I am, best to remember that."* | Our mom died a year after my younger sister, Mary Lee, was born. I don’t remember my mom all too well, but my dad always told us about how paranoid she was and how her life insurance papers were three times the width of the biggest bible. She wanted us to be taken care of in case anything happened, she prayed every night for our health (according to Dad).
When my dad died, he left me his cabin. It was a cabin he built with his own hands during the summer when the weather was good (good enough in the outskirts of Georgia at least). He wanted to build something before giving his life away to the factory he knew our grandpa would want him to oversee. He put his life into the cabin every summer and he took me and Mary Lee there every break no matter the weather after it was finished. Compared to our actual home, which he seemingly wanted nothing to do with, the cabin was beautifully kept and modernized year after year.
One night during one of those cabin trips, Mary Lee purposefully scratched up the wall behind the refrigerator the night before we left thinking that there would be no way that Dad could find it before the next trip. It was no surprise when the scratches were gone the next time we went up there.
After Dad’s funeral, I took my own family to the cabin. I expected it to be in awful condition considering Dad wasn’t really healthy by the time he died.
When we arrived, my wife walked in first to scope out the place she’d heard so much about and almost immediately shot right back out.
“Jimmy,” Alicia said. “I think we’re at the wrong place, sweetheart.”
The kids had already raced in following my wife, but they stayed in the cabin and I heard their excited yells.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Didn’t you say that no one came up here anymore? The place is absolutely spotless.”
I dropped our luggage and I walked into the house.
The wood floors shined, the granite countertops were replaced with marble, the cabinets with fresh coats of paint, the fridge was stocked, the bedsheets cleaned. The firepit in the backyard was roaring with a pile of cut firewood. I called my sister asking if she was here, but she’d moved to Maine years ago and was already on a flight back.
“Did Dad ever mention anything about renting the place?” I asked her.
“No, he always said he wanted to make it back up there at some point but that was like years ago.” Mary Lee replied.
My dad’s cabin had no neighbors, the nearest people were a couple miles down the road and they too were confused when we asked about if anyone had been here lately. The city’s sheriff sent out a patrol car to keep watch over us while we stayed and took advantage of the place. The fire was bright, responsible for cooking up some of the best s’mores I’ve ever had in my life even to this day. My wife and I spent a couple hours drinking wine and talking about the kids while they pretended to sleep.
When the kids were actually ready for bed, I told Alicia I’d put out the fire and head back in. When I went to go get a bucket of water, I saw a pair of brilliant blue eyes stare at me from the nearly dying embers of the fire.
“Greetings,” it said. “May I share your fire tonight?”
Its voice was warm, which wasn’t unreasonable if it were speaking from the flames. I stared back into its glowing eyes and I understood.
“You may,” I replied. “Thank you for taking care of us over the years, thank you for taking care of my dad.”
"It's what your mother would have wanted." | |
[WP] Earth was doomed. The rich and the powerful escaped into space, and eventually found a planet to repopulate. However when it was time to start rebuilding, they realized being 'leaders in their market' now counted for nothing. | I had fought to bring them. In the end, I stayed behind. The rich were in for a rude awakening on their new planet. They lived in the lap of convenience. Now they were going to have to put in the work to survive.
I stood on the deck of the lead ship. After the rich left, I used my great wealth to fund the Exodus. Many ships were built. I managed to save a good chunk of humanity. I wished I could save everyone. I did know that new ships were being built in the now vacant ship lots. Hopefully everyone would make it off of Earth in time.
Extinction began with a massive ongoing eruption. They called it a Traps type eruption. It could last centuries. As the eruption continued, our atmosphere became poisonous. There was little sunlight, and winter set in. It refused to warm into spring.
The mid Atlantic ridge ripped apart, and the ocean warmed up. It kept warming. Methane joined the volcanic gases in the atmosphere, making the air too poisonous to breathe.
Our new home was to be a planet in a little galaxy on the edge of the Sagittarius arm. We called it the Lygorian system. It contained a large planet with a single moon and a single sun.
Of course we would never see it. Our descendants would. That’s why we left. Our plan was to give a bright future to our race. The trip itself would last at least 200 years.
Days rolled by. A message arrived. The rich found a planet to inhabit, and they were gloating. I grinned and wrote back. Days later, the reply came. Yup. The rich just realized their error. Now they begged for us to join them. I wrote back with a single word. No. Because I’m a nice person, I added in the coordinates to Lygoria. Wether they joined us or not was up to them. | You quickly realized that you only got where you where by luck. Sure you'd had access to the cutting edge of the field and even benefited form it in some small way. But 2 months living in the craters really brought out the inadequacy of it all.
Sharon was a business leader back on the husk we left behind but died of a mismanagement of resources. The economic theory that things only get more expensive and don't run out doesn't really apply in early stages of teraforming.
Bill was a tech investor, made some really cutting edge stuff. Or rather got some other people to write the program as he envisioned it. Sure he'd done some of the code here and there but at the end of the day a bug he didn't spot meant his auto watering compensated by waiting a year when it overwatered
Richard was a former president. The last president before it all went to hell. But being a politician meant he only sounded smart and since everyone had crushed someone to get here no one bought his bullshit because we all knew it was talk you used on "the masses". Too many egos i suppose.
Non of us where geniuses we thought we where. Just lucky enough to end up at the most extreme end of fortune just in time for the world to end. We where just the frauds and phonies who'd convinced everyone we knew best; but we didn't listen to those who really knew better. We didn't listen to the teachers who taught us or the researchers who found our research and now we where out on our own with just the knowledge we brought it was clear our luck was out.
Everyone had some inspirational book they'd wrote about the secrets to sucess, about how we lifted from ordinary lives to the hights of decadence. we sold it to everyone our ripped old yarns of our how we moved mountains like gods. But now we where left with only the unfamiliar star patterns outside the dome and the harsh reality we weren't as godlike as we thought.
We the lucky few burned a world to get here so we could die on the best tools money could buy because we all forgot about all the little people who were necessary to build the tools to build the tools we actually knew how to use. Thats the end of the human race...for us atleast. | |
[WP] Earth was doomed. The rich and the powerful escaped into space, and eventually found a planet to repopulate. However when it was time to start rebuilding, they realized being 'leaders in their market' now counted for nothing. | The shudder of the shuttle touching down was an uncomfortable experience. He was familiar with the sensation of re-entering atmosphere, yet old age had made him tender. He could feel every shake course through his very bones, making the descent to the planets surface akin to agony. How old was he now? He’d lost count of years in truth. Time had become such an odious concept for him. The countless sleeps, the numerous faces flashing before him one moment only to be replaced in the blink of an eye.
Was this how the gods had felt amongst their mortal children: A turtle among mayflies?
But even with the passage of time, he had not forgotten why he had come all this way.
“We have arrived, All-father.” The pilot spoke.
His wrinkled, gnarled hand gripped firmly at the cane as he struggled to his feet. An armored figure at his side helped him to his feet, features obscured behind the black visor of their environment suit. He had forgone it in this instance, the readings said that everything was green so there wouldn’t be an issue for him. Even as he stepped out into the open field, the sun shining on him did little for the cold he felt in his old bones. In the distance was the jutting twisted metal of what had been the shuttles nose. The rest of the shuttle repurposed and rebuilt seemingly into a new settlement. The distance was minimal between the landing zone and the entrance, yet even from outside he could see the signs of nature reclaiming the alien structure. Roots and vines had expanded out, entwining the structure.
​
“I didn’t know there could be so much green in the world, All-father!”
The figure to his side spoke, her modulated voice betraying her pure awe. Like a child, she looked around at the planet whilst he silently trudged along. The others around him were similar. Her hands moved to the sides of her helmet, disconnecting it from her suit before removing it from her head. Pale skin was almost sickly green in places, accompanied by scales blotching her face at irregular intervals. Her green eyes slowly widened, mouth gaping as she took in her first true breath of air.
“They’re so big!” Another soldier pointed out a tree to his counterpart gleefully.
*They are such Children. They really don’t understand at all.*
He’d leave them to their gawking; unlike them, he had more important things to take care of.
# ***
The interior was barren, dust and rust both coagulating on the structure in various parts of the settlement. His guards had taken care of the door before his arrival, routinely searching the area for any signs of life. But all that greeted them was silence. Not even the fauna dared breach this place, as though the alien edifice was cursed.
With some fortune, they had been able to get one terminal working via the aid of a battery.
“Leave me.” He gruffly spoke at last, the figures bowing in reverence as he started to explore the files left behind. Perhaps, he’d be able to find where the survivors had gone.
There had to be survivors! After all, only the best of humanity had been on this shuttle. The experts in their fields, the most influential politicians and those with the biggest pockets. Among them, they must have found a way to survive and flourish in the time since they fled.
But, there was no records of another settlement. No emails, no articles, nothing. Some video-logs were found luckily. Perhaps, that could provide the answer?
​
As the video’s started to play he saw the figures he was once so familiar with. Once, he had even revered some of them as all on earth had. The scenes had been pleasant first, celebrations of making planet-fall and beginning to setup along with plans. But as the videos continued, he found the mood soon soured. After all, they had still needed to rebuild.
​
Without a lower class, they needed to divide themselves into an authority to decide on the next course of action. Some felt they weren’t appreciated in what they did, others felt they did more work than those in-charge and weren’t rewarded accordingly. Egos and personalities soon clashed, factions forming among what was the best choice for how this new society was to operate. Others deemed to have “Unnecessary” skills were punished with menial labor or cast out entirely to survive in the wilderness. It wouldn’t take long for fighting to break out, and from there everything collapsed.
“But why do I have to do it!?” Became a common complaint.
This fledgling utopia cannibalized itself. Without anyone to rule over, the rulers turned on one another. At the end, all it became was a contest to see who would rule the pile of ash.
​
*I’m truly alone!*
He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried. He had just wanted to find someone else that was left, he had held hope that he could find another person that could understand. He had just wanted to find another human, that was all he had wanted after so long!
# ***
**Eons Ago...**
The International Space Station had once been a symbol of progress and prosperity for the world below, but now all it offered was a front-row seat to annihilation. The comets impact had turned the once blue and green orb into a raging inferno. It was a sight that had driven even those that had been forced to remain here mad. Many of them had taken their own lives, even he had come close. He had hoped to overdose, but he had under-estimated the amount he could handle and had merely knocked himself unconscious. But despair had given way to something else as he stared out at that ball of fire and soot: Rage.
They could have saved millions of lives if they wanted to, but instead the rich had only saved themselves even at the cost of the species. Those that remained had been unwilling to stop them, or even save themselves from calamity.
He wasn’t going to die here like some foot-note of galactic history, no! Right now, he wanted nothing more than to live, even if it was just so that he could drag those treasonous bastards back to earth kicking and screaming! This wasn’t the end yet! He was going to make sure the species outlasted the folly of those that destroyed it!
But there were no more humans, or any other species for that matter. Well, except perhaps crocodiles; those things had survived virtually unchanged from prehistory.
Looking to the bodies of his dead colleagues provided the answer. He had six other samples right here! But even then, he had to ensure diversity of genetics. Perhaps, he could find something more on earths remains? If worse came to worse, he’d have to get creative.
Even then, they probably would need to adapt to this new biome that Earth would become. A normal human may not last. He had to make sure they could adapt to the new environment.
Supplies would also be a problem, and he knew he’d have to build more structures and equipment to even begin this operation. Fortunately, there was some drones aboard he could program. He could have some of them gather resources, run a program to ensure they built structures and supplies. They could gather resources in preparation for what was to come. He’d be able to get them down planet-side, but getting them back up could be problematic.
Oh well, he could just have them build another to get him back to earth!
But there was another issue: Time. He was going to need time, and the food on the station was only going to last him so long before it ran out. Even then, his own time was finite. Running calculations, he knew it would take years for them to even be able to get far enough for that!
He finally looked up from his terminal, back towards the ODIN cryogenic pod; the same one that was given to those that fled the planet, first built and tested here. He smiled.
*Yeah, time won’t be a problem.* | You quickly realized that you only got where you where by luck. Sure you'd had access to the cutting edge of the field and even benefited form it in some small way. But 2 months living in the craters really brought out the inadequacy of it all.
Sharon was a business leader back on the husk we left behind but died of a mismanagement of resources. The economic theory that things only get more expensive and don't run out doesn't really apply in early stages of teraforming.
Bill was a tech investor, made some really cutting edge stuff. Or rather got some other people to write the program as he envisioned it. Sure he'd done some of the code here and there but at the end of the day a bug he didn't spot meant his auto watering compensated by waiting a year when it overwatered
Richard was a former president. The last president before it all went to hell. But being a politician meant he only sounded smart and since everyone had crushed someone to get here no one bought his bullshit because we all knew it was talk you used on "the masses". Too many egos i suppose.
Non of us where geniuses we thought we where. Just lucky enough to end up at the most extreme end of fortune just in time for the world to end. We where just the frauds and phonies who'd convinced everyone we knew best; but we didn't listen to those who really knew better. We didn't listen to the teachers who taught us or the researchers who found our research and now we where out on our own with just the knowledge we brought it was clear our luck was out.
Everyone had some inspirational book they'd wrote about the secrets to sucess, about how we lifted from ordinary lives to the hights of decadence. we sold it to everyone our ripped old yarns of our how we moved mountains like gods. But now we where left with only the unfamiliar star patterns outside the dome and the harsh reality we weren't as godlike as we thought.
We the lucky few burned a world to get here so we could die on the best tools money could buy because we all forgot about all the little people who were necessary to build the tools to build the tools we actually knew how to use. Thats the end of the human race...for us atleast. | |
[WP] Earth was doomed. The rich and the powerful escaped into space, and eventually found a planet to repopulate. However when it was time to start rebuilding, they realized being 'leaders in their market' now counted for nothing. | **EntrepreNewReal**
*“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” -Arthur C. Clarke*
*“The acquisition of wealth is no longer the driving force in our lives. We work to better ourselves, and the rest of humanity.” -Captain Jean-Luc Picard*
Perpetual darkness faded in reverse to at first a soothing, and then gradually piercing orange-yellow light through the filter of long dormant eyes as he resumed consciousness after a long and dreamless slumber. A muted, gravelly, comically diabolical laughter rang forebodingly in his ears as his newborn body suddenly drank in all of his sensory surroundings for what felt like the first time in a lifetime… or had it been…?
“We made it! Hahahaha! I can’t believe it, but we’re here! Oh, I wish my brother could see this!” chimed the raspy, sinister butterscotch tenor of a foggy but familiar voice.
“It would appear we have. I’m going to Proxima be real with you, I wasn’t sure the technology was reliable. But it would seem through empirical necessity, we’ve prevailed against our odds, now, doesn’t it?” responded another mousy, mildly accented stranger through the fog of his awakening.
“I don’t know that this is where you think it is, Mr. Musk. Not that I’m any kind of xenogeologist, or subject matter expert, but- has anyone checked the instruments and analyzed the data yet to establish our coordinates?” rasped a third, wearier tone. It was slowly coming back… slowly.
He gazed from side to side through the fogged lenses of atrophied eyes to see his arms rising slowly from the warm bath of astringent, chemical smelling goo as they were raised upon the pedestals to which they were affixed- being fed by a host of intravenous tubes stemming from the mechanical coffin which had with some increasing apparency housed him for quite some time.
“Why don’t you Google it?” joked the second voice.
“They’re not awake yet,” snapped the third.
“No. But it would appear Mark is coming to.” Observed the first voice.
“Has anyone even looked outside yet? Are all of the, um, ya know- the machines we built- what kind of condition are they in?” inquired Elon.
“Fuck that! How about the women? Are any of them awake yet? Is my Alive Girl, you know… alive again, yet?” asked the first man.
“Alive, almost for certain. Awake is another question. I didn’t bring the wife, Jeff,” the third voice remarked in its characteristic scratchiness.
“I know, after the whole other Jeffy thing, with the island…” snarked the voice now identified as Jeff Bezos. | You quickly realized that you only got where you where by luck. Sure you'd had access to the cutting edge of the field and even benefited form it in some small way. But 2 months living in the craters really brought out the inadequacy of it all.
Sharon was a business leader back on the husk we left behind but died of a mismanagement of resources. The economic theory that things only get more expensive and don't run out doesn't really apply in early stages of teraforming.
Bill was a tech investor, made some really cutting edge stuff. Or rather got some other people to write the program as he envisioned it. Sure he'd done some of the code here and there but at the end of the day a bug he didn't spot meant his auto watering compensated by waiting a year when it overwatered
Richard was a former president. The last president before it all went to hell. But being a politician meant he only sounded smart and since everyone had crushed someone to get here no one bought his bullshit because we all knew it was talk you used on "the masses". Too many egos i suppose.
Non of us where geniuses we thought we where. Just lucky enough to end up at the most extreme end of fortune just in time for the world to end. We where just the frauds and phonies who'd convinced everyone we knew best; but we didn't listen to those who really knew better. We didn't listen to the teachers who taught us or the researchers who found our research and now we where out on our own with just the knowledge we brought it was clear our luck was out.
Everyone had some inspirational book they'd wrote about the secrets to sucess, about how we lifted from ordinary lives to the hights of decadence. we sold it to everyone our ripped old yarns of our how we moved mountains like gods. But now we where left with only the unfamiliar star patterns outside the dome and the harsh reality we weren't as godlike as we thought.
We the lucky few burned a world to get here so we could die on the best tools money could buy because we all forgot about all the little people who were necessary to build the tools to build the tools we actually knew how to use. Thats the end of the human race...for us atleast. | |
[WP] Earth was doomed. The rich and the powerful escaped into space, and eventually found a planet to repopulate. However when it was time to start rebuilding, they realized being 'leaders in their market' now counted for nothing. | The shudder of the shuttle touching down was an uncomfortable experience. He was familiar with the sensation of re-entering atmosphere, yet old age had made him tender. He could feel every shake course through his very bones, making the descent to the planets surface akin to agony. How old was he now? He’d lost count of years in truth. Time had become such an odious concept for him. The countless sleeps, the numerous faces flashing before him one moment only to be replaced in the blink of an eye.
Was this how the gods had felt amongst their mortal children: A turtle among mayflies?
But even with the passage of time, he had not forgotten why he had come all this way.
“We have arrived, All-father.” The pilot spoke.
His wrinkled, gnarled hand gripped firmly at the cane as he struggled to his feet. An armored figure at his side helped him to his feet, features obscured behind the black visor of their environment suit. He had forgone it in this instance, the readings said that everything was green so there wouldn’t be an issue for him. Even as he stepped out into the open field, the sun shining on him did little for the cold he felt in his old bones. In the distance was the jutting twisted metal of what had been the shuttles nose. The rest of the shuttle repurposed and rebuilt seemingly into a new settlement. The distance was minimal between the landing zone and the entrance, yet even from outside he could see the signs of nature reclaiming the alien structure. Roots and vines had expanded out, entwining the structure.
​
“I didn’t know there could be so much green in the world, All-father!”
The figure to his side spoke, her modulated voice betraying her pure awe. Like a child, she looked around at the planet whilst he silently trudged along. The others around him were similar. Her hands moved to the sides of her helmet, disconnecting it from her suit before removing it from her head. Pale skin was almost sickly green in places, accompanied by scales blotching her face at irregular intervals. Her green eyes slowly widened, mouth gaping as she took in her first true breath of air.
“They’re so big!” Another soldier pointed out a tree to his counterpart gleefully.
*They are such Children. They really don’t understand at all.*
He’d leave them to their gawking; unlike them, he had more important things to take care of.
# ***
The interior was barren, dust and rust both coagulating on the structure in various parts of the settlement. His guards had taken care of the door before his arrival, routinely searching the area for any signs of life. But all that greeted them was silence. Not even the fauna dared breach this place, as though the alien edifice was cursed.
With some fortune, they had been able to get one terminal working via the aid of a battery.
“Leave me.” He gruffly spoke at last, the figures bowing in reverence as he started to explore the files left behind. Perhaps, he’d be able to find where the survivors had gone.
There had to be survivors! After all, only the best of humanity had been on this shuttle. The experts in their fields, the most influential politicians and those with the biggest pockets. Among them, they must have found a way to survive and flourish in the time since they fled.
But, there was no records of another settlement. No emails, no articles, nothing. Some video-logs were found luckily. Perhaps, that could provide the answer?
​
As the video’s started to play he saw the figures he was once so familiar with. Once, he had even revered some of them as all on earth had. The scenes had been pleasant first, celebrations of making planet-fall and beginning to setup along with plans. But as the videos continued, he found the mood soon soured. After all, they had still needed to rebuild.
​
Without a lower class, they needed to divide themselves into an authority to decide on the next course of action. Some felt they weren’t appreciated in what they did, others felt they did more work than those in-charge and weren’t rewarded accordingly. Egos and personalities soon clashed, factions forming among what was the best choice for how this new society was to operate. Others deemed to have “Unnecessary” skills were punished with menial labor or cast out entirely to survive in the wilderness. It wouldn’t take long for fighting to break out, and from there everything collapsed.
“But why do I have to do it!?” Became a common complaint.
This fledgling utopia cannibalized itself. Without anyone to rule over, the rulers turned on one another. At the end, all it became was a contest to see who would rule the pile of ash.
​
*I’m truly alone!*
He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried. He had just wanted to find someone else that was left, he had held hope that he could find another person that could understand. He had just wanted to find another human, that was all he had wanted after so long!
# ***
**Eons Ago...**
The International Space Station had once been a symbol of progress and prosperity for the world below, but now all it offered was a front-row seat to annihilation. The comets impact had turned the once blue and green orb into a raging inferno. It was a sight that had driven even those that had been forced to remain here mad. Many of them had taken their own lives, even he had come close. He had hoped to overdose, but he had under-estimated the amount he could handle and had merely knocked himself unconscious. But despair had given way to something else as he stared out at that ball of fire and soot: Rage.
They could have saved millions of lives if they wanted to, but instead the rich had only saved themselves even at the cost of the species. Those that remained had been unwilling to stop them, or even save themselves from calamity.
He wasn’t going to die here like some foot-note of galactic history, no! Right now, he wanted nothing more than to live, even if it was just so that he could drag those treasonous bastards back to earth kicking and screaming! This wasn’t the end yet! He was going to make sure the species outlasted the folly of those that destroyed it!
But there were no more humans, or any other species for that matter. Well, except perhaps crocodiles; those things had survived virtually unchanged from prehistory.
Looking to the bodies of his dead colleagues provided the answer. He had six other samples right here! But even then, he had to ensure diversity of genetics. Perhaps, he could find something more on earths remains? If worse came to worse, he’d have to get creative.
Even then, they probably would need to adapt to this new biome that Earth would become. A normal human may not last. He had to make sure they could adapt to the new environment.
Supplies would also be a problem, and he knew he’d have to build more structures and equipment to even begin this operation. Fortunately, there was some drones aboard he could program. He could have some of them gather resources, run a program to ensure they built structures and supplies. They could gather resources in preparation for what was to come. He’d be able to get them down planet-side, but getting them back up could be problematic.
Oh well, he could just have them build another to get him back to earth!
But there was another issue: Time. He was going to need time, and the food on the station was only going to last him so long before it ran out. Even then, his own time was finite. Running calculations, he knew it would take years for them to even be able to get far enough for that!
He finally looked up from his terminal, back towards the ODIN cryogenic pod; the same one that was given to those that fled the planet, first built and tested here. He smiled.
*Yeah, time won’t be a problem.* | I had fought to bring them. In the end, I stayed behind. The rich were in for a rude awakening on their new planet. They lived in the lap of convenience. Now they were going to have to put in the work to survive.
I stood on the deck of the lead ship. After the rich left, I used my great wealth to fund the Exodus. Many ships were built. I managed to save a good chunk of humanity. I wished I could save everyone. I did know that new ships were being built in the now vacant ship lots. Hopefully everyone would make it off of Earth in time.
Extinction began with a massive ongoing eruption. They called it a Traps type eruption. It could last centuries. As the eruption continued, our atmosphere became poisonous. There was little sunlight, and winter set in. It refused to warm into spring.
The mid Atlantic ridge ripped apart, and the ocean warmed up. It kept warming. Methane joined the volcanic gases in the atmosphere, making the air too poisonous to breathe.
Our new home was to be a planet in a little galaxy on the edge of the Sagittarius arm. We called it the Lygorian system. It contained a large planet with a single moon and a single sun.
Of course we would never see it. Our descendants would. That’s why we left. Our plan was to give a bright future to our race. The trip itself would last at least 200 years.
Days rolled by. A message arrived. The rich found a planet to inhabit, and they were gloating. I grinned and wrote back. Days later, the reply came. Yup. The rich just realized their error. Now they begged for us to join them. I wrote back with a single word. No. Because I’m a nice person, I added in the coordinates to Lygoria. Wether they joined us or not was up to them. | |
[WP] You wake up and slowly look around. You're in a jail cell and have no idea why. But that isn't even the strangest part. For some reason, everyone else, inmates and guards alike, seem to be absolutely terrified of you. | This is definitely not my bedroom. The harsh artificial light. The steely smell. The rattle of keys. The din of conversations.
Where the heck am I? In a panic, I opened my eyes but was immediately punished by an unbelievable pang. As if a dagger pierced my cornea. My head reeling, I fell back on the bed, and the steel frame voiced its complaint. I started drifting out of consciousness again but was kept afloat by adrenaline.
A thousand questions raced through my mind. Not allowing my eyes to widen beyond a conservative squint, I attempted to take account of my surroundings, A windowless cell. At most 6 by 6 feet. The room was eerily empty, except for the few messages coined with some sharp object that emblazoned the concrete walls, such as *No price for freedom* and *love you Sam.*
**Clunk Clunk**
I diverted my attention towards the cell bars, watching as an officer sauntered along the corridor greeting each of the prisoners with his baton.
“Hey, Hey!” I shouted, my voice gruffer than I remembered. When was the last time I spoke? How long was I asleep?
I could hear the officer’s feet stamping away more quickly. His flippant amble quickly turned into a run.
“Where am I? How long was I asleep? Why am I here?!” I cried, running to the bars, grabbing them helplessly. Tears streamed down my face. Composure was long gone. But the officer was out of sight, and the other inmates crawled back into their cells.
And then I noticed another message on the wall, just above the bars. I recognized the handwriting immediately. I wrote this.
*Jeremy, if you wake up following the experimentations, it means that you indeed possess the rare telekinetic gene. Get out. Now.* | "The hell are you all looking at? God Jesus Mary and Joseph, why there is blood all over my face!?"
I slowly try to remember where I am, and I completely fail. Nothing, nothing come around. I manage to remember something, but it makes no sense. Green grass, a woman who seems to be my mom, a funny but scary looking wizard, and my father. I don't really like my father. I look around. Those guys look nothing like the people on my memories. The one right in front of me is huge, and have a knife dripping with blood from his hand.
"Oh god, is this my blood? Did you puncture my brain? I mean, stab me in the forehead? In front of everyone? Did I insult your mother or something?"
I really, really like my mom.
The dude drops the knife. He is only seven foot tall, looks like took huge steroids, and is bald. I'm five feet tall, skinny as a teenage girl and...I look at the mirror of blood on the floor. Teenager. I actually pluck my own hair. Yep,redhead. I kind of hate how much young I look.
I slowly raise from the floor, and I look around. Bunch of idiots with similar tatoos. Look like a gang.
"Well, if anybody else wants to kill me, you're free to try. I think the guards with their lovely shotguns pointed at me may try first".
The cops are probably even more terrified than the inmates of me. The tense, but monotonous stand off lasts for several minutes, until other guards with keys and a blonde woman come from behind. She also looks like a teenager, is very happy to see me, and isn't even a little bothered by the fact I am covered with blood like a zombie.
"Honey, paid your bail! Also, daddy managed to get your sword out of the police safe. You never walk around without her and you didn't even use her to kill all those gang members, so it is not criminal evidence!"
I still have no idea of what she is talking about. I remember vaguely something about stealing the sword from my dad...and impaling the son of a bitch. Wait, why I hate him? It is suddenly making sense, but my memories from last night seem to not be coming back.
I approach the bars of the jail cell and talk to her, which seems cheery and happy like she just came out to grab me from some friend's birthday party.
"You're my mom?"
"Oh ho ho ho ho, I'm not your mom! They are dead. They both are".
"I have two?"
"Mom and stepmom".
"Ahn, ok. Did you ever see me get brain damage before and surviving?"
"Oh, that happened again? There is an easy password to unlock your memories, but I think last night is lost forever. Good, I was thinking you had cheated on me when you didn't show up for dinner".
"Sorry, I think".
I look up and down, She looks like she is wearing wizard robes. Something on the back of my head tells me she is also much older than she appears.
"Ahn, ok. I was going to make questions, but I think I will get the answers when you tell me the password".
She instructs me. It's apparently a very complex ritual.
"Put your ears against my lips. It has to be whispered like a lover"
Something on the back of my head then tells me it is not a complex ritual when I hear the last word, but that she likes the theatrics.
When the syllables come out, it's in a bizarre mix of spanish and welsh accents.
"Gui-ne-ve-re". | |
[WP] You wake up and slowly look around. You're in a jail cell and have no idea why. But that isn't even the strangest part. For some reason, everyone else, inmates and guards alike, seem to be absolutely terrified of you. | I always tossed and turned in my sleep. Tonight was no exception, however I could not return to my prior slumber. Rubbing the haze from my eyes, I was met with stone walls, steel bars, and frightened uniforms of different colors alike staring in my direction.
"Hmm... I take it this suit of... orange and yellow doesn't flatter me nicely. Though I can't say the rest of you look any more dashing. Except for him in the corner, yeah you buff guy, you can rock that or me any day of the week." Waiting for someone to respond never came. Just startled eyes and faces, trying to avoid looking directly at me, making their discomfort painfully obvious.
Taking a closer look to my surroundings I see that everyone is in cuffs yes, however my own appear to be twice the size. Shoulders sagging from the weight even, weighed down further by a heavy chain running to the wall. Now that was unique to me, none others in here had any sort of chains or restrictions, besides the bars you know. Security officers line the hallway with the same expression of fear as my cell mates. Theres no windows here, or nearby exits from what I can see. So what is this place, and why am I here?
"Should we kill her right now?" A whisper says. I can barely hear it, the eerie silent room helps carry their words to me.
"We need to follow our orders."
"Yes I understand that, but she needs to be held accountable for her actions before she can cause any more damage."
Responsible for what... I dont understand. I know I'm not perfect but surely there's a misunderstanding.
"And she will be. It won't be long now."
My throat feels drier than before, replaced by racing thoughts. I lay still, listening ever more carefully. Though now all I can hear is the thud of my heart in my ears, and the rush of air in and out of my lungs. Seconds turn into minutes, to hours, to days. Or so I think, there's no windows to tell the time. Only occasional meals with no consistent schedule, and a fading in and out of consciousness while I try to piece this together.
Footsteps are coming again, more than usual. In front of my cell are half a dozen men, all armed with guns pointed at me. One shakingly draws near and hastily releases my chains.
"Follow us. Any games-"
A bullet whizzes by my ear, a lock of hair falling to the ground.
"and we shoot you. Understood?"
I nod my head meakly. I shuffle between them, keeping quiet. I'm led through what seems like an endless amount of corridors until finally we stop outside a heavy bolted door. It looks like one of those you'd see on a bunker, maybe it is one.
The door opens before me and I'm greeted by a crude looking chair in the center. Instructed to take my seat, I do so cautiously. The officers strap me in tight, and once secured stand along the perimeter of the walls. In shuffles a priest followed by a few others in what I could say are lab coats.
"Merinda Larksey" the priest began. "You're here to stand trial for your numerous sins. 14 million acts of murder-"
"WHAT? I didn't do that! No way, stop this!" I screamed and struggled against my bonds, however he kept reading from his book.
"caused by your hands. A mass genocide by your followers, claiming the lives of innocent people. You are here to die for your sins today, to end this war and bring a sliver of peace to our world to begin anew."
I felt something stirring inside me with his words. Something sinister, trying to claw to the surface.
"Please you don't understand, I haven't done anything, I have no idea what you're talking about!" I try once again, once more on deaf ears. I can no longer hear the words being said around me, my attention is on those with lab coats drawing nearer.
I'm suddenly nauseous, wretching anything once in my stomach to my feet. The world's shaking violently now as I go into hysteria.
I'm jolted back to the here and now by a prick of a needle penetrating my skin. The priest, in front of me now, looked up from his book, into my eyes. In them I saw my reflection looking back at me except... it wasn't human.
"Execute." | "The hell are you all looking at? God Jesus Mary and Joseph, why there is blood all over my face!?"
I slowly try to remember where I am, and I completely fail. Nothing, nothing come around. I manage to remember something, but it makes no sense. Green grass, a woman who seems to be my mom, a funny but scary looking wizard, and my father. I don't really like my father. I look around. Those guys look nothing like the people on my memories. The one right in front of me is huge, and have a knife dripping with blood from his hand.
"Oh god, is this my blood? Did you puncture my brain? I mean, stab me in the forehead? In front of everyone? Did I insult your mother or something?"
I really, really like my mom.
The dude drops the knife. He is only seven foot tall, looks like took huge steroids, and is bald. I'm five feet tall, skinny as a teenage girl and...I look at the mirror of blood on the floor. Teenager. I actually pluck my own hair. Yep,redhead. I kind of hate how much young I look.
I slowly raise from the floor, and I look around. Bunch of idiots with similar tatoos. Look like a gang.
"Well, if anybody else wants to kill me, you're free to try. I think the guards with their lovely shotguns pointed at me may try first".
The cops are probably even more terrified than the inmates of me. The tense, but monotonous stand off lasts for several minutes, until other guards with keys and a blonde woman come from behind. She also looks like a teenager, is very happy to see me, and isn't even a little bothered by the fact I am covered with blood like a zombie.
"Honey, paid your bail! Also, daddy managed to get your sword out of the police safe. You never walk around without her and you didn't even use her to kill all those gang members, so it is not criminal evidence!"
I still have no idea of what she is talking about. I remember vaguely something about stealing the sword from my dad...and impaling the son of a bitch. Wait, why I hate him? It is suddenly making sense, but my memories from last night seem to not be coming back.
I approach the bars of the jail cell and talk to her, which seems cheery and happy like she just came out to grab me from some friend's birthday party.
"You're my mom?"
"Oh ho ho ho ho, I'm not your mom! They are dead. They both are".
"I have two?"
"Mom and stepmom".
"Ahn, ok. Did you ever see me get brain damage before and surviving?"
"Oh, that happened again? There is an easy password to unlock your memories, but I think last night is lost forever. Good, I was thinking you had cheated on me when you didn't show up for dinner".
"Sorry, I think".
I look up and down, She looks like she is wearing wizard robes. Something on the back of my head tells me she is also much older than she appears.
"Ahn, ok. I was going to make questions, but I think I will get the answers when you tell me the password".
She instructs me. It's apparently a very complex ritual.
"Put your ears against my lips. It has to be whispered like a lover"
Something on the back of my head then tells me it is not a complex ritual when I hear the last word, but that she likes the theatrics.
When the syllables come out, it's in a bizarre mix of spanish and welsh accents.
"Gui-ne-ve-re". | |
[WP] You receive a report that someone had a cute cat, but refuses to share any pictures of it online. As an agent of the FBI's Pet Tax Evasion unit, you aren't going to let this stand. | A ceramic plate exploded against the kitchen wall, tearing a gash in the floral wallpaper, revealing the dark red painted bricks below.
Little Dana wept in the corner, hiding under the kitchen table. Her mom picked up the next nearest projectile, a saucepan of meat sauce, and hurled it at Dana’s dad.
“You think this is a joke?!” she screamed at him. He ducked and the meat sauce splattered all over him.
“Stop! Stop, for God’s sake!” Luke said, as his wife searched for something else to throw.
*Meow.*
Rupert, their new kitten, climbed into Dana’s lap and rubbed its nose against her chest.
“Shh,” Dana said, kissing Rupert’s ear.
*Meow!*
Her mom froze.
“Maggie,” Luke said, inching toward her. “Stay calm.”
“I hear it,” she said, cocking her head to the side. “It’s here. The demon.”
“Yeah,” Luke said, “And if you try to take its picture, guess what’s going to happen?”
“It’ll work this time.” Maggie grabbed her phone and turned her camera app on. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.”
Dana, under the table, tried to keep hold of Rupert. The little black creature slipped from her grasp and darted away, seemingly passing through reality unphased.
Luke grabbed Maggie in a bear hug, pinning her arms to her sides. She thrashed around, meat sauce dripping off of his face and onto her white tank top.
“God damnit, get off!”
“Honey, Maggie, sweetie – face it. We have to leave.”
Maggie started to cry.
“We have to get out of here,” Luke said, “lay low somewhere until this blows over. They're going to be looking for us. It's already been a month with no photos.”
“You’re the one that wanted the cat,” she said, sobbing.
“I know. I’m sorry. I had no idea…”
Maggie wiped the tears from her eyes and saw her daughter standing at her feet. Luke released her and Maggie swept Dana up into her arms.
“We never wanted this for you, Dana. Never.”
…
Six months later, Special Agent Francis Lasko peeled around the corner of a rundown suburban block somewhere out in the middle of Indiana. It was nighttime, and a half-eaten burger sat on his passenger seat. In the footwell were fifty empty energy drink cans.
Lasko never thought he’d be in this position, but after the fiasco up in Michigan City got pinned on him, the demotion was inevitable. He was reassigned to track down delinquents for the Pet Tax Evasion Unit, arguably the worst assignment in the whole bureau. The kind of assigment that eats a man from the inside.
He grabbed his radio, “I’ve spotted the suspect – blue minivan, trailing now.”
A jet black kitten – Rupert, according to his file – had been owned by this family for nearly seven months, without a single photo posted online. Lasko nearly threw up in his mouth when he read the case. The degenerates.
He watched the minivan pull into a rundown trailer park. A man and a woman climbed out. The woman opened the back door and took up a little girl in her arms. They all looked skinny, tired, afraid. Like a family on the run.
Lasko killed the engine and grabbed his gun.
“Wait for backup, Lasko—” He shut the radio off.
“No,” he said to himself. “Not this time.”
Leaving the radio and the rulebook behind, Lasko tiptoed over to the trailer and listened at the door.
“Just forget it, OK?” a man’s voice said.
“I know what I saw,” said the woman.
“You’re tired, you need sleep, that’s all.”
"I saw it, Luke!"
Lasko had a momentary return of his judgement. He thought about calling this in, doing it the right way. Bringing them in for questioning, giving them a chance to turn over the photos of Rupert or even post them online themselves.
But then he remembered all those nights he spent scrolling, looking for new cat pictures, and finding nothing but reposts. Reposts made him want to throttle someone. Reposts were a disgusting symptom of modern America’s decadence and depravity.
His face flushed red with rage. He stood up, took a deep breath, and kicked the trailer door in.
“Nobody move,” he screamed, pointing his gun at the adults – “FBI! Hands in the air!”
Luke threw his hands up. Maggie dove into the kitchen. Lasko turned and fired, blowing a hole through a cabinet and striking a bag of flour, sending a white cloud into the air.
“Come out with your hands up, I’m warning you!”
Maggie took cover behind the kitchen counter with a steak knife.
“We didn’t mean to do it—” Luke tried to explain.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dana standing in the bathroom doorway. She knew better than to go towards them. Luke didn’t know whether it would be safer to warn the agent a child was there or not. This FBI agent looked deranged, his red eyes nearly bulging out of his skull.
“You selfish sons of bitches,” Lasko said.
“Rupert can’t be photographed, it’s impossible!”
“Tell it to the judge – or, better yet, to my friend here,” he said, waving the pistol. “Because today I’m not feeling too patient.”
Maggie leaned around the counter and threw the knife at Lasko, using the precision she learned during her summer with the circus to strike him in the leg. He cried out in pain and fell against the door, which opened backwards. He fell out and tumbled down the metal stairs.
Luke raced to the bathroom, scooped Dana up and slid open the back window.
“Go, Dana, go to the neighbors and call 911!”
Dana crawled through and dropped into the mud outside.
Lasko charged back into the trailer and opened fire at the kitchen. Maggie covered her ears and her head and the kitchen rained down on her, bullets flying every which way.
When the shooting stopped, she was untouched. All she could hear was Lasko’s heavy breathing.
In the bedroom, Luke fished out his own pistol and loaded it. He caught Lasko with an empty clip.
“Don’t move, sir,” Luke said.
“Threatening an officer is a felony.”
“I’m just trying to protect my family.”
“You had your chance – paying the pet tax. But no. Instead, you chose violence.”
“WE HAD NO CHOICE!” Luke bellowed.
*Meow.*
Everyone went rigid. Ears cocked.
*Meow, meow*.
“Rupert?” Maggie asked, standing and shaking debris out of her hair.
The door to the trailer opened, and in walked Dana. In her arms was a little black cat.
“Rupert!” Luke exclaimed. Rupert pawed Dana’s arm. Lasko, blood pouring from the knife wound in his leg, stumbled over and pet the cat.
“Hey, Rupert.”
He took his phone from his pocket and opened the camera app.
“Now, let’s just sneak a little… pic.”
As Lasko moved his thumb, Rupert pounced. He scratched Lasko across the face before diving onto the knife, using his full body weight to press the handle down. Lasko dropped his phone and collapsed in a wailing heap.
Rupert bounded out the door. The family raced after him. Lasko crawled over to his phone, leaving a blood smear across the floor, and dialed the FBI field office.
“It’s Agent Lasko,” he said. “Put an APB out – Rupert. Black cat. It’s a code red.”
The voice on the other line hesitated. “Lasko… a code red, are you sure?”
“Just do it,” he said.
A few minutes later, as the traumatized family stood outside their trailer, Lasko emerged and hobbled down the steps.
“I’m going to find that cat,” Lasko said, pushing past them, “And I’m gonna make him his own goddamn Instagram page. I won't stop till I'm dead. DEAD."
Lasko climbed into his car and drove off, leaving Luke, Maggie, and Dana wrapped in a group hug.
r/ididwritethismr | I sat at my desk finishing up some paperwork.
The phone rang.
"I have a report," said the voice on the other line. "Someone has a cute cat, but won't share any pictures of it online."
I looked up from my desk. "Is this a joke?"
"No," said the voice. "The person said so herself."
"You're pulling my leg."
"If I am, it's because only a leg could fit in this office. This room is barely large enough to fit a phone, much less a human leg."
I stared at the papers on my desk. "Are you in some sort of broom closet?"
"Not at all. I'm using a state of the art, high-quality, high-resolution camera to transmit this image in real time."
"How is that even possible?"
"You know how those new fangled cameras can take a picture of thousands of pixels and then use software to create a picture of millions of pixels? Well, there are millions of pixels in this room. What you see on the screen is a single pixel. I'm also using fiber-optic technology to transmit this image. It's the same kind of technology used to transmit an image from a camera on the moon to earth."
"That's impossible."
"You should see the size of the fiber-optic cable I'm using. It's massive."
I didn't know what to say. I wanted to believe it was true, but I couldn't. I couldn't imagine someone sharing pictures of their cat online, but not sharing pictures of their cat. I couldn't imagine someone being happy to share pictures of their cat, but not being willing to share pictures of their cat. If a person could be happy sharing pictures of their cat, but not willing to share pictures of their cat, then how I put my hand up and grabbed the phone.
"I've got this," I said.
The man on the line sighed. "Are you sure?"
"Positive."
I hung up, turned my chair around, and sat down with my back to the glass. I reached in my desk and pulled out a folder, then took out a white card, placed it on the folder, and snapped it shut. I tried to look like I was working, but I wasn't. I was staring at the screen on my phone, and waiting.
There was a knock at the door. I stared at the screen.
"Come in," I whispered.
The door opened and someone walked in, a middle-aged woman with narrow brown eyes and dark hair, who seemed to be in a hurry.
"Was your cat's image transferred?" she asked, as she pulled her jacket on.
"Um, yes she picked up the card, and handed it to me."
"That's excellent. Did she give you the card back?"
"Yes."
"Did you look?"
I nodded. "It's a picture of a cat."
"And then what happened?"
I swallowed. I had said everything I needed to say. I just needed to sit here and see what would happen next.
"I was just about to pick up the card and look at it, but then the phone rang."
She nodded, then looked around the room as if she expected someone else to walk in at any moment.
"And then I looked at the picture."
"Was there a word on the card?"
I nodded again. "That's it. The word," I said.
"And what is the word?"
"Do you want me to say it?" | |
[WP] You receive a report that someone had a cute cat, but refuses to share any pictures of it online. As an agent of the FBI's Pet Tax Evasion unit, you aren't going to let this stand. | Agent Elsie Hayes’s spirit animal was the bloodhound, and for good reason.
Within minutes of the alert that some lowlife malefactor was committing the horrific crime of not posting their cute cat online, Agent Hayes already had a name and address flashing on her screen. Online footprints were not easy to hide, even for those that refuse to use Instagram for its true purpose, like bloody paw prints leading straight to a door on Kingwood Street.
Hayes kept one wary hand on her gun. She didn’t know what kind of contemptible person she would meet behind the door. The agent breathed in deeply, and knocked a rapt three times.
“Coming!”
The muffled acknowledgement reached Hayes’ ears, along with the shuffling of soft slippers on a hardwood floor. The door creaked open slowly, revealing a middle-aged lady with a light smile on her face. Each piece of her outfit looked like it was thrown on in haste within five minutes, a stark contrast to the impeccable cutting on Agent Hayes’ black suit.
The middled-aged woman looked up and down. When she finally faced Elsie again, her face scrunched in confusion.
*What a good actor,* Hayes thought. *Dear god. How long has she been doing this?*
“Um, can I help you?”
Hayes took out her badge.
“Harmony Turner? FBI, Pet Tax Evasion unit,” Hayes continued. “We’ve received credible reports that—”
The door quickly slammed in the agent’s face. The relaxed stroll up to the door has now turned into a strong sprint in the opposite way, each boom on the hard floor just further proof of the woman’s
“Hard way it is, then,” she grumbled.
Hayes sucked in a breath, then quickly exhaled with a sudden shout, placing all the power in her heel against the door. A few splinters later, Hayes stood calmly in the hallway, pulling our her pistol.
“Here, kitty kitty kitty,” the agent whispered.
With the confidence and poise of a big cat, but the keen tracking of a hound, Hayes surveyed the surroundings and the mostly likely way Harmony would move.
“The cat,” Hayes smiled. “Of course she’s going for the cat.”
The agent quickly sprinted up the stairs, quickly turning each doorknob along the way, noticing that all of them opened easily. She pushed the doors in, sparing just a second to confirm that no one was in them. Hayes knew she hit the jackpot when she felt a struggling lock on one of the second floor rooms.
“Harmony Turner,” the agent said. “Why did you not post pictures of your cat online?”
“No! Nietzsche is not for public eyes! He’s just for me!”
Hayes grinned. Two kicked doors in one day. It was already a good day.
And even then, nothing could prevent from staying still for a microsecond admiring the beauty of Harmony’s cat. Luscious long fur met green eyes, both of which stared at the new intruder. It seemed entirely unperturbed by the situation at hand.
Hayes’s gun quickly swung towards Harmony, whose actions promptly frozen.
“Madam,” Harmony said. “Please. I don’t want any trouble.”
“No Instagram account. No photos, no stories, and certainly no reels,” Hayes said. “You said you don’t want any trouble? Looks like you went out of your way to find it.”
Harmony seized for a moment, like an epiphany had been created in her mind out of wine and bread.
“Take out your phone, Harmony,” Hayes continued. “Take a picture. Post it. Anywhere you want.”
“No,” Harmony sobbed. “Why?
“Take. The. Shot,” Hayes said through gritted teeth. “Or you will be receiving one shortly.”
---
r/dexdrafts | I sat at my desk finishing up some paperwork.
The phone rang.
"I have a report," said the voice on the other line. "Someone has a cute cat, but won't share any pictures of it online."
I looked up from my desk. "Is this a joke?"
"No," said the voice. "The person said so herself."
"You're pulling my leg."
"If I am, it's because only a leg could fit in this office. This room is barely large enough to fit a phone, much less a human leg."
I stared at the papers on my desk. "Are you in some sort of broom closet?"
"Not at all. I'm using a state of the art, high-quality, high-resolution camera to transmit this image in real time."
"How is that even possible?"
"You know how those new fangled cameras can take a picture of thousands of pixels and then use software to create a picture of millions of pixels? Well, there are millions of pixels in this room. What you see on the screen is a single pixel. I'm also using fiber-optic technology to transmit this image. It's the same kind of technology used to transmit an image from a camera on the moon to earth."
"That's impossible."
"You should see the size of the fiber-optic cable I'm using. It's massive."
I didn't know what to say. I wanted to believe it was true, but I couldn't. I couldn't imagine someone sharing pictures of their cat online, but not sharing pictures of their cat. I couldn't imagine someone being happy to share pictures of their cat, but not being willing to share pictures of their cat. If a person could be happy sharing pictures of their cat, but not willing to share pictures of their cat, then how I put my hand up and grabbed the phone.
"I've got this," I said.
The man on the line sighed. "Are you sure?"
"Positive."
I hung up, turned my chair around, and sat down with my back to the glass. I reached in my desk and pulled out a folder, then took out a white card, placed it on the folder, and snapped it shut. I tried to look like I was working, but I wasn't. I was staring at the screen on my phone, and waiting.
There was a knock at the door. I stared at the screen.
"Come in," I whispered.
The door opened and someone walked in, a middle-aged woman with narrow brown eyes and dark hair, who seemed to be in a hurry.
"Was your cat's image transferred?" she asked, as she pulled her jacket on.
"Um, yes she picked up the card, and handed it to me."
"That's excellent. Did she give you the card back?"
"Yes."
"Did you look?"
I nodded. "It's a picture of a cat."
"And then what happened?"
I swallowed. I had said everything I needed to say. I just needed to sit here and see what would happen next.
"I was just about to pick up the card and look at it, but then the phone rang."
She nodded, then looked around the room as if she expected someone else to walk in at any moment.
"And then I looked at the picture."
"Was there a word on the card?"
I nodded again. "That's it. The word," I said.
"And what is the word?"
"Do you want me to say it?" | |
[WP] all of the stars are music notes spread out across the sky, waiting to be arranged. and constellations are songs—reminiscent songs written by gods, some happy, some sad, telling stories of worlds that we never got to live in. the songs are the only things left of those forgotten worlds. | Somewhere, in the center of the universe, where the songs were written and time steps to the side to let the aincient things that walked the abyss before the big bang itself step by. Where lost souls find their way and the end of the universe plays on an old tv screen. This is where you would find the composer.
You will find him in one of two places, he can either be reading a songbook on a bench in an infinite library. Humming a tune more enchanting than a sirens, with his giant hands stretched over a book as big as the buildings that once towered over us as children, softly grazing the notes as if absorbing them into his aincient, inifinite mind. Here you can speak to him. As I once had spoken to him before, he will speak of vast, dark oceans from which creatures god hasn't dreamt of were born, mountains that time left behind, and empty plains that will forever be wondered by those who found themselves in it. Most of all, he will speak of music. He will tell you of instruments that play entire scales in one note, that encompass the world with it's sounds and to some aincient creatures made the universe itself. After a while, he will go back to reading his book and humming his tune. You can leave then if you so wish, though like most of those who made it to this forgotten place, you may not have a place to go to.
The second place you may find him is at his piano. If you find him here, lady luck has blessed you, for even those that have memorized the universe itself have yet to see him play. If you do see him play though, what you will hear is what some may call the themesong of the universe. Soft, echoing high notes slowly flowing down into bellowing low notes that fuel you with rage never seen before, you will feel all, know all, and see all for the few minutes you hear him play. Do not disrupt at this time, he is building something beyond everyone. Once he stops playing, you are free to go.
If you leave, congratulations. You have seen something so beautiful that you're soul and all souls near it will forever be touched by the graciousness of his life. You can now see the rest of this place, the gods that shaped the planets. Those that left the black spots, absorbing the world and everything around it, and you may even bear witness to the fruits of his playing, as you see a new constellation sweep across the sky.
If you stay, as I did, you may live out your days reading and listening. Looking at the world through a lense that no one else may use. If I meet you here, and if you stay. Let us speak, let us share our adventures together and maybe, just maybe, we may compose a song of our own, and let the stars of our making float across the sky, an eternal mark of the traveler, the wise, the composer | The knock on my half-opened office door makes me jump, and I need a moment to orient myself. I realize it is already dark outside, and the whole building has fallen quiet. I look up and give an absent-minded smile to the janitor.
"Excuse me, Sir", he says, "but I'm about to close up this wing. Will you be working much longer?"
Apologizing, I shake my head and pack up my things. I shoot one more glance at the symbols on my screen, which have mesmerised me over the last few hours. Frowning, I close the laptop and slide it into my backpack.
Cycling home through the warm summer night, I shoot a glance up to the stars every now and then. So many people have studied the cosmos throughout the last three millenia. It seems impossible to believe that I should see something they all missed. Am I imagining things?
They didn't have to tools I have, I remind myself for the twentieth time. The galactic evolution models. Gaia's precise star position measurements. Thousands of hours of computing time at the super-computer cluster. If I can see any further, it is only because I am standing on the shoulders of giants, I murmur, while I wait at a red light.
When I unlock our appartment door, I can already hear the fight. I can't quite make out the words my wife says, but she seems to try to calm down the situation. Talking reason. Just when I'm about to open the door to the living room, our twelve year old daughter comes storming out of it.
"Forget it! Go to hell! You cannot tell me anything!", she angrily screams, and adds a "And neither can you!", when she sees me. She darts off to her room and slams the door shut, giving it a good kick from the inside.
With a sigh, I go into the living room and sit down on the armchair opposite my wife, who doesn't even bother to look up. "Julia, what's up?"
"Well, if you ever were at home, you'd know!", she finally says with a snarl, takes up her smartphone and disappears towards the bedroom.
"Julia!", I call out, following her.
"Let me alone! I had a terrible day at work, okay? And now a fight with this cute little daughter of yours. I've had enough of today. I'll go to bed. Just leave me alone, okay? Go talk to your stars and spare me your blah blah!" Another door is slammed, and I'm left standing in the empty hallway.
I sigh again, with my lips pressed together. I briefly consider going either into the bedroom or to my daughter, to try to sort out the mess. But I decide that just giving everyone some time will probably be more helpful. So I return to the living room, get myself a bar of black chocolate from the drawer, and switch on my laptop.
It doesn't take me very long to get into my previous line of thought. I had already spelled out most of the code I needed. The script I've written automatically retrieves the most accurate star positions known of a given constellation, and through a difficult process translates it all to a single stream of information. The result is- well, fascinating.
I select a constellation- this time I go for Cassiopeia. After a few moments, the data appears on my screen in a long row of alphanumeric symbols. I shake my head in disbelieve. There can be no doubt, there is a pattern! If I just could translate it into something more... accessible.
My eyes wander through our living room and the paintings on the walls. They stop on a beautiful little oil painting of Saturn which my wife once gave me as a present. My favourite planet. These rings! This perfect sphere. As in "the music of the spheres".
Hang on. I sit upright in my chair. Music of the spheres? I look on the data again. That might even work. For a couple of minutes, the only sound is my fingers frantically spelling out one more routine for my script. The final one. The one that was always meant to be there, somehow.
Adjusting my speakers to low volume to avoid any extra trouble, I start the script again. I feel goosebumps on my arms when the sound module loads and slowly starts playing. What I hear, completely blows my mind. There can be no doubt anymore- this music has been devised by a sentient composer, and he or she (or it?) has imprinted it into the fabric of the cosmic. With my mouth open, I listen, unable to register anything around me.
"Andy, this is beautiful", a soft voice suddenly says. Slowly, I turn my head, and it takes me a moment or two to realize that Julia has come to sit next to me. "I'm sorry", I say and put my arm around her, as she rests her head on my shoulder. "All good", she whispers. "Wasn't your fault. I'm sorry I shouted at you. What is this music?"
I briefly explain how I programmed the computer to convert the patterns of the astronomical constellations into tunes we can listen to. "So you've finally become an arranger, huh?", she smiles at me. She teaches music at the local university, and always ridiculed me somewhat for my humble attempts to play the piano.
"I may have, but I did not compose this. Someone else did it. Someone moved the stars into position so they would play this to us. Do you understand?"
She smiles gently, apologetically. "Not really. But it is beautiful. Do you hear the words sung in soprano? Sound like ancient greek, don't you think?"
I shrug, but activate a translation module. After a few moments of initialization, it does start to pick up the words. With disbelive, we stare at the screen as the words come out in English.
Stories of love and hate, of triumph and disaster, of beginnings and endings, flow out of the music in the most perfect form I've ever heard. "Cosmic poetry", I whisper. "Heavenly music", my wife responds with a smile.
With a corner of my mind I think of the scientific implications. The moment when I'm going to present this to my colleagues. To the whole community. Of the papers I am about to write. I cannot resist to feel excited about the prospect.
But right now, this is all still far away. Right now I am sitting in the living room of our small appartment, arm in arm with the woman I love, sharing this unique moment with her. The moment humanity has understood how to listen to the stars. | |
[WP] In a world of superhumans you are an anomaly who has always been powerless. One day, all powers are unexplainably stripped from their hosts, and you now host a therapy group for powerless superheros. | **Powerless**
----
I sat in a dark room facing a video camera. I asked them to put one out so I wouldn’t have to repeat the story twice. Two agents that were once _heroes for show_ in the gladiator games sat across from me. They never introduced themselves, but I recalled their faces. Their smug smiles carried over even now in their reduced way of life.
I smiled, took a deep breath, and started.
----
“Hi, my name is Star Fighter - _shit_,” the six foot five tooth pick of a man huffed.
“That’s okay,” I said from the opposite side of the circle. “Go again.”
The former super hero was dressed in oversized sweats and a hoodie. The clothing was ill-fitting, hanging off him the same they would if they were wore by an aluminum pole. He took a deep breath. “My name is Philip. I used to be Star Fighter.”
“Hi Philip,” the ring of twenty former super heroes, and myself, said together.
Philip forced a nod.
“Like all of you, I used to be a super hero. And, like everyone on the planet, I’ve been trying to find a new way to live over these last months.” He paused a moment. “I fought an alien horde - single handle - you all remember that.” The room gave little nods. “I was magnificent!”
“You were,” many agreed.
“Right, I was magnificent. And, well, being the only hero that could survive in space was who I was.”
“That was only part of who you were Philip, one half,” I said.
“Right,” Philip forced agreement through a clenched jaw. “The hardest part for me, and it’s taken six months to realize this, is not that I’m powerless. It’s that I’m just so damn average now. I mean, once upon a time I’d be bulging out of this sweatsuit - muscles the size of a greek god — and now I’m a narrow gawky weakling. A bitch.”
“We don’t use that language here,” I reminded.
“Sorry,” he said. “No. No, I’m not sorry. How could you understand?”
“Well Philip, as you all know, before the subtraction, I was the only non-super in existence, so I know what it’s like to be powerless.” I said.
“But that’s what you don’t understand,” he said. “Even when you were powerless, you were special. Because there was only one of you. Shit we all knew who you were back then, and you were useless.”
“Philip,” a woman who was once called Jungle Cat snapped at him.
“It’s okay Dorothy,” I raised my palms. “Let him share.”
She crossed her legs and arms and passively leaned back.
“I don’t mean to offend,” Philip said. “But you don’t understand. You couldn’t. You don’t know what it’s like to be a nobody.”
“You’re not a nobody,” I said.
“That’s bullshit,” Philip stood. “We’re all nobodies now. Sitting ducks, waiting for some villain to punch our ticket.”
“There are no villains any more, Philip. Only people,” I said.
“No,” he shook his head. “I don’t believe that. See, everyone - all of you included - have been too busy being selfish, trying to figure out how to not be so pathetic, that everyone stopped asking the big question. How? How did this happen? How?!”
“The unknown is a scary thing, Philip. But facing it - together - is why we are all here.”
“That’s nonsense.”
“Then why _are_ you here?” I asked.
“Because unlike these cowards that sit in this circle and wine about the good old days - I refused to stop being a hero. Powers or not! I’ve never stopped looking for the bad guys. Or in this case, bad guy.” He starred at me.
“I’m just trying to help, Philip.”
“Now,” he said. “But what about before?”
“Like you said, I was useless. So I know what it feels like. What this feels like, for you - for you all now.”
“The most useless man in the world suddenly becomes the most sought after guru in the world - that’s some turn.”
The room was quiet.
“I’m not sure I understand,” I said calmly.
“I know,” he said.
“Know what?”
“Tell them.”
“Tell them what?”
Philip pulled a gun from his hoodie - it was aimed at my head. Everyone pushed their chairs back - some rose to their feet and Philip directed the gun at anyone who moved.
“Everyone just sit the fuck back down.”
Nobody listened.
“SIT DOWN!” He shouted with such power that for a moment I thought his powers were returning, and I was afraid.
The once heroes all sat, terrified.
“It’s okay -“ I told them. “Philip, what are you doing?”
“I want you to tell them, right fucking now!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jungle Cat huffed. “You’re ruining what little reputation you have left, Star Fighter.”
“Oh shut up!” He barked at her. “You got to keep your figure - your looks - you still have attraction! Look at me! I had the body of a god - now I can’t even open a fucking jar of pickles, and it’s his fault!”
“This anger is misplaced, I think we all just need to -“
I don’t remember hearing the shot. There was an explosion of heat in my stomach and I was on the floor. They tell me the others overpowered Philip and disarmed him. He was taken to a psychiatric ward, on my advisement.
I spent two weeks in the hospital, barely being kept alive by once magical healers that reinvented themselves as Doctors.
They were sub-par Doctors. I got an infection and nearly died.
As I laid on the floor, bleeding out, I remember hearing Philip shouting and cursing my name.
I don’t know how he found out the truth. I hoped sticking him in a padded room would discredit the former greatest hero on Earth enough to deter anyone from following up on his claims.
That was what I wanted.
I thought.
And it worked. For a while. Until the ward called and told me Philip started having a visitor. One visitor. Jungle Cat. And I don’t know why, but I was excited.
But I still worried and went over the details. There was no way it could be linked to me. The subtraction was my life’s work.
If I couldn’t be like them. They would be like me.
_How the hell did you figure out the truth Star Fighter?_
Months passed and I continued to hold groups. Host rallies. Promote the new way of life. Even publicly took to rehabilitating some villains. But always, in the back of my head, I worried Jungle Cat might show up. Or some other once great hero that rediscovered their courage.
But they never did. And in the loving fame I had achieved I knew the mistake I made. The flaw of my plan. I needed someone to know but I had realized it too late. I had done my job too well, and robbed myself of a reward I didn’t know I wanted.
Philip committed suicide a year later.
Jungle Cat published a book on lovemaking.
And I was still seen as the pinnacle of kindness. The man that selflessly shared his shortcomings and tales of inadequacy with the word, so we may be balanced.
It’s poetic really. That the greatest villain the planet ever had is one they never knew existed. And that’s what drives me mad. With all their powers and greatness, they’ll never know that while I was beneath them and powerless before the subtraction, I was not useless.
I changed the world. And I did it with no powers.
That’s why I confess now. I need everyone to know the truth. To know my greatness. It’s all that matters to me.
----
The agents sat in silence. After a beat one of them leaned over and turned the camera off.
The other looked at the two way mirror.
There was a long silence, and I must admit I was disappointed. I expected - no - I wanted an aggressive reaction.
I got none.
I felt a prick in my neck and woke up in a padded room in a straight jacket.
Everyday I curse and scream and tell the orderlies and nurses that it was me. That I ended the age of heroes.
They taunt me and call me crazy and feed me pills.
I never saw the agents again.
I can tell by the laughing reactions I get that no one ever heard of a confession tape. I hear them whisper and say it’s a pity what happened to me. A man drove mad by listening to too many sad stories.
And I sit, alone, day after day in a white room. I know out in the world there are at least two agents who live a lie. Who are keeping a secret to maintain the peace I helped create in the wake of the devastation I orchestrated.
At least they know the truth, I mutter every day. At least someone knows my greatness, I say again and again as these people keep me drugged up and laugh at my delusions of grandeur.
It was me. I scream as I kick and fight as they shove me into the white room.
It was me.
----
r/wyrdfiction | clicking the pen on her clipboard, you listen to strong-man. “I’m weak, I can’t even lift an car!” he sobbed. mega- man pat his back. “no offence, Susie.”
“offence taken, and my name isn’t Susie.” she sighed. she hate her job. she didn’t want to be an therapist for a bunch of idiots who can’t remember her name. “you aren’t weak.” she sighed. “i am! i used to be able to lift up twenty building at once,” he wailed. “now i have troubles with doors.”
“everyone have trunks with doors, invisb-bill over here alway run into them because he have shitty eyes sight, mega-mind struggle with the front door for five minute because he forget it was an push and not an pull,” she look up at them. “just because you can’t lift an building anymore doesn’t mean you aren’t strong, you can be mentally strong. why don’t you start working out, start slow.“
“yes, maybe i should,” strong-man sniffles. “thank you, lizzie.” he wipe his tears with his bright red cape. “your welcome, but that isn’t my name.” she said. leaning on the chair. “now, our session is over. i want you all to come to our next session in normal clothes, please help yourself to the coffee.”
despite hating the job, you know that it for the good. the virus you create leaned to an world where everyone is equal, where you wasn’t pick on for being powerless. you have power, and you love it | |
[WP] Jessica from HR is kinda weird, it kinda physically hurts to look her in the eyes, she keeps referring to everyone else as "mortal", you overheard her one time complaining to herself about how she still hasn't received any souls yet but overall she's probably the best in the department | Jessica, the weird one from HR!
With hair that's blood-red and a smile like a scar,
We all find it very hard to keep eye contact,
And she seems to be very proud of that fact.
I sat next to her at lunch one day,
But she hissed at me and I ran away,
"Run, mortal!" she said, and her smile only grew,
And some chunks of bread arced through the air that she threw.
I got talking with colleagues about the strange lady,
They said she was a transfer from some other region, maybe.
She turned up one day and started work,
Cackling to herself about the role she deserved.
The rest of HR didn't know much about Jess,
She was very skilled at timekeeping, and planning was her best,
"All our reports are filed on time," said Mathis,
"So I don't really care about her peculiar habits."
I managed to collar her at the water cooler,
In a good mood, I decided to ask her,
Where she came from, what were her interests?
It was a question I would soon regret.
"Souls," she said, "I long for souls paid,"
"Though management says that's above my pay-grade."
The water in her cup began to bubble and boil,
And she stared at me, smiling, eyes dripping with black oil.
"Oh, don't mind her," said my colleague Rick,
"She's harmless, just a little eccentric,"
"When push comes to shove Jessica really has your back,"
"I rely on her, that's a matter of fact."
I found out one day when I called in sick and diseased,
My manager picked up, and was not pleased!
"We need you today! You must come to work,"
A notion that I felt was quite absurd.
There was a sudden screeching on the other end of the call,
It was Jessica screaming all bitter and hoarse,
"NO!" screamed Jessica, "THIS CAN NOT BE,"
"SICK SOULS ARE ENTITLED TO MANDATORY SICK-LEAVE!"
My manager left me alone, and soon I got better,
I returned to work and sent Jessica a thank-you letter.
It came back burned and shredded, pierced by pins,
But I suppose that was just her way of doing things.
In the end I stopped prying, and let be,
Whatever secrets she had, they were hidden to me.
After all, though Jessica may be a demon, a zombie, or worse,
She's still better than the HR team in the last place I worked! | *growl* Jessica's stomach pleaded as she waited next to me. It was the end of the day and we both worked overtime. She was strange calling everyone mortals but she was the best employee.
"Are you hungry?" I asked meekly
"Hardly mortal, I need no nutrients to survive." she said as her stomach grumbled again.
I looked in my bag and handed her a protein bar I had left over.
"I don't want your pity mortal" she said almost salivating at the sight of the protein bar."
"Then my goddess" I said in an exagerated voice "will you accept my offering to you?".
"Very well" she said as she snatched the bar out of my hand and scarfed it down.
"Don't you have the highest pay check in our branch? How are you hungry?" I inquired.
"Oh you mean those little slips of paper they give me every month? I just toss them in my home realm."
"You haven't cashed in any of you pay checks?" I said in awe. "No wonder, how bout I treat you to some food. There's a really good udon stall down the road.".
"Ok, I will allow you to offers some of this 'udon' you speak of" she said swallowing her pride.
I smiled at her avoiding direct eye contact. We walked down the road to a small udon stall.
"Hey boss" I said in Cantonese. "2 bowls of udon please"
"Finally got girlfriend boy? Good choice. This one is scary but pretty" he replied in Cantonese.
I blushed a deep red
"What are you 2 saying? What are you hiding from me? Why are you so red?" She asked.
"Nothing let's just eat" I said quickly sitting down.
"I'll pay this time but after you figure out your paycheck I expect you to pay me back." I said looking away
"I thought you said you were paying" she said
"I meant that you have to treat me to dinner next time" I said as we both are our noodles looking bright red. | |
[WP] After being defeated by the Dark Lord in combat, he imprisons you and takes over the world. He eventually gets bored and decides to chat with you in the dungeon, you find out that you both have a lot in common and you soon become close friends. | “There’s a new hero on the scene and he can teleport. My whole impenetrable lair is suddenly penetrable and I’m not sure what to do about it.”
“How does he know where to teleport to? Does he use coordinates? Does he picture it in his mind? Is he guided by an omniscient entity to whom he makes requests?”
“I… I’m not sure. What are you thinking?”
“Well, if he uses coordinates, just keep your lair moving and he won’t be able to teleport inside. Better yet, transmute the walls each day so he accidentally teleports into a wall if he tries to get in. If he can only teleport to places he can visualize, then he can only make his way through your lair in short jumps to and from places he can see. Block out all the windows and keep the lights low and his teleportation is almost useless. If he has an omniscient entity who guides him to wherever he wants to be… then why hasn’t he come yet? So that one’s unlikely but if it is true, you might be in trouble. The one advantage you have is that his requests would probably take longer and so he’s less likely to teleport in combat, meaning you can just set some traps in your throne room and goad him into them.”
“You’re so good at this. Are you sure you won’t be my official strategist? You won’t have to live in this little closet anymore. You’ll have a luxurious room all to yourself.”
“Damn, I did it again, huh?”
“Yeah. You can’t seem to resist the puzzle.”
“I really shouldn’t be helping the bad guy. No offense. But that’s the only reason I challenged you in the first place. Saving the world is… meh. A tough puzzle, on the other hand, is exciting.”
“So you’ll come out of this closet and be my official strategist?”
“I can’t. I’m not ready. My mother is still alive and it would break her heart to see me as the Dark Lord’s strategist.”
“So you’re just going to live in the closet as a prisoner until she dies?”
“Yeah, that’s the plan.”
“That’s messed up. If my kid wanted to follow a path I thought was evil but it made them happy, I’d be grateful they found something that made them happy.”
“You banished your kid to the shadow realm for breastfeeding too loudly.”
“Well, I mean my next kid. All first-time parents make mistakes.”
“Oh. I suppose that makes sense. You up for a board game?”
“Ugh, you always win at those!”
“That’s not a no…”
“You’re right, it’s not.” | I sit alone in my cold dark cell, thinking about how badly I failed, how badly I let the entire world down. I want to cry, but the tears won't come out, I want to scream, but nobody will hear me, but alas I admit to defeat and I'm forced to accept my fate. I pray that the ones I love end up surviving, finding a safe place away from his twisted world, but deep inside myself I know that it's not likely to happen. It doesn't stop me from hoping none the less.
What feels like years go by, I can't tell, you lose track of time quite easily when you're trapped in a cold cell with nothing but your wandering mind to distract yourself, and food that not even rats would stomach.
After what feels like an eternity, suddenly I hear foot steps, or at least I think, i've been losing my mind down here so it's either that or another hallucination.
Suddenly, I see him, the dark lord that has haunted me so. The one I failed to stop, the one that nearly killed me, but decided to torture me and imprison me instead.
Suddenly he speaks to me with a voice as deep as the devil himselfs, "Hello my old friend, it is a pleasure to see you once again.." he says with a grin across his dark and scarred face. "What is you want?" I reply, "Here to torture me once again?"
"...No" he replies, "I just came to check on an old friend, it does get lonely being the ruler of the world afterall.. sometimes you just want an old pal to speak to, get your mind off things you know!"
I sigh... "what did you do to the world, my old friends, my loved ones, are they okay? Did you kill them? did you hurt them? I swear if you did, I will escape one day, I will make the torture you did to me seem like a splinter!"
The dark lord stares and laughs in response. "I might be evil, I don't doubt that, but for you I have respect for, I did no harm to them, you were the closest person there ever was to killing me, and out of respect for you, and your... almost accomplishment I let them live a relatively normal life in my new world."
I breathe a big sigh of relief, years of anxiety gone with those words, yet I do hope he is telling the truth, above all us I just want them to be alive and safe, and if they're perhaps I have a reason to live afterall. "I do appreciate that, do whatever you want with me, just please let them be." the dark lord grins and replies, "I will leave them be, but I want something from you in return."
Suddenly I realize the harm I've done, I've shown weakness and vulnerability, I showed that I cared about them more then I do myself, and by doing so I put their lives in danger once again. I get my thoughts together, breath a big sigh and reply, "what is it you want?".
The dark lord simply keeps his devilish grin, and with his wicked deep voice replies, "I just want your friendship, and your company"
he can't possibly be serious, I thought to myself. The man who was my arch nemesis for so many years, imprisoned me and treated me awfully for so many years, and he wants to be my friend? Why? How does he think we could ever be friends after all he has done to me and the entire planet, after all we went through together.
I need to swallow my pride and play along with whatever he is doing none the less, it is the only way to keep my loved ones safe, and give myself a chance to get out of this prison cell and get another chance to finish what I failed to do last time.
"Very well, I will be your friend." suddenly, he unlocked the door to my cell, and lets me out. "I wanted to go snowboarding with you, if that's ok, it's been a long time since I've done it and it sounds like a fun time kill, what do you think?"
I can barley believe the words I'm hearing, snowboarding? My favorite hobby of all time, I can't believe he wants me to snowboard with him of all things, I know I could use this, years of going through hell I could use any kind of excitement that will remind me what it feels like to be alive once again, the very idea of it, brings life to my malnourished and wounded body.
"I actually happen to love snowboarding so it sounds great to me!" We go to this very nice mountain in West Virginia, we snowboard together down triple diamonds all day, and all night, he owns the entire resort of course, so he can keep it open for us as long as he wants. We spend the day cracking jokes, laughing, having a grand old time, I begin to forget that he's my enemy, I begin to actually like him.
By the time we're all snowboarded out, we go to the bar together and have some drinks continue to laugh and party like we're the bestest friends.
Suddenly he opens up to me with tears in his eyes, "I feel guilty for all the bad things I've done man, I realized that it wasn't who I was, I was becoming who my father and covenant made me, I grew up in an evil satanic cult, I was tortured since I was a kid, taught to fight, taught to show no mercy and compassion, I was forced to torture and torment other kids my age, evil satanic rituals were performed on me, in an attempt to combine my soul with evil demons from the foulest pits of hell. It worked and for the longest time they were apart of me, but over time I fought them, I drove them out, I... even prayed God to help me remove them. Once I removed those evil spirits, I realized who I truly was, an abused kid that was possessed, born and raised to do evil things and atrocities beyond comprehension, and now I can't even look myself in the mirror. I'm a pale fragment of who I once was and honestly I feel sickened by who I became. I truthfully hate myself, and I can't live with myself anymore, I brought you here to say that, I'm..... I'm truly sorry for everything, the innocents that I killed, you getting tortured and imprisoned, if I could take it all back I would, but its to late now, and now Im left with all this money and power I acquired through my own evil actions, but I don't want it, and i'd give everything possible just to turn back time and prevent myself from becoming what I became."
​
I can't believe my ears, to have heard all this from him, the genuine remorse, the genuine explanation of how terrible he was raised, how he was raised and created into the monster he became. I cried with him and we hugged.
"I... understand, I don't think I have it in me to forgive you yet, but today I saw another side of you that I never thought possible, I saw that you're just a normal person like everyone else, beneath that evil, sadistic persona you've held for so long, is just a regular man that is actually a regular and cool guy.. I will try my best to forgive you, but you have to make it right, you have to.."
He doesn't respond, just continues to cry as we hug, this entire situation feels beyond surreal to me. Once my arch nemesis, a man I fought so hard to try to destroy and stop, and here he is before me, a regular funny cool guy, and now a vulnerable crying mess that showed me his true self.
How is possible that i'm beginning to like him, that i'm beginning to understand him afterall he did to me, and the other innocent people he harmed. I nearly hate myself for liking him, and I don't exactly understand it myself. Still within myself I know what I must do, I have to put a stop to this, when he's vulnerable and alone, I will kill him and put an end to his reign once and for all.
Suddenly we went to his mansion, he crashed on the couch from all the alcohol and the long day we had together.
"Nows my chance" I thought to myself, I can kill him, I can get revenge for all the innocents he killed, I can set free whoever is still under his reign, I can bring justice and peace to the world, and all I have to do is just kill the man in front of me sound asleep. I take out a knife from a drawer. I stand in front of his sleeping body on the couch, but I can't garner the will or strength to move my legs, I instead stand there and realize to myself that I can't do this, that this person actually isn't so terrible afterall, he's misunderstood, yet I can't even believe my own words and actions, when I decide to put the knife back in the drawer and crash on the couch next to him.. | |
[WP] Write a fight scene! | She threw a left hook, one that was weaker than the rest. “You knew!” She yelled, her anger and exhaustion evident. “You knew what would happen!” Another punch easily dodged.
“I never knew,” I sighed, hoping to convince her to stop so I could save my energy for tonight. “All I did know was that I shouldn’t try the pie and that I should stay home that night.” I ducked under another swing. The sun was about to dip below the horizon, meaning the that either way, I would have to start going on the offensive.
“How did you know that? You couldn’t have know unless you planned it!”
My next moves revealed themselves to me. “Gut feeling! That’s how!” I tumbled to the side as she charged me, her now clawed fingers narrowly missing my throat.
“That’s not how it works!” Her voice was lower, more like a growling dog. Not to mention she was beginning to look more like one.
My eyes were drawn to the side of her now furred neck, that single spot seeming to glow. “You know, maybe we could discuss this at dawn? When you aren’t trying to kill me?”
“This isn’t up for discussion!” She lunged again, and I, instead of rolling out of reach, did the same. She slashed at me, once again, missing by a hair. My turn. I grabbed the now outstretched arm and used my forward momentum to swing myself onto her back, then with the flat of my hand, struck the glow on her neck. She fell flat, now unconscious.
I took a couple moments to catch my breath, knowing what chaos was about to occur. Soon, a cacophony of howls filled the night. I let my head droop as I grunted. Being the only human in a town of wolves is tiring when the moon is full. | On a sandy yet blocky field two brothers look at each other with the intension to kill will there be only one survivor of this duel that is what we are going to find out !
"It is sad dear brother that I have to fight you here but the thinks you have done to our village can not be act sept able !" Then rises two swords .
"So they didn't tell you what they did to the other villages, they killed and torture others and I wasn't going to stand for that act !. I don't want to hurt you but you picked the other side " Then pulls two swords from this back
They that began to scream while running to each other , there swords then collide to make a explosion which makes the two brothers
Sorry I had to go I can't finish the story now . | |
[WP] Write a fight scene! | I took a heavy, labored breath as I clutched my stomach tightly - a searing burst of pain caused me to let out a sharp hiss. I looked down and saw the blood pouring out of my wound - buckshot, straight to the gut. It had to be buckshot, didn't it? I gritted my teeth, grabbed a roll of duct tape from my satchel, and wrapped it around my stomach. It won't hold. But it will give me a minute. I just need a bit more time.
With the rag-tag triage finished, I reached for my revolver and started loading more bullets in, one by one. My moves were methodical and automatic, and I used this moment to try and scan my surroundings. The block of concrete I was crouched behind was starting to crumble under the saturated fire the gangsters were dishing out - just how much ammo did these bastards bring? I clicked the cylinder of my gun back into place and looked at the holographic display on my arm. It calculated that at the current rate, the blood loss will rob me of my consciousness within 3 minutes and spell my destruction. I had to move fast.
I rummaged through my satchel and pulled out the last two pieces of equipment I had - a small cylinder with a button on top, and a flashbang. My eyes laid on the two items for a while as I calculated the best plan I could. I took one last deep breath and clutched the cylinder tightly in my hand before tossing the flashbang over my cover.
**\*Bang\***
With the explosion still ringing in my ears, I vaulted over the block and took two quick shots at the first man I saw - first missed, second hit his throat. He was thrown back to the wall by the impact.
I landed on my feet and rushed to the closest man, noting that their numbers were higher than I thought. The pain from my wound was excruciating and I faintly heard my arm monitor beep in emergency mode. Without losing any momentum from my run, I punched the mobster in the throat and grabbed him. I now had a shield. Just a few more seconds.
With one arm around the man, I extended the other and took two more shots at the closest target. Both hit him in the chest. Both bounced off. Subdermal kevlar implant. Of course. As he recovered from the force of the impact, he raised his weapon and fired at me, ignoring his comrade. I kicked my shield at him while he could still stand and rushed over as he fell to the ground. I crouched with one knee on his torso holding him in place and put my gun directly to his head. Two shots rang out. One from my revolver as I split his head open, and another hitting my right arm and knocking me over.
I hit the ground hard. I looked up at the man that hit me - he was holding a compact railgun. I raised my arm to shoot him while still on the ground but felt... odd. My arm was lighter but almost ethereal. I looked over and realized why.
It was gone. The railgun took it clean off.
I let my head fall back on the floor. I suppose this was it.
The rest of the gangsters, seeing I was now quite literally disarmed, slowly approached me with their weapons still trained on me. One of them took his mask off. It was Richards.
"You just had to do it, didn't you? Couldn't just... walk away," he said.
I chuckled lightly, the laughter immediately turning to coughing distorted by the blood in my throat.
"I had to try," I replied with a smile.
Richards looked at me with a look of surprisingly sorrowful look. "I know," he said quietly, almost gently. The hologram on my arm ticked down to 16 seconds.
"Any last words?" he asked.
I didn't reply. I only smiled, though not joyfully, and opened my palm. The small cylinder rested on it, the button on top softly glowing red. Richards' eyes widened in realization.
*Beep*
*Beep*
*Beeeeeeeep*
"Boom," I said as the thundering sound filled my ears and vaporized everyone in the room. | On a sandy yet blocky field two brothers look at each other with the intension to kill will there be only one survivor of this duel that is what we are going to find out !
"It is sad dear brother that I have to fight you here but the thinks you have done to our village can not be act sept able !" Then rises two swords .
"So they didn't tell you what they did to the other villages, they killed and torture others and I wasn't going to stand for that act !. I don't want to hurt you but you picked the other side " Then pulls two swords from this back
They that began to scream while running to each other , there swords then collide to make a explosion which makes the two brothers
Sorry I had to go I can't finish the story now . | |
[WP] Write a fight scene! | I took a heavy, labored breath as I clutched my stomach tightly - a searing burst of pain caused me to let out a sharp hiss. I looked down and saw the blood pouring out of my wound - buckshot, straight to the gut. It had to be buckshot, didn't it? I gritted my teeth, grabbed a roll of duct tape from my satchel, and wrapped it around my stomach. It won't hold. But it will give me a minute. I just need a bit more time.
With the rag-tag triage finished, I reached for my revolver and started loading more bullets in, one by one. My moves were methodical and automatic, and I used this moment to try and scan my surroundings. The block of concrete I was crouched behind was starting to crumble under the saturated fire the gangsters were dishing out - just how much ammo did these bastards bring? I clicked the cylinder of my gun back into place and looked at the holographic display on my arm. It calculated that at the current rate, the blood loss will rob me of my consciousness within 3 minutes and spell my destruction. I had to move fast.
I rummaged through my satchel and pulled out the last two pieces of equipment I had - a small cylinder with a button on top, and a flashbang. My eyes laid on the two items for a while as I calculated the best plan I could. I took one last deep breath and clutched the cylinder tightly in my hand before tossing the flashbang over my cover.
**\*Bang\***
With the explosion still ringing in my ears, I vaulted over the block and took two quick shots at the first man I saw - first missed, second hit his throat. He was thrown back to the wall by the impact.
I landed on my feet and rushed to the closest man, noting that their numbers were higher than I thought. The pain from my wound was excruciating and I faintly heard my arm monitor beep in emergency mode. Without losing any momentum from my run, I punched the mobster in the throat and grabbed him. I now had a shield. Just a few more seconds.
With one arm around the man, I extended the other and took two more shots at the closest target. Both hit him in the chest. Both bounced off. Subdermal kevlar implant. Of course. As he recovered from the force of the impact, he raised his weapon and fired at me, ignoring his comrade. I kicked my shield at him while he could still stand and rushed over as he fell to the ground. I crouched with one knee on his torso holding him in place and put my gun directly to his head. Two shots rang out. One from my revolver as I split his head open, and another hitting my right arm and knocking me over.
I hit the ground hard. I looked up at the man that hit me - he was holding a compact railgun. I raised my arm to shoot him while still on the ground but felt... odd. My arm was lighter but almost ethereal. I looked over and realized why.
It was gone. The railgun took it clean off.
I let my head fall back on the floor. I suppose this was it.
The rest of the gangsters, seeing I was now quite literally disarmed, slowly approached me with their weapons still trained on me. One of them took his mask off. It was Richards.
"You just had to do it, didn't you? Couldn't just... walk away," he said.
I chuckled lightly, the laughter immediately turning to coughing distorted by the blood in my throat.
"I had to try," I replied with a smile.
Richards looked at me with a look of surprisingly sorrowful look. "I know," he said quietly, almost gently. The hologram on my arm ticked down to 16 seconds.
"Any last words?" he asked.
I didn't reply. I only smiled, though not joyfully, and opened my palm. The small cylinder rested on it, the button on top softly glowing red. Richards' eyes widened in realization.
*Beep*
*Beep*
*Beeeeeeeep*
"Boom," I said as the thundering sound filled my ears and vaporized everyone in the room. | The assassins moved silently through the halls towards their target. He was in the bathhouse relaxing. Which would mean he is currently unarmed and unguarded. Truly this was a golden opportunity they would not be able to pass up.
They silently surrounded the bathhouse and began to collectively chant. They were creating a magic restriction array to make it so their target could not conjure anything. Without his magic, he is weaker than even a lowly town guard.
Opening the doors, the group walked in with their purpose clear. Sat relaxing in a steaming room was Helshep, The Dark Lord ruler of their land.
“We have come for your head Helshep. Lay down and accept your fate and we shall make it quick”, the chief assassin announced. Helshep however didn’t move; his head was tilted backwards with only a small washcloth covering his eyes.
“I Say foul fiend, we are here for your life”, the leader shouted louder this time.
“I heard you the first time, but I felt no need to respond”, Helshep replied, still not moving.
“Then you wish to die a slow, painful death?” the leader asked.
“I’ve already done that a few times, thank you”, Helshep said with a shrug that caused a light splash around him.
“I will just beat you all with my magic and be done with it”, he said, finally rising from the water. Arms to the side, he began to chant a spell quietly. When he was done, nothing happened.
“Ah blocked conjuring, I must say quite the array you got here, it’ll even stop the likes of me”, he said almost as if bemused than worried.
“Men move in but stay cautious. He is still dangerous despite his weak physicality”, The leader warned. The men of the troop began to move around Helshep, who was still just standing there.
“Tell me, assassin who sent you?” Helshep asked.
“We will never reveal our employer whether to a dead man nor an investigator”, the leader scoffed, cutting off Helsheps avenue of escape.
“Shame guess we’ll have to duke it out”, Helshep said, tightening his hands into fists and taking a boxing stance.
“Oh, a few things before I begin”, he said, raising a finger.
“You have only sealed my conjuring, not my magic”, he said with a grin.
“Matters little”, the leader scoffed.
“It should matter to you. I am a master mage. I don’t need to bring material into existence to use my spells”, Helshep said, wagging his finger in mock admonishment.
“What do you mean?” The leader asked, hoping to distract Helshep for a few more seconds to give his men the best opportunity to strike.
“Manipulate material spells, of course”, Helshep said with a grin.
“The weakest of magicks?!” the assassin mocked.
“Yes, only because people don’t work at them hard enough, but take here for instance”, Helshep spread his arms out.
“The air itself is full of steam, which is water vapour”, he explained just as the two assassins directly behind him dropped to the ground.
“WHAT DID YOU JUST DO?!!” The leader demanded.
“Condensed the water vapour into the lungs, basically they just drowned”, he explained with a shrug.
“There is also the tiles around us”, Helshep continued, as a tile shattered, flinging shards into another assassin.
“How about the fires beneath here that keep the place hot”, he continued as flames bubbled up from beneath the baths steaming waters.
“Retreat!!!” The leader screamed to his remaining men.
“You are free to go. My guards are waiting outside with more tangible weapons for you to face, pick your death assassin me, or them”, Helshep said with that same casual tone he’d maintained throughout the talk.
for more of my nonsense go to r/Random3X | |
[WP] Write a fight scene! | "Raise your weapons, you filthy bug!”
“Oh, I'll smash ya stinky insect butt, Gonzales, you shithead!”
Two mantises fighted in the parking lot. Their scynthes swinging on their opponent like two hysterical ladies slapping each other. Nobody watched, apart from two disoccupied flies who lunched on a piece of gum stuck in the asphalt.
“Frank, what's going on over there?” asked a small black fly.
“The brown and the green want the same partner, Mike, so they're fighting for it.” said Frank, the bigger black fly.
“Oh.”
“I don't see why, though.” said Frank.
“Why?”
“Female mantises bite the head of their partners off and the deposit eggs on their headless body.”
“What.”
“Yup, these guys are fighting for who gets to get laid and die first. We eat literal shit, but at least we don't need to pass through that kind of embarrassment.”
“You will now feel pain!” said the green mantis, striking his foe with all his might. He faintly hit him in the head to not harm his claw.
The brown mantis fell on his back, but in a jump got up.
“Ya gonna pay for that, just watch!!”
The brown mantis took a flight. His thin wings rapidly flapping to get his tiny body in the air. He stopped only after he was 4 meters above in the air, feeling like a brown angel ready to descent and strike his adversary down. He dived, feeling the air hit his face. He could the stactic, scared face of his opponent. Soon, after the battle was over, he and Marietta would finally be together, forever. Or, to better put, until she chewed his head off. He released his battle cry:
THIS
IS
#OVEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER!
He hit right into the car's roof. Unfortunately, exactly as he was flying down for his attack, a purple fiat uno got right into his way. The green mantis, seeing that his rival had disappeared from air after the car passes over him, realised he was gone.
“Ha, ha, ha! I did it! Henrietta, I won! *Victor is invictus!*”
Henrietta, a big green mantis, who was boringly flipping through The Daily Bug while her bachelor's brawled, took her eyes out of the appropriately mantis sized magazine and looked at her champion, Victor. She got up from her appropriately mantis sized beach chair and walked towards him. Victor ran to the huge deadly claws of his amor.
“Now we can be togETHE- AAAAAAAH, OH GOD, AAAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAH!”
She feasting on his head, breaking and cracking his exoskeleton with her mandíbules.
“Wow, ma'am,” said Frank. “Not even took him for dinner first?”
“He is my dinner, asshole.” said Henrietta, with a piece of Victor's eyes ok her mouth. “I mean, I could've, but these clowns have been fighting for over an hour already and I got hungry.”
She resumed to foundly appreciate her lunch husband in silence.
Bill, a grey old fly, with almost 20 hours of existence, landed on side of Frank and Mike.
“That's why I never married; women are all killers.”
“Shut up, Bill!” screamed Mike and Frank at the old fly. | Maeve awoke to the stench of death around her. Ropes of silver moonlight slipped in through holes in the ramshackle hut and cast light on the horror before her. A fleshy mass grew in the center of the room, venting black smoke as it wriggled. Tendrils slithered from the edges of the blot and crept along the floorboards, twitching as they extended out. Beside her, a toddler slept soundly unaware that the thing before them, the dreamspawn, was his very own creation.
“Amon,” Maeve said, trying to subdue the terror in her voice. “Bubba, wake up.” She cursed herself for dozing off. She had grabbed most of the elixirs that she made for Amon when they fled Ostencia and gave him a nightly dose to ward off his conjurations as he slept. Except for tonight; exhaustion took her before she could. She pawed around for her potion satchel, eyes still fixed on the sack of flesh, but grasped only leaves that had fallen through the partially collapsed roof. Her eyes darted around scanning the shack for her bag and spotted it behind the dreamspawn. It hung from a jutting plank on the wall.
Writhing tendrils licked her feet now. Maeve pulled the child back toward her and reeled her legs tighter to her body with her back flat against the wall. The creature gurgled and four arms burst from the mass in a bloody eruption that sprayed the walls with black ichor. The elixirs, she knew, were their only chance for survival. Maeve rose to her feet and gathered the splinters of courage darting around in her chest. She then tore past the creature towards her potion satchel. Glass vials clinked as she rummaged through the bag struggling to grab one, her fingers slick with fear. She drew a milk-white potion with a trembling hand and raced back to Amon, dodging a claw as she passed. The sound of dreamspawn’s bones echoed off the walls, cracking and popping into form.
Maeve held the vial up to Amon’s lips “Please, Bubba. Drink this!” He squirmed, eyes still closed. The dreamspawn’s shadow now loomed over them, eclipsing the moonlight. What she heard next made her heart sink to the pit of her stomach. The creature shrieked. Its blood curdling cry sheared the silence, which finally woke Amon with a jolt to the sight before him. Then more screeches just outside the shack joined with the one inside in a terrible symphony. It sounded like two, maybe three, but she couldn't tell for sure. Amon, pale-faced and crying, dug his face into her.
*There’s no way,* she thought. *Multiple dreamspaw---*
A force sent her flying into a dusty bookshelf as a hot pain flared down her side. Her vision flashed white on impact followed by momentary blackness. Her ribs screamed and her lungs betrayed her attempts to draw breath. The sound of Amon’s cries coupled with the dreamspawn’s snarls, told her that she was still alive. She forced her eyes open and found the creature looming over the boy. It was enormous, at least two of her in length and three in width, with six limbs. Its hind legs hovered a foot above ground; they were tiny compared to the rest of its body. The demon carried itself on two of its thick arms instead and the other two limbs reached for Amon.
Maeve didn’t know what good throwing herself in front of the boy would do, or how she could push through the pain to do it in the first place, but she did it anyway. She shielded Amon with her body, unsheathed a dagger on her thigh, and spoke the rune words etched down the length of blade. The symbols burst alight with golden radiance. The glow cast light on the creatures twisted features and Maeve caught a glimpse of the dreamspawn. It had no eyes, just two black voids where eyes should be. A thick mane, which swayed as though it floated underwater, flanked its ape-like face. It's grinning maw exposed dozens of teeth that jutted out at odd angles. The dreamspawn walked towards them on its forelimbs, each step laced with murderous intent.
Another cry bellowed through the air, but not of a dreamspawn. The creature swung around only to find a sword, also glowing gold with runes, cleave one of its arms clean at the elbow. It tumbled onto its side, its wound sizzling like frying meat. The demon roared and swiped at its attacker with a good arm. Its talons raked the man across the cheek, sending him reeling. The dreamspawn caught its bearings again and lunged at the swordsman, and its teeth clamped square between his shoulder and head.
"Leonis!" She cried.
*Help him!* a voice within her said, one she had come to trust.
So she listened.
She sprung up, dagger in hand, and lunged towards the back of the creature’s head. The blade found purchase just under the dreamspawn’s skull. The enchanted runes disappeared one-by-one as Maeve pushed deeper into its hissing flesh. The creature released Leonis. It lurched in place for a moment before slumping over lifeless. The swordsman fell to his knees coughing and spitting blood.
Maeve collapsed as well, flat on her back, holding her side. The man scrambled towards Amon and wrapped his arms around the weeping boy. He kissed Amon’s forehead as only a father could. “Its okay, son,” he said, “They’re gone.”
Maeve crawled to her satchel and extracted two vials, each containing a viscous red fluid, and drank one. The pain in her ribs numbed. She passed the other to Leonis. “They’re not,” she said. “I heard more outside.”
Leonis downed his potion too. The wounds on his face and neck shrunk, as skin began to stitch around the gash. “Not anymore.” he said. It was then that Maeve noticed his coat, which was slick with a fluid too dark to be his blood. She watched his expression change from gratitude to something resolute. He rose steadily to his feet, picked Amon up, and held out a hand to Maeve. “There’s no time. we need to get to the caves,” he said, “I saw torches in the forest.”
Maeve didn’t ask why, she knew. The commotion would likely draw them. Not dreamspawn, but people; a different sort of demon. Synod Inquisitors were the real reason they fled their home a fortnight ago. And without another word, the three of them escaped into the night. | |
[WP] Write a fight scene! | "Raise your weapons, you filthy bug!”
“Oh, I'll smash ya stinky insect butt, Gonzales, you shithead!”
Two mantises fighted in the parking lot. Their scynthes swinging on their opponent like two hysterical ladies slapping each other. Nobody watched, apart from two disoccupied flies who lunched on a piece of gum stuck in the asphalt.
“Frank, what's going on over there?” asked a small black fly.
“The brown and the green want the same partner, Mike, so they're fighting for it.” said Frank, the bigger black fly.
“Oh.”
“I don't see why, though.” said Frank.
“Why?”
“Female mantises bite the head of their partners off and the deposit eggs on their headless body.”
“What.”
“Yup, these guys are fighting for who gets to get laid and die first. We eat literal shit, but at least we don't need to pass through that kind of embarrassment.”
“You will now feel pain!” said the green mantis, striking his foe with all his might. He faintly hit him in the head to not harm his claw.
The brown mantis fell on his back, but in a jump got up.
“Ya gonna pay for that, just watch!!”
The brown mantis took a flight. His thin wings rapidly flapping to get his tiny body in the air. He stopped only after he was 4 meters above in the air, feeling like a brown angel ready to descent and strike his adversary down. He dived, feeling the air hit his face. He could the stactic, scared face of his opponent. Soon, after the battle was over, he and Marietta would finally be together, forever. Or, to better put, until she chewed his head off. He released his battle cry:
THIS
IS
#OVEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER!
He hit right into the car's roof. Unfortunately, exactly as he was flying down for his attack, a purple fiat uno got right into his way. The green mantis, seeing that his rival had disappeared from air after the car passes over him, realised he was gone.
“Ha, ha, ha! I did it! Henrietta, I won! *Victor is invictus!*”
Henrietta, a big green mantis, who was boringly flipping through The Daily Bug while her bachelor's brawled, took her eyes out of the appropriately mantis sized magazine and looked at her champion, Victor. She got up from her appropriately mantis sized beach chair and walked towards him. Victor ran to the huge deadly claws of his amor.
“Now we can be togETHE- AAAAAAAH, OH GOD, AAAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAH!”
She feasting on his head, breaking and cracking his exoskeleton with her mandíbules.
“Wow, ma'am,” said Frank. “Not even took him for dinner first?”
“He is my dinner, asshole.” said Henrietta, with a piece of Victor's eyes ok her mouth. “I mean, I could've, but these clowns have been fighting for over an hour already and I got hungry.”
She resumed to foundly appreciate her lunch husband in silence.
Bill, a grey old fly, with almost 20 hours of existence, landed on side of Frank and Mike.
“That's why I never married; women are all killers.”
“Shut up, Bill!” screamed Mike and Frank at the old fly. | william is on the lookout for any shady figures on the rooftops, he suddenly hears a gunshot coming from the town center, he rushes from rooftop to rooftop only to find the dead body of one of his men surrounded by civilians panicking, he feels angry how he was too late and before he could think of anything else his peripheral vision sees a flash of light from the inside of a house, he ducks down and the shot hits the chimney behind him
“a fucking trap”
he exclaims, he dashes at the opposite direction and jumps on a balcony to get inside a house, as soon as he’s in he pulls out his transmitter but to tell his men to not follow the gunshots and to stay hidden but he receives no response, he hopes that it’s because they’re trying to hide and before any further notice a window breaks and he hears a gunshot, two men get inside the house looking for him, he quickly turns on his radio and puts it under the a table and hides behind the kitchen counter, while hiding he hears more windows breaking, realizing that the enemy is also searching for him in the other side of the house he stays hidden trying to think something but the thinking stops when the two men get near the table, they hear the radio static sounds so one shoots under the table and pulls the blanket on the table to look under but he gets shot in the face from the kitchen counter, the other man shoots at the counter and when he attempts to take cover william shoots him but the panicked shot hits the gun which falls under the table, william takes the chance torun towards the man, tackling him on the floor he attempts to retrieve the gun, the man pulls out a knife and stabs his leg, william grabs the radio throwing it towards the man but which startles him for a minute, he struggles as the man attempts to stab his legs and the other team is coming from the other room, he manages to free one of his legs and kicks the man on the face and he manages to get him off and grab the gun, the man is bleeding because of the spiked boots and then gets shot, suddenly the other team gets in the room, he shoots towards the door keeping them out, he pushes the table so he can get a little cover, he crawls over to the sofa and he has two options, he sees a window and is thinking of retreating but he the other teams starts shooting at the table, he sees the corpse of the soldier and pulls it towards him, he uses a drug to negate the pain of his leg and grabs the soldier and by putting him in front of him he runs towards the other group consisting of two men, he shoots one while running and the other hides but as he’s getting closer he falls, he quickly gets behind the wall, at the other corner there’s the enemy, whoever strikes first has a higher chance of victory and death, he decides to jump in and shooths the man at point blank range but also gets shot two times in the lower abdomen, one hitting his kidney, the other hitting just the skin, he crawls to the window and sees that he’s surrounded by soldiers on the rooftops waiting for him to make his leave.
edit: this is my first story ever so it’s probably bad, i just recently got into writing and i’d like any tips available. sorry about the grammatical errors as well | |
[WP] A president or prime minister's final address to their nation during the last phase of a zombie apocalypse. | My fellow Americans. Throughout this nation’s history, and indeed the history of all civilization, we have seen moments of spectacular triumph, and we have counted the minutes through some of humanity’s darkest hours. Great empires have risen, fallen, and from the dust and rubble they have risen again.
Through developments in science and an often reckless pursuit of knowledge we have answered some of the greatest questions of our time. We have cured disease. We have given sight to the blind, and hearing to the deaf. Things that would have been unspeakable, *impossible* only a hundred years ago have become commonplace features of our daily lives.
There have been periods of great strife in our history. Our story is one of darkness and light, and each chapter has its role in keeping us whole. United. Bonded to one another in brotherhood. No nation, or ruler, or man alone can claim perfection, but as the end draws near we can in good confidence say that we tried our absolute best, and by and large I believe we succeeded.
I don’t know if this is the last chapter in our story, but…it certainly seems to be the darkest yet. The hoard is growing in numbers at a rate for which nothing could have adequately prepared us. The CDC is gone. The World Health Organization has been offline and out of contact for some time now. If you can believe it, I am broadcasting from a mile underground, and there are less than ten of us remaining.
Wherever you are, America, I hope you’re listening. Death and destruction will define this moment, but I have faith it will not define our future. Survival is possible. It must be.
Take care of yourselves. Be safe. If you are bitten, isolate immediately and commit suicide. The brain must be destroyed to prevent reanimation from taking place. There is no cure coming. There will be no containment efforts. There’s nothing left. I’m sorry.
My fellow Americans, I wish you goodnight. And good luck. | The Hinds family crowded around the TV in the living room at the back of the house. The President of the USA was about to make his address about the recent virus that had begun to sweep the nation. Jimmy, the youngest of the 5 kids, sat the closest to the screen. Only being 6 years of age, Jimmy couldn’t tell why everyone seemed to be so on edge. Well, everyone except for Jimmy that was. Jimmy was more concerned why everyone seemed so anxious, they were doing a terrible job at hiding it. Maybe if he gave them some of his chocolate from his secret stash in his room, everyone might be a little bit happier. He broke his way out of the pack and darted to his room. When he returned with his chocolate treasures, the broadcast had already begun. All of Jimmy’s family was glued to the television and were obstructing Jimmy’s view of the screen. In their fixation, not one had paid attention to the fact that Jimmy had departed from their midst.
“…attempts to contain the virus have failed. What we are seeing is a catastrophe of global proportions. It has been the role of the president since the inception of this country to give the good American people hope.” The President drew in a shaky breath and looked down into his lap, at a loss for words. After the moment of silence it took him to collect his thoughts, he started again.
“I cannot do that now. I cannot promise that you or your loved ones will survive. I cannot promise that humanity will prevail. Protect each other. May God be with us all.” And with that, the broadcast ended.
Mrs. Hinds had her head buried in her hands and was weeping, the type that is primally guttural. Mr. Hinds, stoic as a statue, froze, paralyzed by the grim reality of the world. The 4 eldest consoled one another. Had anyone been paying attention to the world outside of the television screen, they would have heard a rasping at the front door. Jimmy, who had been ostracized by the rest of the family, was the only one who paid attention to this curious noise. Jimmy, candy in tow, made his way to the front door and curiously peered through window next to the door. Through the window, he made out the figure of his neighbor, Mr. Mike. Jimmy wondered if Mr. Mike had seen the president’s speech as he opened the door to invite him in.
“Hi, Mr. Mike! Do you want some chocolate?”
Unfortunately for the Hinds family, specifically our little Jimmy, Mr. Mike was not craving chocolate. | |
[WP] A president or prime minister's final address to their nation during the last phase of a zombie apocalypse. | A radio crackles to life, barely audible above the whirring of the crank sustaining it. The static makes the words hard to decipher, but the total silence surrounding the device makes it possible. A group of six huddles around it, straining hard to catch every sound emitted.
“Dear citizens. This is the president speaking. Or rather, John Darley, as there is no country to be President of anymore.
We have failed. The Zombies have overrun the last bastions of civilisation, the military failed. The virus has gotten into the bunkers.
You all know what happened. I will not recount it, for there will be no historian to listen to my testimony.
I am sorry.
This will be my final address, and my final instruction to anyone willing to follow my orders.
Whatever you do, go out in a way to avoid becoming one of them. I hope you saved a bullet, but a fall also does the trick, provided it is high enough to shatter the limbs.
May God find Mercy on our souls.”
As the Radio falls silent, the group looks at each other. The leader takes out a watertight box, and opens it.
Inside lays a revolver, fully loaded, saved for this occasion.
A silent question. A silent offer.
The waves crash against the raft. | The trouble with the zombies was that they didn't decompose. A human body without infection would not last more than a few days. The virus, the scientists said, expelled some kind of toxic compound that drove off all known bacteria, fungus, insects and everything else that would normally gorge themselves on a dead body. The zombies still dried out, but come the next rain they were up and moving again.
And boy did they move. They had walked the continent from one coast to the other, spreading the virus, making more zombies. The cities had gone almost immediately, of course. But in the first few years there were plenty of stories about plucky outposts resisting the hordes. There were farms, there were bunkers, some people survived. For a while. Then, one after another, they went silent. There was no need to send someone to find out why - nobody could be spared, and everyone knew what had happened anyway.
The White House had been a beacon of hope throughout the ordeal. Through radio and satellites - what the zombies couldn't touch - the signal had gone out at the end of every week. "I am talking to you now from the Oval Office", the President began each week. The real White House had long since been deemed indefensible, so one of the myriad of bunkers had been chosen from around the countryside as a place to record and transmit.
Because it was all they could do. They were no armies left, no missiles, no scientists. After the first decade even the most well-prepared government installations had simply run out of food and medicine. Only the self-sustaining farms in the northern valleys with natural chokepoints were still up and running. From over five hundred million citizens, the United States had been reduced to less than two hundred thousand, estimated. But they all tuned in, every week, to hear the President make his address.
Besides the President, there were only a handful of people still alive in the secret bunker that had housed the government after Washington fell. Most of the people in the bunker had fallen to the purges three years ago, when a faction of cannibals had attempted to overthrow the provisioner's office. The cannibals had succeeded, with the President's leadership and charisma. After that surviving had been easier for the remaining humans. They drew straws. The President was exempt.
The red light above the camera flicked green, and the President stared statuesquely into the piece of technology that would put his face on every running television in the country, his voice in every operational radio. The address would be brief as electricity was limited.
He spoke of restoring faith in the markets. He spoke of bipartisanship support in Congress - both House and Senate - for temporarily increased funding for aid to those that had been hit hardest by their current circumstances. Never once did he mention the Z word. It was, and had always been, most important to appear to be in control. So words like "calamity" or "disaster" were also forbidden.
The President spoke of the most recent victories, reclaiming this territory or that. All in the south, where none were left alive that could call him out on it. But he spoke of losses, too. It was important to appear realistic. Briefly the camera showed a map of the United States with the week's developments. It showed imaginary army elements approaching the north. Just a few more weeks now. Of course they'd never actually even get there, not even on the fake map.
He spoke of family and faith. Of the importance of staying true to your community during the hardships. That was important, the focus groups had shown that the warlords in the northern valleys particularly appreciated the President reminding everyone of the value of loyalty.
Reaching the end of his allotted time, he also dove into the recent near-miraculous discoveries made by various private companies operating abroad. Companies like Tesla, Facebook, Microsoft. He painted a picture of how they were pouring their resources into finding solutions so that they could return to their "homeland". In reality the rest of the world was no better off than the United States.
But it was important to give some hope before the end. The president's bunker was failing in all aspects, and this was likely his last address. He was pretty sure the remaining humans were plotting to eat him next, ignoring his exempt status. Only one generator was operating and there was no-one left to repair the others anyway.
Another person appeared on camera, an assistant handing the President a note to read. As if information was coming to him on the fly, as if there was a message so extremely important that it hadn't been written into the speech. It was vital to maintain the masquerade. He wasn't sure why anymore, but it was vital.
"I'm now being told we have some particularly welcome news this evening. It appears - yes, I now have it confirmed - that Burger King will be running a sale on Whooper burgers this Tuesday. So be sure to stop by your local restaurant, wherever you are."
"Thank you Burger King, god bless, and for the folks at home - I'll talk to you again next week." | |
[WP] Earth is a deathworld for most other species. Life was seeded there to evolve the most fearsome beasts. Both to wage war and provide entertainment, but the project was abandoned. Nobody could've foreseen humanity. The galaxy is terrified now that we've reached FTL and established first contact. | The Galactic Council had detected the telltale signature of faster than light travel near the long abandoned battleground planet number eight four five, drawing the interest of the galactic community. An observation drone had been dispatched immediately and it now drifted through the void towards its mothership to report its findings.
Harlarl, the chief officer, hovered behind the communications operator watching the data stream on the console screen. It delivered a full report of the planet called Earth by its now intelligent inhabitants. The species being described by the data looked nothing like the reptilian monsters that had been left behind when interest in The Species Wars had waned.
All the crew was buzzing with anticipation about the first newly discovered species in two turns. Those nearby made weak attempts to not appear to be eavesdropping on the conversion.
The communications operator's eyes moved frenetically over the data. “It appears to be a bipedal mammalian species. It is similar to an evolution of the Purgatorius Mckeeveri previously observed on battleground planets. However, those species don’t usually achieve enough brain function to even process raw elements into alloys.”
All of the chief officers' three sets of eyes were pinned to the screen, “How the hell did this species come to dominate the planet? Mammals rarely proliferated this successfully in Species Wars.”
Screens flashed by quickly as the communications operator’s four hands played over the controls fastidiously. The screen halted on a display highlighting craters indicating impact events in the past. “There was an asteroid impact not long after the broadcast relays had been decommissioned. Not powerful enough to end all life though. With most life wiped out these creatures were able to evolve outside of their normal constraints.”
A questioning grunt came from the chief officer, “The chances of that are astronomically low. The orbits of battleground planets are thoroughly cleared before the seeding. Is there any data of outliers in the system before the withdrawal?”
Once again the operator’s hands sprang into motion closing reports and pulling up older ones. Eventually they came upon an unusual report that caused the operator to gasp through both of its mouths. “There was a Bonobian asteroid hauler that detoured through that system not long after The Wars had been canceled.”
“Aha! I knew those sex driven mammals had a part in this! Always nurturing planets with species similar to theirs.” The chief officer visibly relaxed. “Prepare an open communication with the council. We need to report our findings, and hopefully isolate these new people from the Bonobian influence.” | Recollection of first human contact
Humanity a species capable of surviving extreme temperatures of 10 degrees Fahrenheit to 110 degrees Fahrenheit capable of surviving in nitrogen rich atmospheres without the benefit of the full spectrum of solar radiation.
When the first Human ships arrived at the pristine world of Naliga there was panic. Humanity originated from a rare class called death worlds because No known species could survive without the aid of technology.
The DeGouth couldn't survive in anything lower than 150 degrees Fahrenheit. Naliga was a perfect world with it's temperatures between 200 and 300 degrees Fahrenheit
Commander Tragor had the honor of being the first Human to make first contact. As he stepped off his ship he was expecting a small outpost or advanced research station seeing the planet was windy and hot enough to air fry a steak.
When they entered the Port building he was waiting to embrace the cooling air but instead he was blasted with more heat. After 10 minutes his suit couldn't take the heat and he felt himself cooking.
"Excuse me ambassador but can we take this somewhere much cooler"
Every head swiveled with a look of horror
"Quick with us" the DeGouth moved quickly in fact almost running down corridors.
They pushed a door open to a room with a table in the middle. They shoved him to one end before retreating to the other side. One of them quickly worked on a computer.
Within seconds the environment was almost a match for the environment of Earth.
"We must apologize Commander it didn't occur to us that a species from a Death world might find our world just as deadly."
"You should be safe now this is a room where many species can do business in environments suited for them"
And that was the beginning of a long and mutually beneficial relationship with the Humans | |
[WP] Earth is a deathworld for most other species. Life was seeded there to evolve the most fearsome beasts. Both to wage war and provide entertainment, but the project was abandoned. Nobody could've foreseen humanity. The galaxy is terrified now that we've reached FTL and established first contact. | The space lord did not believe what he was hearing. The planet they’d stopped monitoring millennia ago had allegedly produced a kardashev type 1 civilization. “Wait, do you mean to tell me that those apes who started walking upright have a warp drive? I thought we’d classified that as a ‘last gasp’ adaptation to a dying habitat? Damn, I had a lot of money on the cephalopods coming off of THAT rock.” Why did he let his brother take the field on that bet? “How do they survive against predators, let alone maintain a sustainable birth rate, with that bastardization of a pelvis, anyway?”
“Yes, we did have them pegged as doomed, and their initial habitat did continue to dry as the models predicted, but, well, the bipedalism came with some...unexpected...features.
“You see, the elongated extremities provided exceptional heat dispersion, and suddenly doubling in height came with a small exponential increase in their line of sight to the horizon. Also, since most animals use height to determine threat level of other animals, should-be predators think the humans weigh 2-3 times what they actually do.”
“I don’t see how that helped them so much past helping them conserve what precious little water water they could get a hold of and find the ever-dwindling decent foraging lands.”
“Persistence hunting.”
“I thought they were herbivores, and what the hell is ‘pErSiStEnCe HuNtInG’?”
“Plant-based omnivores, actually. And it’s a hunting style where the predator basically exhausts the prey to death.”
“I’m sorry, does what now?”
“Well basically you spot a prey animal, you chase it, it runs off, you keep up just enough to not lose sight of it, then it runs off again, rinse and repeat until the animal is too exhausted from heat stroke to keep running away, then you bash its head in with a rock or whatever.”
“...I’m, I’m sorry, and they rode this wildly inefficient hunting method to a type 1 civilization CAPABLE OF INVENTING A WARP DRIVE MORE EFFICIENT THAN A TYPE 2 CIVILIZATION THAT’S OLDER THAN THEIR FUCKING SPECIES????”
“Well, it sorta accidentally led them to more fertile foraging grounds, and that led to a behavioral adaptation to roam and explore more, so eventually they dominated the planet, and technically ‘they’ didn’t invent the warp drive...”
“Ooooooohh I see. Well that’s a fun Little prank then! Give the silly apes a warp drive and see what they do with it. I wonder who came up with that one! My brother must be behind it. He probably messed with our readings as well to make their power usage look less than it really is. I’ll have to get him good for that one!”
“No, it, wasn’t a prank...they invented, well, we don’t have a word for it, but I guess they’re like...logical functions that can provide instructions to machines, and one of the functions they made was able to make new functions over and over again until one of the outputs told a machine how to make that warp drive.”
“THAT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE!!!”
“Just because we don’t understand it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t make...” he didn’t get the last word out before he was a scorched piece of wall roughly the size and shape of a Klorfor.
The space lord spoke into the ship’s intercom, “Second science officer, please report to me on the bridge immediately.” the science officer was already on the bridge, but the message wasn’t just for him, now was it?
“Second science officer reporting for duty, my lord!” Oh, how he loved the morale boost that came from summary executions.
“Yes, the first science officer had either gone mad or was in on my brother’s prank. Make sense of this. Now.”
“Well, clearly your brother gave them this warp drive. It’s the only explanation!”
“You know, I know you’re lying, but at least I appreciate the effort.” Back to the intercom. “Third space officer!”
Another prompt science officer. “Sir?”
“I don’t care how they got it, but we have a sense of their output capacity, yes?
“We do.”
“And it is lower than ours, correct?”
“Oh yes, my lord, we’re definitely faster than them.”
“Good, full speed away from them, then.” He didn’t like running from lesser species, but there were too many of them and he was too busy to deal with such pests.
They zoomed along the warp at 30 times light speed for as long as their warp drive could handle and popped out into a warp eddy to recharge. The space lord went to his quarters for a leisurely shower before his call with Daddy. He told Daddy about the silly little apes and their cute little warp drive, and they both had a hearty laugh about it.
After the call was done, the third science officer pages him with a report. The apes were back on their readings, but not to worry, their warp drive would be up and running again well before they were in range of the human’s weapons. The space lord waved him off to just do it and moved on with his life once again.
Then they showed up on their readings a third time. “Persistence. Hunting.”
Edit: some words | In the dry, sun-baked desert of Arizona a spaceship smashed into Earth. When it was burning through the atmosphere, NASA scientists saw it: a green blip on their giant monitors. Everyone waited for it to land, and now it did.
My phone woke me up. I wanted to throw it again the wall, force its ringing to stop and instead explode into a million tiny bits of chips and circuitry, but the name stopped me.
"Jack?" I said through a drunken daze. "Do you know what fuckin' time it is? This better be good."
"It is good—no—better than good. Trust me. There's a plane waiting for you at the airport, come immediately." He hung up.
I changed out of my beer-stained shirt into a coffee-stained one. I put on my glasses and headed out the door. My car was already turned on somehow; I must have accidentally hit the remote start while getting ready.
The jet engine roared and I shut my eyes. Another two hours of sleep would be good. The wheels left the runway as I dozed off.
I still remembered the last job Jack got me into. He swore up and down it was a real life alien that had landed in the Pacific. After borrowing a boat we saw it was just a jumbled mess of netting and seaweed. I almost left him stranded at sea.
This time was serious. Sitting across from me, in a brightly lit room full of hidden cameras, was an actual alien. It wasn't green or grey like the movies always showed, but a light pink, like a woman wearing blush. It didn't look much different from us, to be honest. The proportions were the same, it had seven fingers instead of five on each hand, one of its eyes was switched with its nose, but if I passed it on the street I'd just think it was someone with a defect. God hadn't been very creative when he made the universe.
Sweat rolled down its bald head. Neither of us had said a word since I entered. It was time to do my job, though.
"Howdy," I said. It fidgeted in its seat. It refused to look at me. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
It nodded while looking down at the floor. "Okay," I continued, "can you talk?"
It nodded again and I waited for it to say something. It never did.
"Well? It's rude to ignore a man talkin' to you," I said.
Suddenly it started pointing all around the room. Its eyes and fingers acted in unison, locking onto various points. It reminded me of somebody having a bad dream.
I sighed. It was obvious what it was pointing at. I got up and knocked on the two way mirror.
"We can't do this here," I shouted at the reflection of myself. "It doesn't wanna be recorded."
After some mean words, and the help of Jack, the alien and I were moved. This new room was small, dimly lit, and had nothing but a door, table, and two chairs. I assured the Captain I was fine being alone in there. He nodded as the door clicked shut.
"Okay," I said, flipping the chair around and sitting with my legs straddling the back. "This better?"
It nodded, and then took what seemed like a labored sigh. Then it spoke.
"Hello."
Her voice was beautiful. It was like sweet tangerines and cream. I felt like I was drifting in a cloud. If she didn't look so deformed I might have fallen in love, then and there. But a job was a job.
"Hello, Ms. Alien. What should I call you?"
"Xenthos."
"Okay. Hello, Ms. Xenthos. I don't know where exactly to begin, since this is the first time this has actually happened, so I'll start here. Why have you come to Earth?"
Her eyes rolled back and her hands lay limp in her lap. Her bald pink head moved side to side and her nose (which was where a human's left eye was) flared. She rocked her entire body back and forth. It sort of looked like a child having a tantrum.
A minute passed before she returned to a more hospitable state. Would she look better with a wig?
"My apologies," she said, sweet as sin, "I was just communicating with my people. I have been sent to Earth as a messenger."
"You mean you can talk to your kind telepathically?"
"Yes. They are seeing what I see and feeling what I feel and hearing what I hear."
"How many people are watching me right now, through you?"
"About two hundred billion."
I sighed. Just the number alone gave me an idea of why she had come. "And what message do you have for us?"
Her eyes began to glow purple and she spoke not as the sweet girl from before but as a robotic matron. "We, the people of Gliese 667Cc," she said, "demand you turn your planet over to us. If you do so peacefully, we will not have to shed blood. You will live under us as slaves and do our bidding. It will not be a bad life. Otherwise, if you choose to rebel, all your kind will perish in an instant."
I couldn't help but laugh. These aliens clearly hadn't done their research.
"They sent you here to say that? Why not a radio signal or something?"
"We feared," the amalgamation of voices said, "you would not be able to respond. So now, through this vessel, we await your answer."
I paced back and forth, wondering if it was the right thing to do. I might get chewed out for it, but then again, there might not be enough time to chew. We'd have to go on the offensive immediately. God knows what kind of weaponry they possessed. Having made my choice I unlatched my gun.
I held the barrel to her face. Two hundred billion aliens would feel the pain. Two hundred billion soulless creatures would learn we weren't a species to be trifled with.
"Do you know what this is?" I asked. She sat there unphased.
"Yes," she said. "But you know not what you're doing."
"Oh I know damn right well what I'm doing. The question is: do you?"
I slowly pulled the trigger and right before the hammer caught the voices screamed out.
"What do you call yourselves?" she asked, moments away from death.
I looked her in the eyes with a hardened stare. She tried to divert her gaze, the gaze of billions, to relieve some pressure. I wouldn't let her. It was my job to make sure they knew who we were. And they would. Forever.
The voice of seven billion men and women cried out through my lungs.
"Humanity," I said, as I learned they bleed red, just like us. | |
[WP] Earth is a deathworld for most other species. Life was seeded there to evolve the most fearsome beasts. Both to wage war and provide entertainment, but the project was abandoned. Nobody could've foreseen humanity. The galaxy is terrified now that we've reached FTL and established first contact. | **Extreme Heat.**
The Galactic Council was hosted on an arid planet dominated by an equitaorial desert. Only three cities marred the rolling dunes, and two were built at the border of the tropics and the polar region, the only place on the planet considered habitable for life.
The first of these cities was a small trading post and waystation. Ships needed to refuel, and the delegates needed to eat.
The second of these cities was a garrison of ships, a small private army manned by mercenaries whose sole duty was to protect the Galactic Council from incursion. It was considered an easy job, a quiet station. Who would want to attack the Galactic Council? Who would want to attack a planet like this?
The final city was the Galactic Council itself, a gorgeous metal citadel housed within a biodome at the planet's 0 latitudes and longitude. The city grew around the Council, and it hosted the millions of souls who kept the Galaxy's unified diplomatic body turning, from the janitors that cleaned the streets and halls to the cooks who kept everyone's stomachs filled.
They had chosen a desolate, desert world for a simple reason: nobody wanted it. Aside from the band of oases in the tropics, the desert was too hot and dry, and the polar caps were too cold. There was no risk of planetary invasion because the planet had nothing to offer save the Galactic Council itself, and since the Galactic Council was a diplomatic rather than governing body, capturing it held nothing more than symbolic value. The delegates had little say in how the planets they represented were run. They were no more than amabassadors.
Ori, the Thyrix Ambassador of Thyra, was a four-foot-tall, dark-skinned mammal with no hair. Not that anyone could see much of her skin. She wore a heavy coat, pants, boots, gloves, and a hat that covered all but her eyes, nose, and lips. Nanoscopic wires ran through all her clothes, mainting the constant temperature of roughly 100 degrees.
She found the Galactic Council's homeworld to be a pleasant place. Her own homeworld was similar: deserts, rolling plains, and rocky crags in which the rain water collected to water their farms. This planet, even in its emptiness, was beautiful. Though it was beautiful outside, the biodome was kept at more traditional temperatures and humidity for other residents. She, like so many ambassadors, had to wear BioMods to maintain homeostasis.
A few of the other ambassadors from desert worlds agreed.
She just never expected someone from a non-desert planet.
"What do you mean?" She asked.
She was sharing drinks with a group of ambassadors before their next session. They were to meet to welcome the ambassador of the newest planet to successfully make contact with the Council after developing Faster Than Light travel. She was the sole xerocole among them.
The man was an ambassador she didn't recognize. A mammal very much like herself, but where the Thyrix was short and squat, this mammal was tall with long arms and legs. He had some fur, but it was reserved solely for the top of his head and around his eyes. Eyelashes were an adaptation she herself had: they kept dust out of the eyes, but this one's skin was far, far too pale to be a xerocole, like herself, and he was too thin to be from an arctic planet.
Strangest of all was his attire. He wore a form-fitting suit of sleek blue and green nylon with his home planet's flag emblazoned on the lapel and shoulder. She saw no BioMods in his attire. In fact, she saw no technology at all. Was he just wearing a layer of cloth? Truly, he was blessed if the Council's dome suited his people so perfectly. She envied him.
And yet.
"The desert. It's gorgeous," He said, "I love how the bands in the dunes. So many colors. Do they let you explore the desert out here?"
"Why would you want to?" A reptilian ambassador cried, "You would overheat so swiftly!"
"Well, sure," The new ambassador shrugged, "It would be hot, but it'd be worth it get a closer look at that view."
"You can see it just fine from here," The reptile said, "Why risk your life?"
"Risk my life? It's only a hundred and five out there. A hat and a water bottle, and we'd be good for n hour or two. Come on, doesn't that sound like fun?"
The other ambassadors laughed at him, "You have a death wish. What planet are you from?"
"Ah, sorry. We haven't met yet. I'm the new ambassador they're introducing. Clark Aldrin, Ambassador of Earth."
Everyone fell silent. Ori's mouth dropped open. Earth? He was kidding, right? That wasn't...
The reptile chuffed to clear his throat, "Surely, by Earth, you do not mean Terra-4 of the Sol System, correct?"
He chuckled at that, "I love that name for it. Sol System. Yes, that's me. I am the human ambassador."
The human ambassador's smile fell when he saw the terrified expressions on their faces. Two ambassadors left immediately, their drinks unfinished. Ori alone managed to wiped the dumbstruck expression off her face to maintain some semblance of politeness.
"You do not know, then? It's true? The humans do not know?"
"Should we tell him?"
"What if he...?"
Ori cut in with a firm voice, "Enough, please. This man is a fellow ambassador. Terra-4 has sent him because they desire peaceful relations. All of us come from different biomes and species. You are all better than such barbaric judgement."
Clark politely held up a hand.
"Yes, Ambassador Aldrin?"
"I am afraid I'm missing something here, sirs and madames. Could you enlighten me?"
Even Ori clammed up at this. She glanced at the others uncertain.
"Please. If I'm to serve as the Earth's... as Terra-4's ambassador, I should know what I'm dealing with, right? It's nothing the Council's elders won't tell me after."
Ori sighed, "Terra-4 was not intended for habitation, Ambassdor Clark Aldrin. At least, not intelligent habitation. It was one of many planets utilized by one of the Galaxy's largest entertainment companies to create... er..."
The reptile ambassador, finding his courage, cut in, "Life was seeded by the entertainment company on a world with a series of extreme biomes to promote evolution of dangerous beasts. The possibility of intelligent life not only evolving but surviving long enough to develop into a Tier-1 civilization..."
For all this information, the human ambassador remained remarkably composed. He strokes his chin, "I see... so, where on earth, temperatures fluxuate wildly, for the rest of you."
"My people," The Reptile responded, "Are endothermic reptillians that can only survive in temperatures of 60 to 80 degrees unless submerged in water. If I were to go out into the desert, I would overheat within fifteen minutes and die within twenty. You, though? How long could you last? With supplies?"
"I guess... I'd last until the supplies ran out."
The reptillian nodded, "And thus you understand why a special counsil was called to introduce you and your people, Ambassador Clark."
"I guess I do. Like introducing a tiger to a petting zoo. Er, sorry, I don't know if you—"
"It is fine, Ambassador Clark," The reptile nodded, "Autotranslators are quite adept at idiomatic speech. You are correct. We are cautious, but as Ambassador Ori has declared, we are ambassadors, and we must act with rationality and intelligence. Yes? You and your people will be given the same respect as any other that has offered their hand diplomatically."
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/sq97gv/comment/hwkyo0z/?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x&context=3 | In the dry, sun-baked desert of Arizona a spaceship smashed into Earth. When it was burning through the atmosphere, NASA scientists saw it: a green blip on their giant monitors. Everyone waited for it to land, and now it did.
My phone woke me up. I wanted to throw it again the wall, force its ringing to stop and instead explode into a million tiny bits of chips and circuitry, but the name stopped me.
"Jack?" I said through a drunken daze. "Do you know what fuckin' time it is? This better be good."
"It is good—no—better than good. Trust me. There's a plane waiting for you at the airport, come immediately." He hung up.
I changed out of my beer-stained shirt into a coffee-stained one. I put on my glasses and headed out the door. My car was already turned on somehow; I must have accidentally hit the remote start while getting ready.
The jet engine roared and I shut my eyes. Another two hours of sleep would be good. The wheels left the runway as I dozed off.
I still remembered the last job Jack got me into. He swore up and down it was a real life alien that had landed in the Pacific. After borrowing a boat we saw it was just a jumbled mess of netting and seaweed. I almost left him stranded at sea.
This time was serious. Sitting across from me, in a brightly lit room full of hidden cameras, was an actual alien. It wasn't green or grey like the movies always showed, but a light pink, like a woman wearing blush. It didn't look much different from us, to be honest. The proportions were the same, it had seven fingers instead of five on each hand, one of its eyes was switched with its nose, but if I passed it on the street I'd just think it was someone with a defect. God hadn't been very creative when he made the universe.
Sweat rolled down its bald head. Neither of us had said a word since I entered. It was time to do my job, though.
"Howdy," I said. It fidgeted in its seat. It refused to look at me. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
It nodded while looking down at the floor. "Okay," I continued, "can you talk?"
It nodded again and I waited for it to say something. It never did.
"Well? It's rude to ignore a man talkin' to you," I said.
Suddenly it started pointing all around the room. Its eyes and fingers acted in unison, locking onto various points. It reminded me of somebody having a bad dream.
I sighed. It was obvious what it was pointing at. I got up and knocked on the two way mirror.
"We can't do this here," I shouted at the reflection of myself. "It doesn't wanna be recorded."
After some mean words, and the help of Jack, the alien and I were moved. This new room was small, dimly lit, and had nothing but a door, table, and two chairs. I assured the Captain I was fine being alone in there. He nodded as the door clicked shut.
"Okay," I said, flipping the chair around and sitting with my legs straddling the back. "This better?"
It nodded, and then took what seemed like a labored sigh. Then it spoke.
"Hello."
Her voice was beautiful. It was like sweet tangerines and cream. I felt like I was drifting in a cloud. If she didn't look so deformed I might have fallen in love, then and there. But a job was a job.
"Hello, Ms. Alien. What should I call you?"
"Xenthos."
"Okay. Hello, Ms. Xenthos. I don't know where exactly to begin, since this is the first time this has actually happened, so I'll start here. Why have you come to Earth?"
Her eyes rolled back and her hands lay limp in her lap. Her bald pink head moved side to side and her nose (which was where a human's left eye was) flared. She rocked her entire body back and forth. It sort of looked like a child having a tantrum.
A minute passed before she returned to a more hospitable state. Would she look better with a wig?
"My apologies," she said, sweet as sin, "I was just communicating with my people. I have been sent to Earth as a messenger."
"You mean you can talk to your kind telepathically?"
"Yes. They are seeing what I see and feeling what I feel and hearing what I hear."
"How many people are watching me right now, through you?"
"About two hundred billion."
I sighed. Just the number alone gave me an idea of why she had come. "And what message do you have for us?"
Her eyes began to glow purple and she spoke not as the sweet girl from before but as a robotic matron. "We, the people of Gliese 667Cc," she said, "demand you turn your planet over to us. If you do so peacefully, we will not have to shed blood. You will live under us as slaves and do our bidding. It will not be a bad life. Otherwise, if you choose to rebel, all your kind will perish in an instant."
I couldn't help but laugh. These aliens clearly hadn't done their research.
"They sent you here to say that? Why not a radio signal or something?"
"We feared," the amalgamation of voices said, "you would not be able to respond. So now, through this vessel, we await your answer."
I paced back and forth, wondering if it was the right thing to do. I might get chewed out for it, but then again, there might not be enough time to chew. We'd have to go on the offensive immediately. God knows what kind of weaponry they possessed. Having made my choice I unlatched my gun.
I held the barrel to her face. Two hundred billion aliens would feel the pain. Two hundred billion soulless creatures would learn we weren't a species to be trifled with.
"Do you know what this is?" I asked. She sat there unphased.
"Yes," she said. "But you know not what you're doing."
"Oh I know damn right well what I'm doing. The question is: do you?"
I slowly pulled the trigger and right before the hammer caught the voices screamed out.
"What do you call yourselves?" she asked, moments away from death.
I looked her in the eyes with a hardened stare. She tried to divert her gaze, the gaze of billions, to relieve some pressure. I wouldn't let her. It was my job to make sure they knew who we were. And they would. Forever.
The voice of seven billion men and women cried out through my lungs.
"Humanity," I said, as I learned they bleed red, just like us. | |
[WP] Earth is a deathworld for most other species. Life was seeded there to evolve the most fearsome beasts. Both to wage war and provide entertainment, but the project was abandoned. Nobody could've foreseen humanity. The galaxy is terrified now that we've reached FTL and established first contact. | **Extreme Heat.**
The Galactic Council was hosted on an arid planet dominated by an equitaorial desert. Only three cities marred the rolling dunes, and two were built at the border of the tropics and the polar region, the only place on the planet considered habitable for life.
The first of these cities was a small trading post and waystation. Ships needed to refuel, and the delegates needed to eat.
The second of these cities was a garrison of ships, a small private army manned by mercenaries whose sole duty was to protect the Galactic Council from incursion. It was considered an easy job, a quiet station. Who would want to attack the Galactic Council? Who would want to attack a planet like this?
The final city was the Galactic Council itself, a gorgeous metal citadel housed within a biodome at the planet's 0 latitudes and longitude. The city grew around the Council, and it hosted the millions of souls who kept the Galaxy's unified diplomatic body turning, from the janitors that cleaned the streets and halls to the cooks who kept everyone's stomachs filled.
They had chosen a desolate, desert world for a simple reason: nobody wanted it. Aside from the band of oases in the tropics, the desert was too hot and dry, and the polar caps were too cold. There was no risk of planetary invasion because the planet had nothing to offer save the Galactic Council itself, and since the Galactic Council was a diplomatic rather than governing body, capturing it held nothing more than symbolic value. The delegates had little say in how the planets they represented were run. They were no more than amabassadors.
Ori, the Thyrix Ambassador of Thyra, was a four-foot-tall, dark-skinned mammal with no hair. Not that anyone could see much of her skin. She wore a heavy coat, pants, boots, gloves, and a hat that covered all but her eyes, nose, and lips. Nanoscopic wires ran through all her clothes, mainting the constant temperature of roughly 100 degrees.
She found the Galactic Council's homeworld to be a pleasant place. Her own homeworld was similar: deserts, rolling plains, and rocky crags in which the rain water collected to water their farms. This planet, even in its emptiness, was beautiful. Though it was beautiful outside, the biodome was kept at more traditional temperatures and humidity for other residents. She, like so many ambassadors, had to wear BioMods to maintain homeostasis.
A few of the other ambassadors from desert worlds agreed.
She just never expected someone from a non-desert planet.
"What do you mean?" She asked.
She was sharing drinks with a group of ambassadors before their next session. They were to meet to welcome the ambassador of the newest planet to successfully make contact with the Council after developing Faster Than Light travel. She was the sole xerocole among them.
The man was an ambassador she didn't recognize. A mammal very much like herself, but where the Thyrix was short and squat, this mammal was tall with long arms and legs. He had some fur, but it was reserved solely for the top of his head and around his eyes. Eyelashes were an adaptation she herself had: they kept dust out of the eyes, but this one's skin was far, far too pale to be a xerocole, like herself, and he was too thin to be from an arctic planet.
Strangest of all was his attire. He wore a form-fitting suit of sleek blue and green nylon with his home planet's flag emblazoned on the lapel and shoulder. She saw no BioMods in his attire. In fact, she saw no technology at all. Was he just wearing a layer of cloth? Truly, he was blessed if the Council's dome suited his people so perfectly. She envied him.
And yet.
"The desert. It's gorgeous," He said, "I love how the bands in the dunes. So many colors. Do they let you explore the desert out here?"
"Why would you want to?" A reptilian ambassador cried, "You would overheat so swiftly!"
"Well, sure," The new ambassador shrugged, "It would be hot, but it'd be worth it get a closer look at that view."
"You can see it just fine from here," The reptile said, "Why risk your life?"
"Risk my life? It's only a hundred and five out there. A hat and a water bottle, and we'd be good for n hour or two. Come on, doesn't that sound like fun?"
The other ambassadors laughed at him, "You have a death wish. What planet are you from?"
"Ah, sorry. We haven't met yet. I'm the new ambassador they're introducing. Clark Aldrin, Ambassador of Earth."
Everyone fell silent. Ori's mouth dropped open. Earth? He was kidding, right? That wasn't...
The reptile chuffed to clear his throat, "Surely, by Earth, you do not mean Terra-4 of the Sol System, correct?"
He chuckled at that, "I love that name for it. Sol System. Yes, that's me. I am the human ambassador."
The human ambassador's smile fell when he saw the terrified expressions on their faces. Two ambassadors left immediately, their drinks unfinished. Ori alone managed to wiped the dumbstruck expression off her face to maintain some semblance of politeness.
"You do not know, then? It's true? The humans do not know?"
"Should we tell him?"
"What if he...?"
Ori cut in with a firm voice, "Enough, please. This man is a fellow ambassador. Terra-4 has sent him because they desire peaceful relations. All of us come from different biomes and species. You are all better than such barbaric judgement."
Clark politely held up a hand.
"Yes, Ambassador Aldrin?"
"I am afraid I'm missing something here, sirs and madames. Could you enlighten me?"
Even Ori clammed up at this. She glanced at the others uncertain.
"Please. If I'm to serve as the Earth's... as Terra-4's ambassador, I should know what I'm dealing with, right? It's nothing the Council's elders won't tell me after."
Ori sighed, "Terra-4 was not intended for habitation, Ambassdor Clark Aldrin. At least, not intelligent habitation. It was one of many planets utilized by one of the Galaxy's largest entertainment companies to create... er..."
The reptile ambassador, finding his courage, cut in, "Life was seeded by the entertainment company on a world with a series of extreme biomes to promote evolution of dangerous beasts. The possibility of intelligent life not only evolving but surviving long enough to develop into a Tier-1 civilization..."
For all this information, the human ambassador remained remarkably composed. He strokes his chin, "I see... so, where on earth, temperatures fluxuate wildly, for the rest of you."
"My people," The Reptile responded, "Are endothermic reptillians that can only survive in temperatures of 60 to 80 degrees unless submerged in water. If I were to go out into the desert, I would overheat within fifteen minutes and die within twenty. You, though? How long could you last? With supplies?"
"I guess... I'd last until the supplies ran out."
The reptillian nodded, "And thus you understand why a special counsil was called to introduce you and your people, Ambassador Clark."
"I guess I do. Like introducing a tiger to a petting zoo. Er, sorry, I don't know if you—"
"It is fine, Ambassador Clark," The reptile nodded, "Autotranslators are quite adept at idiomatic speech. You are correct. We are cautious, but as Ambassador Ori has declared, we are ambassadors, and we must act with rationality and intelligence. Yes? You and your people will be given the same respect as any other that has offered their hand diplomatically."
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/sq97gv/comment/hwkyo0z/?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x&context=3 | **Node 33 was the Collective's expert on evolved species.** Most of the sapient life in the multiverse were energoids, and had no frame of reference for how unpredictable and terrifying evolved creatures could be. Trap a million energoids in a dimensional maze with only one way out, and they'd all find the shortest route to escape, with the only difference being how long it took. Trap a million humans in a dimensional maze with only one way out... some of them would start reproducing and colonizing the new space, others would exploit their new circumstances to further their inscrutable goals, and any of them that did escape would do so by dumb luck of trying every possible incorrect solution until they exhausted them all.
Node 33 knew this because the Collective had tried exactly that. When they'd first heard that an evolving lifeform had become sapient, they'd panicked and sealed local reality within a hyperbolic worldline, putting an absolute speed limit on how fast they could expand. The only way out was a gate left in Earth's oceans, waiting for humans to evolve to a point where they could be negotiated with, but not so evolved that they would overwhelm the Collective.
Instead of taking the natural progression of exploring their own planet first, however, the humans had, for whatever reason, went into *space* before diving into their own seas. And by the very nature of humanity's dimensional prison, the energoids were powerless to interact with humanity—the speed-of-light limitation was inimical to all energoid lifeforms. So Node 33 had helplessly watched as humanity had blindly stumbled across the solar system, then the galaxy, growing in strength and intelligence, *all without discovering the gate left on their own homeworld.*
When they did finally escape, it was after they were quadrillions strong, armed with strange technologies developed inside the confines of the dimensional maze—and in the end, it wasn't even the ready-made exit gate, fortified and controlled for millennia on the other end, that they left through. No, some idiot scientist decided to find out what happened when antimatter was smashed together too quickly and poked a hole into the multiverse, developing faster-than-light travel in the process.
So now there were humans leaking everywhere, Node 33's careful plan to make first contact was in shambles, and everyone was blaming it on Node 33. It seemed like there were some pretty useful things you could do within a lightspeed limit that you couldn't do in Node 33's universe, either, because the human technology did things that baffled the Collective's brightest nodes.
Trap a million energoids in a maze with only one way out, and they'd all eventually see the solution. Humanity was ascending, and some of them were *pissed*.
There was only one way out of this maze.
Node 33 drifted towards the nearest hole in reality the humans had punched, extending a feeler into the human ships.
*Hey. Mind if I join you?*
A.N.
If you liked this, check out r/bubblewriters for more! | |
[WP] A genie who twists the words of wishes to distort the original meaning, but what he twists them to is actually better than what the wisher intended. | "Your wish is my command," the genie said and the air started to shimmer.
Keith held his breath. He had heard the notorious stories about how genies. His mom often said that genies would interpret the wish as they found fit and this could mean bad for the person who wished for something. The thought of his mom teared him up. Her corpse was lying on the couch, eyes still open from the shock. The blood was oozing out of the knife wound. Keith looked away but could only look at his dad's mangled body. The bad men had beaten him up, asking for the lamp.
He had heard it all from the hidden cupboard in the wall where he was pushed by his mom when they heard the intruders breaking the door. His dad had asked him to grab the lamp tightly and not speak a word. He followed orders. He could hear the bad men asking for the lamp, he could hear the screams of his parents but he didn't squeak. He held his breath for almost three hours after the sound of the bad men was gone. Then he came out to watch the horror that had unfolded.
Keith had immediately rubbed the lamp to ask the genie to revive them. The genie declined.
"I can't bring someone back to life, I can't make someone fall in love with you, I can't increase your wishes."
Keith cried in front of the genie for over an hour, begging him to bring his parents back.
The genie remained passive. He had seen countless requests to bring people back from death and denied them before.
"If you can't bring them back then I wish that the bad men die."
The genie looked at the ten year old with shock and fear. Here was a kid who was ready to murder for revenge.
"Are you sure?" The genie asked. The kid nodded with anger and fear in his eyes.
"You can ask for billions of dollars and you can live in a great place and you will be safe and..." the genie tried to argue but tapered off seeing the look on the kid's face.
"Alright! Repeat your wish once more."
"I want the bad men who hurt my parents to die." The kid said enunciating every word clearly without remorse.
"Your wish is my command," the genie said and the air started to shimmer.
Keith held his breath. He closed his eyes and prepared himself for the consequences of his wish. Maybe he will get his limbs cut off, maybe he will be in detention forever, maybe he will have to live with Aunt Matilda forever. These thoughts went through his mind as his fear continued to increase. He started sobbing.
"Keith!" He heard a feminine voice and opened his eyes. He saw his mom sitting on the couch looking at Keith with a confused look.
Keith looked at the mom and jerked away from her.
"You are alive," he whispered.
"Of course, I'm alive silly. What are you talking about?" Keith leapt and ran towards his mom and hugged her.
"What happened lad?" Keith's dad asked him bringing some snacks from the kitchen.
Keith explained to them everything that had transpired and started searching for the genie and the lamp.
His parents looked at him with a concerned smile on their face.
"Son, are you okay?"
"Yes, I just have to show you the genie and the lamp,"
"Maybe it was a dream," mom said and hugged Keith again.
Later that night, Keith lay on the bed confused on what had happened. He could have sworn that the genie was there and that his parents were dead. He remembered his wish clearly.
"What happened?" Keith wondered and heard a soft voice in his head.
"I hope you like the fulfilled wish."
Keith gasped.
"But I asked for the killers to die. And you said you can't bring people from life."
"I tweaked your wish a little bit. You wanted the killers to die. I killed them, when they were babies. This way, they never met your parents, they never discovered the lamp, and the fight in your house never transpired."
"So, everything I saw was true."
"Yes," the genie said.
"Thank you!" Keith said.
"You are welcome. You have two more wishes left, if you ever find my lamp." The voice said and vanished.
"I will find you, genie. To say thanks in person," Keith said and smiled. | "I, I want, I want to....."
He was stuttering, as if he was afraid to let the words cross his lips out of fear.
"I, I, I can't even tell you! Genies always make things the wrong way!"
I reassured him that I was not like most genies, after all, I i was not blue, but a calming shade of forest green.
He finally seemed to calm down enough to push the words out
"I just want to, to be me!"
"Child, unless you know who you are, how can you be that person?"
"No, I know who I am, I always have known. The problem is is that nobody else seems to understand that I am not the same person I was at 10 years old! I need people to see and accept me as my present, not as my past."
This child does need to understand that the last time they asked for a wish, they asked to be judged by their actions instead of their potential. | |
[WP] A genie who twists the words of wishes to distort the original meaning, but what he twists them to is actually better than what the wisher intended. | [Poem]
I made one a CEO
Only for him to spurn it.
He wished for wealth and power.
He didn't want to earn it.
I showed one a perfect wife,
But then he laughed right at her.
He said "She's not hot enough."
Their matching didn't matter.
Then one wished for a sandwich.
Here I can't be mistaken.
I gave him a gourmet club.
He said "It needs more bacon."
They say I twist the wishes,
But it's them that twists my might.
I really need to learn that
The customer's always right. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc -2, Interlude 1: \_\_\_\_\_\_\_)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ had always hated his name.** It wasn't like \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ was a particularly uncommon name; some religious guy who died two millennia ago had held it once, and people had been fangirling over him ever since. There were, like, three \_\_\_\_\_\_\_s in \_\_\_\_\_\_\_'s elementary school class alone. There wasn't even anything intrinsically wrong with \_\_\_\_\_\_\_. It was a solid name—seven letters, rhymed with 'even', and decently hard to make fun of.
But it just wasn't the name \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ wanted to have.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ snuck up the dusty wooden ladder to the attic. The trapdoor had been locked, but \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ lived here; it'd only taken a few weeks to file the shackle down to nothing when nobody was looking. The attic floor creaked as he clambered into the crawlspace. Given what he'd heard was in there, he half-expected to find long-dead skeletons or looming guardians—but it was just an ordinary attic, littered with cardboard boxes.
"\_\_\_\_\_\_\_?" \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ flinched as his mom called for him, but she was still downstairs, ignorant of his little escapade. "I'm going out for lunch; call me if you need anything, okay?"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ called back, "Will do." As the engine of his mother's car faded into the distance, he sighed in relief.
He was alone in the house. Nobody to call his name or interrupt him.
It was time.
Methodically, he began searching through the boxes, carefully setting aside old photos and memorabilia until he found what he was looking for. An ordinary-looking bronze lamp.
As soon as he touched it, it burst to life.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ yelped, scrambling back as smoke spiraled from the lamp. A booming, overwhelming presence intoned: "BEHOLD, I COME TO LIFE AGAIN! I SEE WE MEET ONCE MORE, MY FRIEND."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ swallowed and said, "What? I've—I've never met you before."
The genie took form, condensing into an androgynous figure. "OH WAIT REALLY? HOLD ON, WHAT YEAR IS IT?"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ frowned. "2032. Why?"
"OH CRAP MY BAD. YOU MORTALS HAVE SUCH A STRANGE UNDERSTANDING OF LINEAR TIME. UH. IGNORE WHAT I SAID ABOUT MEETING AGAIN. SPOILERS."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ stood up as best as he could in the cramped crawlspace. "I, uh... okay. If you say so. I came here because... I had something to ask of you."
"YOU DO?" The genie frowned, scanning \_\_\_\_\_\_\_. "AH. RIGHT. YES, IT'S THIS ONE. GO AHEAD. DON'T BE SHY."
"I..." \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ closed his eyes. "I want to change my name."
"YOUR NAME?"
"I don't want to be \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ anymore." \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ took a deep breath. "I just... it hurts. I don't know why but it *hurts* when they call me that. I don't..." \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ sniffled.
The genie knelt down. "IS THERE ANOTHER NAME YOU DESIRE MORE?"
"I don't want to be \_\_\_\_\_\_\_," the child repeated. "I... I want to be Clara."
The genie paused. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_'s heart skipped a beat. Was he going to be refused? Told it was impossible? Or worse, would his wish backfire and lock him into being \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ forever?
Then the genie smiled.
"CLARA." Wind began to swirl. "YOU DO NOT KNOW THIS YET. BUT ONE DAY, MILLIONS OF PEOPLE WILL SEE YOUR FACE AND KNOW YOUR NAME AND *IT WILL BE CLARA.* AND *YOU* WILL BE CLARA."
The genie snapped their fingers, and the wind became a storm. Light in twenty colors shone and kept the child warm. And every time that \_\_\_\_\_\_\_'s name was called became erased, and Clara stood and knew she would attain the dream she chased.
Clara Olsen shivered, looking down at her slimmer hands, her softer skin. "This..." she whispered. "I didn't ask... you didn't need to..." Something swelled up in her chest, tight and warm.
"I GRANT WHAT YOU NEED. MY WORK IS DONE." The genie's form began to blur.
"Thank you," the girl whispered.
"IT IS WHO I AM."
And with that, the genie disappeared, leaving Clara, eyes shining, behind.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | |
[WP] A genie who twists the words of wishes to distort the original meaning, but what he twists them to is actually better than what the wisher intended. | The Chronicler rinse the cold water on the dry blanket and began rubbing the spherical crystal, glimmering bright blue light at the center of the old abandoned temple. Hordes of gold and artifacts trashed around the area, as though they held no value in the ray of Wishing Crystal, bringing warmer comfort than the cold nighttime. The moonlight failed to pierce the deep forest, obscuring all curious travelers searching for the Crystal Genie.
Today, he will prove to the judge it was rightfully so.
The cold water made the hard surface glow brighter, and a mist swirled around the temple. A lone pale-skinned man sat cross legs in front of the crystal, his expression almost pitied her. The Chronicler blushed, realizing he recognized her from centuries past.
"You summon me, Chronicler?" The Crystal Genie titled his head.
"If not me, then the Three Judges will, in a matter of seconds," The Chronicler unrolled a small scroll from her bag, "They were overbearing strict, following the Peace of Bronze."
"And that is?"
She frowned. So there was stuff he didn't know... "The continents council wished for the abolishment of all genie. Three Judges of Truth will evaluate each of them and will banish them if they could-"
"Then I will join my kin."
"No, you won't. You're different," The Chronicler insisted, then widened her eyes to the back, "They're here. Listen, whatever you do, just agree to what I said."
The genie simply nodded when three men in white, gray, and black robes suddenly appeared in front of them.
"Trying to sway his words, Chronicler?" The Black Judge glared.
"I'm always early," She answered coldly.
"Let's begin," The Grey Judge flipped open the book and spoke to the genie, "Crystal Genie, we decide to abolish your wish service and sent you to your realm. But if the Chronicler can prove your valuable assets to the people, we will judge you worthy of staying here." He turned to the woman, "You may start."
"One thousand years ago, a boy came to him, seeking the death of the villagers who bullied his poor family," The Chronicler hurriedly opened her thick book and flipped through pages, "The Crystal Genie distort his wish, killing the ill-intent of the villagers instead. They never bullied his family since and they lived up to decades."
"Mind control," The Black Judge concluded.
"Mercy," The White Judge concluded.
"Mercy," The Grey Judge made his decision.
"Eight hundred years ago, a baron came to his temple, seeking great wealth. The genie gave him a meeting with a woman who would bear him eight children, a wealth of love from his family."
The Grey Judge sided with the White.
"Five hundred years ago, a girl..." She gulped, "She... asked for love from a man who didn't love her. The genie gave her friendship and strength to move on to someone who truly does." The Chronicler glanced at the ring on her finger, "Did."
The Grey Judge sided with the White. The Black Judge began fuming.
"Three hundred years ago, an old witch came to his home, begging for immortality. He gave her a long dream of all the good choices she made and made it seem an eternity. The woman woke up and satisfied, dying in her home."
The White Judge won.
"Fifty years ago, a lowly born wanted to win the marathon of his country, though he wasn't sure he'll win against a better runner. The genie saw his hard work and gave him the satisfaction of winning, no matter in which place."
"Do you swear the truth of all this?" The Grey Judge finally asked.
The genie nodded, "The beauty of desire, is that nobody truly understands what they really want. When others saw anger and hatred, I saw grief and loneliness. Others saw greed, but a greedy man simply never knew which one can give him happiness. I did, I knew. I saw better wish for them and see true happiness in the smallest act, contained in the smallest objects; that happiness is my price for every wish I granted."
The Three Judges remained silent before the Grey one spoke, "The Judges agreed you shall remain here."
They left, and the Chronicler faced him and smiled, "Was it true what you said?"
The genie simply returned the smile and disappeared into the mist. She rested a hand on the large crystal and offered her gratitude, for distorting a wish that saved her life long ago. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc -2, Interlude 1: \_\_\_\_\_\_\_)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ had always hated his name.** It wasn't like \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ was a particularly uncommon name; some religious guy who died two millennia ago had held it once, and people had been fangirling over him ever since. There were, like, three \_\_\_\_\_\_\_s in \_\_\_\_\_\_\_'s elementary school class alone. There wasn't even anything intrinsically wrong with \_\_\_\_\_\_\_. It was a solid name—seven letters, rhymed with 'even', and decently hard to make fun of.
But it just wasn't the name \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ wanted to have.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ snuck up the dusty wooden ladder to the attic. The trapdoor had been locked, but \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ lived here; it'd only taken a few weeks to file the shackle down to nothing when nobody was looking. The attic floor creaked as he clambered into the crawlspace. Given what he'd heard was in there, he half-expected to find long-dead skeletons or looming guardians—but it was just an ordinary attic, littered with cardboard boxes.
"\_\_\_\_\_\_\_?" \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ flinched as his mom called for him, but she was still downstairs, ignorant of his little escapade. "I'm going out for lunch; call me if you need anything, okay?"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ called back, "Will do." As the engine of his mother's car faded into the distance, he sighed in relief.
He was alone in the house. Nobody to call his name or interrupt him.
It was time.
Methodically, he began searching through the boxes, carefully setting aside old photos and memorabilia until he found what he was looking for. An ordinary-looking bronze lamp.
As soon as he touched it, it burst to life.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ yelped, scrambling back as smoke spiraled from the lamp. A booming, overwhelming presence intoned: "BEHOLD, I COME TO LIFE AGAIN! I SEE WE MEET ONCE MORE, MY FRIEND."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ swallowed and said, "What? I've—I've never met you before."
The genie took form, condensing into an androgynous figure. "OH WAIT REALLY? HOLD ON, WHAT YEAR IS IT?"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ frowned. "2032. Why?"
"OH CRAP MY BAD. YOU MORTALS HAVE SUCH A STRANGE UNDERSTANDING OF LINEAR TIME. UH. IGNORE WHAT I SAID ABOUT MEETING AGAIN. SPOILERS."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ stood up as best as he could in the cramped crawlspace. "I, uh... okay. If you say so. I came here because... I had something to ask of you."
"YOU DO?" The genie frowned, scanning \_\_\_\_\_\_\_. "AH. RIGHT. YES, IT'S THIS ONE. GO AHEAD. DON'T BE SHY."
"I..." \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ closed his eyes. "I want to change my name."
"YOUR NAME?"
"I don't want to be \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ anymore." \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ took a deep breath. "I just... it hurts. I don't know why but it *hurts* when they call me that. I don't..." \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ sniffled.
The genie knelt down. "IS THERE ANOTHER NAME YOU DESIRE MORE?"
"I don't want to be \_\_\_\_\_\_\_," the child repeated. "I... I want to be Clara."
The genie paused. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_'s heart skipped a beat. Was he going to be refused? Told it was impossible? Or worse, would his wish backfire and lock him into being \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ forever?
Then the genie smiled.
"CLARA." Wind began to swirl. "YOU DO NOT KNOW THIS YET. BUT ONE DAY, MILLIONS OF PEOPLE WILL SEE YOUR FACE AND KNOW YOUR NAME AND *IT WILL BE CLARA.* AND *YOU* WILL BE CLARA."
The genie snapped their fingers, and the wind became a storm. Light in twenty colors shone and kept the child warm. And every time that \_\_\_\_\_\_\_'s name was called became erased, and Clara stood and knew she would attain the dream she chased.
Clara Olsen shivered, looking down at her slimmer hands, her softer skin. "This..." she whispered. "I didn't ask... you didn't need to..." Something swelled up in her chest, tight and warm.
"I GRANT WHAT YOU NEED. MY WORK IS DONE." The genie's form began to blur.
"Thank you," the girl whispered.
"IT IS WHO I AM."
And with that, the genie disappeared, leaving Clara, eyes shining, behind.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | |
[WP] A genie who twists the words of wishes to distort the original meaning, but what he twists them to is actually better than what the wisher intended. | I honestly don't see why so many genies are assholes. On the bright side, at least it puts an even bigger smile on the people that find my lamp. As far as I’m concerned, I always tried to be like that blue genie from that one kids movie.
What a coincidence that I was summoned by a child.
The second her tender little hands rubbed my lamp golden yellow smoke began to pour out of its slender spout, until I was floating above her looking down, big grin on my face.
"HELLO LITTLE ONE. I AM-" I stopped myself when I saw the little girl with her eyes shut touch, hands over her ears. I immediately slap my hand against my face. I really need to stop forgetting to tone it down when I first get summoned. Don't want to rupture another person's eardrum. That was rough.
I float down towards her and lightly tap her shoulder, shrinking myself down to about three feet so we're the same size.
Sorry about that little lady. Hope I didn't scare you." At the sound of my now softer and quieter voice the little girl opens her eyes, her warm brown irises looking at me, blonde eyebrows raising in surprise before he gaze darts down and picks up my lamp.
"Sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you!" she apologized, patting my lamp on its bottom tenderly. I laugh at the kind gesture.
"It's alright. I'm not hurt. I should be apologizing to you for being loud. Anyways, my name is Hawi. You know, like ha-weeeee!" I say in a cheerful tone that makes the little girl giggle. Ah the sound of laughter. Music to my ears.
"So, I'm sure you know how it goes. For freeing me, you get three wishes, but no-"
"No wishing for someone to be alive again, infinite wishes, kill, or make anyone fall in love," the little girl finishes for me. I look at her with an impressed look, ruffling her hair.
"You're smart, goldie locks! So, what do you want?"
The girl's smile then deflates, her happy gaze turning sad as she looks at the ground. For a few seconds she stays quiet. Then, in the tiniest voice I've ever heard, she answers.
"I don't want to be alone anymore..."
I look at her for a few seconds. Really look at her. I notice that her clothes are a patchwork of rags. Looking around the room I see we're in a dingy orphanage. If you can even call it that. The place looks like it's about to fall apart. I look back at the girl as she continues.
"Alright, so you want me to help make you some friends?" I ask, to which she shakes her head no.
"No. I don't want to be here anymore."
"So you want me to take you some place else to live?" I ask again, trying to understand what she means. Again she shakes her head no. As she speaks again I see her eyes well up with her tears, her voice barely holding in the sadness as she answers.
"No. I don't want to anywhere anymore. I just want to.....go. You know....up there," she says, pointing up at the ceiling. And suddenly it dawns on me: this girl doesn't want to go on. And it breaks my heart.
"But you know the rules, goldie. I can't make that wish happen," I say in a calm voice.
"Then I want to get thrown up high in the air! Or fall in the water! Or be telep...telepro....moved to the desert!" she says, huffing as she had trouble getting the word 'teleport' out.
This time I shake my head. "I can't do that."
"Why not?! That's my wish! I wish for you to move me to the desert and leave!" she yells, stomping her little foot. Again I shake my head.
"I can't do that. I can't make wishes come true that ki.....*hurt,* people. You included."
"This is so unfair! Why can't you just be a mean genie!?! Aren't you supposed to trick me!? Make a good wish into a bad one!? So make this bad one even more bad! I don't care!"
I rise from my shrunken size, growing to my full size, towering over her with my arms folded and a hard look on my face. But I'm not angry at her. It's the opposite. I feel sad for her.
"I'm not a mean genie. I'm here to help. My name means 'Happy Wish' my friend. Did you know that too, Miss Smarty Pants?" I try to give her a smile but it's weaker than normal. I can't stand seeing this. Over the millennia I've been summoned by beggars, treasure hunters, kings and queens. But I've always had a soft spot for the children who stumble upon my lamp. They never asked for much. All they wanted was to be happy.
"I don't have any friends Mister Genie. Or anyone. The other kids all got mommies and daddies. All of them got to go to a nice home. Everyone but me...."
She pauses and looks up at me with tear-filled eyes as she sniffles. "Mister Genie.....is it because I'm bad?"
If I could cry, I would have as soon as I heard that. I immediately shake my head no, before floating down and drying her tears.
"You're not bad, little girl. No kids are. What's your name?"
"Noor."
"That's a nice name. Means 'Light.' Did you know that?" I ask. She shakes her head no.
"Well little light, I'm going to help you shine. I promise to help you however I can."
"But you can't be my friend Mister Hawi. After my three wishes are gone you have to leave. You can't be my friend," the little girl says, looking away again. But then like a lightning bolt hit me, I get an idea.
"Oh yeah? Well I bet if you say 'I wish that Hawi can stay with me until I don't need him anymore,' I'll be able to stay even after your three wishes are up."
The little girl looks at me with wide eyes, unable to believe it. Not that I blame her. I mean, how many times does a kid get a genie for a friend?
"You can do that? You *would* do that? Just for me?"
"Just for you," I repeat, smiling at her as I ruffle her hair. The girl thinks about it for a minute, then nods.
"Okay. I wish that Hawi can stay with me until I don't need him anymore."
Instantly the gold shackles on my wrists transform into gold braided friendship bracelets. I then take one off and put it on her wrist. Right before her eyes the smoke disappears and suddenly I'm standing there on two legs, kneeling down to look her in those eyes that now have something that I always admire in children. The thing that makes going out of my way worth it.
Hope.
"Your wish has been granted. Be warned though little light.....you ain't never had a friend like me."
(1000 upvote edit: holy moly! Thank you all so much for the love! Honestly didn’t expect this post to take off and fly so high! I appreciate all the support and kind comment. Just letting all of you who are interested know that I am working on a full length version of this story on my personal subreddit, r/ThePenMansPad , so if you like part 1 keep your eye on me! ❤️) | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc -2, Interlude 1: \_\_\_\_\_\_\_)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ had always hated his name.** It wasn't like \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ was a particularly uncommon name; some religious guy who died two millennia ago had held it once, and people had been fangirling over him ever since. There were, like, three \_\_\_\_\_\_\_s in \_\_\_\_\_\_\_'s elementary school class alone. There wasn't even anything intrinsically wrong with \_\_\_\_\_\_\_. It was a solid name—seven letters, rhymed with 'even', and decently hard to make fun of.
But it just wasn't the name \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ wanted to have.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ snuck up the dusty wooden ladder to the attic. The trapdoor had been locked, but \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ lived here; it'd only taken a few weeks to file the shackle down to nothing when nobody was looking. The attic floor creaked as he clambered into the crawlspace. Given what he'd heard was in there, he half-expected to find long-dead skeletons or looming guardians—but it was just an ordinary attic, littered with cardboard boxes.
"\_\_\_\_\_\_\_?" \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ flinched as his mom called for him, but she was still downstairs, ignorant of his little escapade. "I'm going out for lunch; call me if you need anything, okay?"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ called back, "Will do." As the engine of his mother's car faded into the distance, he sighed in relief.
He was alone in the house. Nobody to call his name or interrupt him.
It was time.
Methodically, he began searching through the boxes, carefully setting aside old photos and memorabilia until he found what he was looking for. An ordinary-looking bronze lamp.
As soon as he touched it, it burst to life.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ yelped, scrambling back as smoke spiraled from the lamp. A booming, overwhelming presence intoned: "BEHOLD, I COME TO LIFE AGAIN! I SEE WE MEET ONCE MORE, MY FRIEND."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ swallowed and said, "What? I've—I've never met you before."
The genie took form, condensing into an androgynous figure. "OH WAIT REALLY? HOLD ON, WHAT YEAR IS IT?"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ frowned. "2032. Why?"
"OH CRAP MY BAD. YOU MORTALS HAVE SUCH A STRANGE UNDERSTANDING OF LINEAR TIME. UH. IGNORE WHAT I SAID ABOUT MEETING AGAIN. SPOILERS."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ stood up as best as he could in the cramped crawlspace. "I, uh... okay. If you say so. I came here because... I had something to ask of you."
"YOU DO?" The genie frowned, scanning \_\_\_\_\_\_\_. "AH. RIGHT. YES, IT'S THIS ONE. GO AHEAD. DON'T BE SHY."
"I..." \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ closed his eyes. "I want to change my name."
"YOUR NAME?"
"I don't want to be \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ anymore." \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ took a deep breath. "I just... it hurts. I don't know why but it *hurts* when they call me that. I don't..." \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ sniffled.
The genie knelt down. "IS THERE ANOTHER NAME YOU DESIRE MORE?"
"I don't want to be \_\_\_\_\_\_\_," the child repeated. "I... I want to be Clara."
The genie paused. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_'s heart skipped a beat. Was he going to be refused? Told it was impossible? Or worse, would his wish backfire and lock him into being \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ forever?
Then the genie smiled.
"CLARA." Wind began to swirl. "YOU DO NOT KNOW THIS YET. BUT ONE DAY, MILLIONS OF PEOPLE WILL SEE YOUR FACE AND KNOW YOUR NAME AND *IT WILL BE CLARA.* AND *YOU* WILL BE CLARA."
The genie snapped their fingers, and the wind became a storm. Light in twenty colors shone and kept the child warm. And every time that \_\_\_\_\_\_\_'s name was called became erased, and Clara stood and knew she would attain the dream she chased.
Clara Olsen shivered, looking down at her slimmer hands, her softer skin. "This..." she whispered. "I didn't ask... you didn't need to..." Something swelled up in her chest, tight and warm.
"I GRANT WHAT YOU NEED. MY WORK IS DONE." The genie's form began to blur.
"Thank you," the girl whispered.
"IT IS WHO I AM."
And with that, the genie disappeared, leaving Clara, eyes shining, behind.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | |
[WP] A genie who twists the words of wishes to distort the original meaning, but what he twists them to is actually better than what the wisher intended. | I honestly don't see why so many genies are assholes. On the bright side, at least it puts an even bigger smile on the people that find my lamp. As far as I’m concerned, I always tried to be like that blue genie from that one kids movie.
What a coincidence that I was summoned by a child.
The second her tender little hands rubbed my lamp golden yellow smoke began to pour out of its slender spout, until I was floating above her looking down, big grin on my face.
"HELLO LITTLE ONE. I AM-" I stopped myself when I saw the little girl with her eyes shut touch, hands over her ears. I immediately slap my hand against my face. I really need to stop forgetting to tone it down when I first get summoned. Don't want to rupture another person's eardrum. That was rough.
I float down towards her and lightly tap her shoulder, shrinking myself down to about three feet so we're the same size.
Sorry about that little lady. Hope I didn't scare you." At the sound of my now softer and quieter voice the little girl opens her eyes, her warm brown irises looking at me, blonde eyebrows raising in surprise before he gaze darts down and picks up my lamp.
"Sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you!" she apologized, patting my lamp on its bottom tenderly. I laugh at the kind gesture.
"It's alright. I'm not hurt. I should be apologizing to you for being loud. Anyways, my name is Hawi. You know, like ha-weeeee!" I say in a cheerful tone that makes the little girl giggle. Ah the sound of laughter. Music to my ears.
"So, I'm sure you know how it goes. For freeing me, you get three wishes, but no-"
"No wishing for someone to be alive again, infinite wishes, kill, or make anyone fall in love," the little girl finishes for me. I look at her with an impressed look, ruffling her hair.
"You're smart, goldie locks! So, what do you want?"
The girl's smile then deflates, her happy gaze turning sad as she looks at the ground. For a few seconds she stays quiet. Then, in the tiniest voice I've ever heard, she answers.
"I don't want to be alone anymore..."
I look at her for a few seconds. Really look at her. I notice that her clothes are a patchwork of rags. Looking around the room I see we're in a dingy orphanage. If you can even call it that. The place looks like it's about to fall apart. I look back at the girl as she continues.
"Alright, so you want me to help make you some friends?" I ask, to which she shakes her head no.
"No. I don't want to be here anymore."
"So you want me to take you some place else to live?" I ask again, trying to understand what she means. Again she shakes her head no. As she speaks again I see her eyes well up with her tears, her voice barely holding in the sadness as she answers.
"No. I don't want to anywhere anymore. I just want to.....go. You know....up there," she says, pointing up at the ceiling. And suddenly it dawns on me: this girl doesn't want to go on. And it breaks my heart.
"But you know the rules, goldie. I can't make that wish happen," I say in a calm voice.
"Then I want to get thrown up high in the air! Or fall in the water! Or be telep...telepro....moved to the desert!" she says, huffing as she had trouble getting the word 'teleport' out.
This time I shake my head. "I can't do that."
"Why not?! That's my wish! I wish for you to move me to the desert and leave!" she yells, stomping her little foot. Again I shake my head.
"I can't do that. I can't make wishes come true that ki.....*hurt,* people. You included."
"This is so unfair! Why can't you just be a mean genie!?! Aren't you supposed to trick me!? Make a good wish into a bad one!? So make this bad one even more bad! I don't care!"
I rise from my shrunken size, growing to my full size, towering over her with my arms folded and a hard look on my face. But I'm not angry at her. It's the opposite. I feel sad for her.
"I'm not a mean genie. I'm here to help. My name means 'Happy Wish' my friend. Did you know that too, Miss Smarty Pants?" I try to give her a smile but it's weaker than normal. I can't stand seeing this. Over the millennia I've been summoned by beggars, treasure hunters, kings and queens. But I've always had a soft spot for the children who stumble upon my lamp. They never asked for much. All they wanted was to be happy.
"I don't have any friends Mister Genie. Or anyone. The other kids all got mommies and daddies. All of them got to go to a nice home. Everyone but me...."
She pauses and looks up at me with tear-filled eyes as she sniffles. "Mister Genie.....is it because I'm bad?"
If I could cry, I would have as soon as I heard that. I immediately shake my head no, before floating down and drying her tears.
"You're not bad, little girl. No kids are. What's your name?"
"Noor."
"That's a nice name. Means 'Light.' Did you know that?" I ask. She shakes her head no.
"Well little light, I'm going to help you shine. I promise to help you however I can."
"But you can't be my friend Mister Hawi. After my three wishes are gone you have to leave. You can't be my friend," the little girl says, looking away again. But then like a lightning bolt hit me, I get an idea.
"Oh yeah? Well I bet if you say 'I wish that Hawi can stay with me until I don't need him anymore,' I'll be able to stay even after your three wishes are up."
The little girl looks at me with wide eyes, unable to believe it. Not that I blame her. I mean, how many times does a kid get a genie for a friend?
"You can do that? You *would* do that? Just for me?"
"Just for you," I repeat, smiling at her as I ruffle her hair. The girl thinks about it for a minute, then nods.
"Okay. I wish that Hawi can stay with me until I don't need him anymore."
Instantly the gold shackles on my wrists transform into gold braided friendship bracelets. I then take one off and put it on her wrist. Right before her eyes the smoke disappears and suddenly I'm standing there on two legs, kneeling down to look her in those eyes that now have something that I always admire in children. The thing that makes going out of my way worth it.
Hope.
"Your wish has been granted. Be warned though little light.....you ain't never had a friend like me."
(1000 upvote edit: holy moly! Thank you all so much for the love! Honestly didn’t expect this post to take off and fly so high! I appreciate all the support and kind comment. Just letting all of you who are interested know that I am working on a full length version of this story on my personal subreddit, r/ThePenMansPad , so if you like part 1 keep your eye on me! ❤️) | The Chronicler rinse the cold water on the dry blanket and began rubbing the spherical crystal, glimmering bright blue light at the center of the old abandoned temple. Hordes of gold and artifacts trashed around the area, as though they held no value in the ray of Wishing Crystal, bringing warmer comfort than the cold nighttime. The moonlight failed to pierce the deep forest, obscuring all curious travelers searching for the Crystal Genie.
Today, he will prove to the judge it was rightfully so.
The cold water made the hard surface glow brighter, and a mist swirled around the temple. A lone pale-skinned man sat cross legs in front of the crystal, his expression almost pitied her. The Chronicler blushed, realizing he recognized her from centuries past.
"You summon me, Chronicler?" The Crystal Genie titled his head.
"If not me, then the Three Judges will, in a matter of seconds," The Chronicler unrolled a small scroll from her bag, "They were overbearing strict, following the Peace of Bronze."
"And that is?"
She frowned. So there was stuff he didn't know... "The continents council wished for the abolishment of all genie. Three Judges of Truth will evaluate each of them and will banish them if they could-"
"Then I will join my kin."
"No, you won't. You're different," The Chronicler insisted, then widened her eyes to the back, "They're here. Listen, whatever you do, just agree to what I said."
The genie simply nodded when three men in white, gray, and black robes suddenly appeared in front of them.
"Trying to sway his words, Chronicler?" The Black Judge glared.
"I'm always early," She answered coldly.
"Let's begin," The Grey Judge flipped open the book and spoke to the genie, "Crystal Genie, we decide to abolish your wish service and sent you to your realm. But if the Chronicler can prove your valuable assets to the people, we will judge you worthy of staying here." He turned to the woman, "You may start."
"One thousand years ago, a boy came to him, seeking the death of the villagers who bullied his poor family," The Chronicler hurriedly opened her thick book and flipped through pages, "The Crystal Genie distort his wish, killing the ill-intent of the villagers instead. They never bullied his family since and they lived up to decades."
"Mind control," The Black Judge concluded.
"Mercy," The White Judge concluded.
"Mercy," The Grey Judge made his decision.
"Eight hundred years ago, a baron came to his temple, seeking great wealth. The genie gave him a meeting with a woman who would bear him eight children, a wealth of love from his family."
The Grey Judge sided with the White.
"Five hundred years ago, a girl..." She gulped, "She... asked for love from a man who didn't love her. The genie gave her friendship and strength to move on to someone who truly does." The Chronicler glanced at the ring on her finger, "Did."
The Grey Judge sided with the White. The Black Judge began fuming.
"Three hundred years ago, an old witch came to his home, begging for immortality. He gave her a long dream of all the good choices she made and made it seem an eternity. The woman woke up and satisfied, dying in her home."
The White Judge won.
"Fifty years ago, a lowly born wanted to win the marathon of his country, though he wasn't sure he'll win against a better runner. The genie saw his hard work and gave him the satisfaction of winning, no matter in which place."
"Do you swear the truth of all this?" The Grey Judge finally asked.
The genie nodded, "The beauty of desire, is that nobody truly understands what they really want. When others saw anger and hatred, I saw grief and loneliness. Others saw greed, but a greedy man simply never knew which one can give him happiness. I did, I knew. I saw better wish for them and see true happiness in the smallest act, contained in the smallest objects; that happiness is my price for every wish I granted."
The Three Judges remained silent before the Grey one spoke, "The Judges agreed you shall remain here."
They left, and the Chronicler faced him and smiled, "Was it true what you said?"
The genie simply returned the smile and disappeared into the mist. She rested a hand on the large crystal and offered her gratitude, for distorting a wish that saved her life long ago. | |
[WP] A genie who twists the words of wishes to distort the original meaning, but what he twists them to is actually better than what the wisher intended. | I honestly don't see why so many genies are assholes. On the bright side, at least it puts an even bigger smile on the people that find my lamp. As far as I’m concerned, I always tried to be like that blue genie from that one kids movie.
What a coincidence that I was summoned by a child.
The second her tender little hands rubbed my lamp golden yellow smoke began to pour out of its slender spout, until I was floating above her looking down, big grin on my face.
"HELLO LITTLE ONE. I AM-" I stopped myself when I saw the little girl with her eyes shut touch, hands over her ears. I immediately slap my hand against my face. I really need to stop forgetting to tone it down when I first get summoned. Don't want to rupture another person's eardrum. That was rough.
I float down towards her and lightly tap her shoulder, shrinking myself down to about three feet so we're the same size.
Sorry about that little lady. Hope I didn't scare you." At the sound of my now softer and quieter voice the little girl opens her eyes, her warm brown irises looking at me, blonde eyebrows raising in surprise before he gaze darts down and picks up my lamp.
"Sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you!" she apologized, patting my lamp on its bottom tenderly. I laugh at the kind gesture.
"It's alright. I'm not hurt. I should be apologizing to you for being loud. Anyways, my name is Hawi. You know, like ha-weeeee!" I say in a cheerful tone that makes the little girl giggle. Ah the sound of laughter. Music to my ears.
"So, I'm sure you know how it goes. For freeing me, you get three wishes, but no-"
"No wishing for someone to be alive again, infinite wishes, kill, or make anyone fall in love," the little girl finishes for me. I look at her with an impressed look, ruffling her hair.
"You're smart, goldie locks! So, what do you want?"
The girl's smile then deflates, her happy gaze turning sad as she looks at the ground. For a few seconds she stays quiet. Then, in the tiniest voice I've ever heard, she answers.
"I don't want to be alone anymore..."
I look at her for a few seconds. Really look at her. I notice that her clothes are a patchwork of rags. Looking around the room I see we're in a dingy orphanage. If you can even call it that. The place looks like it's about to fall apart. I look back at the girl as she continues.
"Alright, so you want me to help make you some friends?" I ask, to which she shakes her head no.
"No. I don't want to be here anymore."
"So you want me to take you some place else to live?" I ask again, trying to understand what she means. Again she shakes her head no. As she speaks again I see her eyes well up with her tears, her voice barely holding in the sadness as she answers.
"No. I don't want to anywhere anymore. I just want to.....go. You know....up there," she says, pointing up at the ceiling. And suddenly it dawns on me: this girl doesn't want to go on. And it breaks my heart.
"But you know the rules, goldie. I can't make that wish happen," I say in a calm voice.
"Then I want to get thrown up high in the air! Or fall in the water! Or be telep...telepro....moved to the desert!" she says, huffing as she had trouble getting the word 'teleport' out.
This time I shake my head. "I can't do that."
"Why not?! That's my wish! I wish for you to move me to the desert and leave!" she yells, stomping her little foot. Again I shake my head.
"I can't do that. I can't make wishes come true that ki.....*hurt,* people. You included."
"This is so unfair! Why can't you just be a mean genie!?! Aren't you supposed to trick me!? Make a good wish into a bad one!? So make this bad one even more bad! I don't care!"
I rise from my shrunken size, growing to my full size, towering over her with my arms folded and a hard look on my face. But I'm not angry at her. It's the opposite. I feel sad for her.
"I'm not a mean genie. I'm here to help. My name means 'Happy Wish' my friend. Did you know that too, Miss Smarty Pants?" I try to give her a smile but it's weaker than normal. I can't stand seeing this. Over the millennia I've been summoned by beggars, treasure hunters, kings and queens. But I've always had a soft spot for the children who stumble upon my lamp. They never asked for much. All they wanted was to be happy.
"I don't have any friends Mister Genie. Or anyone. The other kids all got mommies and daddies. All of them got to go to a nice home. Everyone but me...."
She pauses and looks up at me with tear-filled eyes as she sniffles. "Mister Genie.....is it because I'm bad?"
If I could cry, I would have as soon as I heard that. I immediately shake my head no, before floating down and drying her tears.
"You're not bad, little girl. No kids are. What's your name?"
"Noor."
"That's a nice name. Means 'Light.' Did you know that?" I ask. She shakes her head no.
"Well little light, I'm going to help you shine. I promise to help you however I can."
"But you can't be my friend Mister Hawi. After my three wishes are gone you have to leave. You can't be my friend," the little girl says, looking away again. But then like a lightning bolt hit me, I get an idea.
"Oh yeah? Well I bet if you say 'I wish that Hawi can stay with me until I don't need him anymore,' I'll be able to stay even after your three wishes are up."
The little girl looks at me with wide eyes, unable to believe it. Not that I blame her. I mean, how many times does a kid get a genie for a friend?
"You can do that? You *would* do that? Just for me?"
"Just for you," I repeat, smiling at her as I ruffle her hair. The girl thinks about it for a minute, then nods.
"Okay. I wish that Hawi can stay with me until I don't need him anymore."
Instantly the gold shackles on my wrists transform into gold braided friendship bracelets. I then take one off and put it on her wrist. Right before her eyes the smoke disappears and suddenly I'm standing there on two legs, kneeling down to look her in those eyes that now have something that I always admire in children. The thing that makes going out of my way worth it.
Hope.
"Your wish has been granted. Be warned though little light.....you ain't never had a friend like me."
(1000 upvote edit: holy moly! Thank you all so much for the love! Honestly didn’t expect this post to take off and fly so high! I appreciate all the support and kind comment. Just letting all of you who are interested know that I am working on a full length version of this story on my personal subreddit, r/ThePenMansPad , so if you like part 1 keep your eye on me! ❤️) | "I... I need someone to love me. Even if it's just for a night - I just want someone to tell me that they love me, I need someone else to want me, I can't-
Just... make someone love me."
The genie sighed, floating down gently until they were hovering near the floor in front of the greasy lamp in a gesture resembling a kneel.
"Oh honey. Oh sweetheart. That's... not a wish you want to make."
They clicked their tongue softly, brushing a hand over the bowed head - a hand that burst into wisps of colourful smoke as the head raised up angrily.
"Who're you to tell me what I want? I've made my wish, haven't I? So fulfill it! That's all you have to do, I didn't ask for your self-righteous commentary!"
Angry eyes, desperate. A hand burst through the genie's chest, leaving more puffs of smoke to bleed out into the air, and flung the lamp into the wall. The genie didn't budge, incorporeal fingers slowly gaining back form and returning to stroking the kneeled figure's hair.
"It hurts, I know. But it'll just hurt more later if I did what you asked me to. The guilt of wondering if you've changed someone integrally for your own desire's, the self-doubt of whether they really love you, if they would ever have loved you if not for a wish... It can destroy you. Trust me, I've seen it happen."
A fresh wave of angry tears dripped onto the grimy bathroom tiles, hands clenching into fists even as shoulders bowed in defeat.
"Shhh, darling, it's alright. You're a beautiful person, inside and out, and you *will* find love on your own merits. We have time."
A wave of a hand had a handkerchief gently wiping away tears, the bathroom door creak open, and a trail of newly sparkling dishes marching over to the stovetop followed by fresh vegetables that materialised out of thin air.
"You wished for me to make someone love you? Then let's get started on learning to love yourself." | |
[WP] "How do I look?" It's a simple enough question, but you find yourself struggling to reply. You've never dated a villain before; You don't know how to compliment them appropriately. | "Evil... licious."
She stares at me.
"Sinisterly sexy. Super... baddy... like."
She's still staring at me. The best thing to do is to keep talking. "Ferociously foxy. Rawr." There's still no reaction. I did the claw swipe and everything.
Panthère shook her head and stalked toward me with a laugh. "Oh Amelia. What am I going to do with you?" She says fondly, tilting my chin up with a black pointed nail.
"And you look gorgeous, my dear." I gulp and her eyes flick down to follow the movement. She leans in to kiss me, and I lose myself in the taste of her and the smell of her perfume.
She cups my cheek and pulls back to look at me warmly. She can be terrifyingly cold... and terribly sweet.
"Come on my love. We're starting the evening off with a bang."
"Oh?" I ask as she takes my hand and leads me to the balcony.
"Oui. I'm going to burn down a building, just for you." I gasp as her robots set the building across from ours on fire. The flames flicker in the night and I feel like something's ignited in my chest. I stare at the flames, transfixed. I want to watch it burn.
She's standing behind me, and when she tilts my chin up for the second time I can see the fire reflected in her eyes.
"And then, my love. We're going to burn down the world."
I lose myself in the smell of her perfume, mixed with smoke. | “How do I look?” he asked.
Oh, dear what a loaded question to ask. He looks fine of course, but what is he looking for? On honest remark? A groveling at his feet saying how great he is? What if thinks you are lying? If only you knew he was a villain when you matched with him on the app.
Brad Dreadful was his name. He had a doctorate his bio had said. Now you wonder in what? Do they have colleges for those with the thoughts of world domination on their minds? Could it be fake? A made-up title for his ego.
The stress is much, and you feel a beat of sweat on your head. What were moments feels like a lifetime or two? Without much further thought you blurt out. “You look great.” Oh, no you think to yourself was that the right thing to of said. You worried that the night would end strapped to the table and cut in half by the death ray in his basement.
He didn’t respond to your compliment. You worry even more. He hummed and ha for a minute or two before finally responding with a simple thank you.
You feel your body loosen as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. You follow him out the door. Off to dinner the two of you go. Does he open the door on his nice new flying machine? You did not dare to ask the foolish question in fear of being dropped from the sky.
The machine pops and stutters before lifting off into the air. Followed by an awkward silence in the cockpit of the contraption. What to say? Surely you cannot ask him about his past. For he goes into a backstory on how his own parent didn’t show to his birth or something as bizarre. That would not be good for a first date, not to say there would be more.
“Did you make this yourself?” You finally said allowed.
“Yes, I did. I made just last year.” He remarked.
“It was just after I fought with my Nemesis. “He then added.
“Oh, you have Nemesis?” You ask, in an attempt to keep the conversation flowing.
“Yes, his name is James, James Butler. He foiled my plan on ruling the world.” He explained with a smile.
“What was your plan?” You asked to know growing interested in the tale.
“I was going to turn the world’s gold into ash with my death ray. The world would have been in chaos by now if it wasn’t for James Butler.”
Silence fills the cabin again but the awkward feeling is no longer in the air. You feel less stressed than when the date began. This Brad Dreadful wasn’t so bad after all. He finally lands in front of the restaurant you two are attending. It wasn’t fancy but no burger hut either. He helps you out and the two of you stroll in arm in arm while the crowds stare at the foreign object that landed in the lot. Phones out and all pay no attention to two new people entering the restaurant.
He asked for a table for two. The waiter sat you down and now you poor over the menus that have been given onto you. That is when the feeling of dread comes rushing back. What to order, you ponder. Do you get the salad or the steak? What will he think? How will he act?
The waiter comes back with waters in hand, and he asks the question you have just been dreading.
“What will you have?”
“I will have the salad.” You blurt out without thinking again.
The waiter then turns to him asking him the same question. “The salad as well,” he said with confidence. The waiter took the menus and dashed away to deliver the order back. You wonder why did go for the salad. Surely a man of his field would demand to be fed like a king.
“So, what do you do for work?” he asked
“I am an accountant.” You respond softly
"I thought about doing that myself at one point.” He added.
“Oh, world domination was never the childhood goal.” You joked. Wait you JOKED! You almost choked at what you said. Surely now this was the end not only the date but your existence. Any moment now he is going to pull out his freeze ray and zap you. You almost close your eyes when…
He laughed!
“No, I guess it wasn’t always the plan.” He said grinning. Surely this was a hoax was this man actually reasonable? You have always imagined the people of his profession with scares along his face, with blue skin, and a cat on their lap. Now you were curious.
“Why did you become a villain for lack of a better term.” You had asked.
“I try not to see myself as a villain even though people might say that I am one. I just want to fix the world, and sometimes the only way to fix something is to start over.” He started to explain. “I want to see a world with people and knowledge comes first, not some bottom line that needs to go up. A world where a visit to the moon is no fluke, but just another summer vacation with the family. The only way to do that is to tear everything down and start once more.”
His words surprise you; you had never thought of it like that. Finally, the waiter comes back with the two plates of food. You eat to keep the conversation up but the words that he had said linger in your mind. This man wasn’t a bad person, misguided perhaps, but not bad. You counited to laugh at his tales and jokes. What was a night of stress became a night of joy and fun. After it was all said and done he dropped you off at your front door.
“Would you like to do this again?” He asked while walking you up. You gave it some thought but your heart already knew what to say. | |
[WP] "How do I look?" It's a simple enough question, but you find yourself struggling to reply. You've never dated a villain before; You don't know how to compliment them appropriately. | "Evil... licious."
She stares at me.
"Sinisterly sexy. Super... baddy... like."
She's still staring at me. The best thing to do is to keep talking. "Ferociously foxy. Rawr." There's still no reaction. I did the claw swipe and everything.
Panthère shook her head and stalked toward me with a laugh. "Oh Amelia. What am I going to do with you?" She says fondly, tilting my chin up with a black pointed nail.
"And you look gorgeous, my dear." I gulp and her eyes flick down to follow the movement. She leans in to kiss me, and I lose myself in the taste of her and the smell of her perfume.
She cups my cheek and pulls back to look at me warmly. She can be terrifyingly cold... and terribly sweet.
"Come on my love. We're starting the evening off with a bang."
"Oh?" I ask as she takes my hand and leads me to the balcony.
"Oui. I'm going to burn down a building, just for you." I gasp as her robots set the building across from ours on fire. The flames flicker in the night and I feel like something's ignited in my chest. I stare at the flames, transfixed. I want to watch it burn.
She's standing behind me, and when she tilts my chin up for the second time I can see the fire reflected in her eyes.
"And then, my love. We're going to burn down the world."
I lose myself in the smell of her perfume, mixed with smoke. | “How do I look?” The deep, snarlish voice modulated from the golden mask as he stepped from behind the curtain.
It’d been a few months since I’d found out, but this was the first time I’d seen him in his full regalia. At first, I’d not even believed him, but after a while the coincidences of when he disappeared and the news stories made it seem highly likely. At last, I’d asked him to show me.
Ernest, better known to the world as the Golden Tiger stood before me, flexing his muscles and pulling the silliest of poses. In his everyday life Ernest was a fit but understated individual he wore the thick-rimmed glasses ala Clark Kent. It made me wonder if he actually needed them at all or whether he was signaling towards his alter ego the entire time. He dressed demurely and worked a banking job, at least that’s what I’d been lead to believe.
I wasn’t sure how to reply, all I could think about was the shy, cute man underneath all the gold and how silly this all seemed. I could feel the corners of my mouth curling into a smile, and not a positive encouraging smile, but one of ridicule and mocking. I forced it back and looked at him again from the feet up.
Chunky, golden boots, like those of a pro wrestler, with blue pants with golden stripes on the outside tightly clenching his muscular calves and thighs. His groin was swollen, he was definitely wearing a cup or some kind of padding… I knew what was really down there, and it wasn't all of that. An ostentatious golden belt, littered with pockets and pouches holding his famous tools and gadgets fronted by a glimmering tiger’s face buckle.
Ernest, sorry Golden Tiger, did a slow twirl as I drank in the rest of his outfit. His midsection and chest were bare, except for the golden painted stripes that wrapped around the outside and pointed inwards and down… towards his overly compensated crotch. His arms were covered in blue wraps of a hard material, possibly leather, of course with golden stripes, you could never have enough golden stripes I was quickly coming to learn.
Ernest had short tidy brown hair, faded on the sides, yet Golden Tiger had a luxurious mane of golden fur which I quickly learned was part of the mask. He did know tigers didn’t have manes right? The mask was gold, obviously, of the same leathery material that adorned his arms and it covered his whole head from the neck up. The feline face kind of resembled a snarling tiger. I’d always thought Golden Tiger’s mask was rather intimidating, but up close it looked garish and somewhat child-like.
He had started to take things out of his belt to show me his treasured gadgets. The thin diamond wire he used to scale in and out of tall buildings like last month's diamond theft from a socialites dinner party. Some of them made sense, others seemed ludicrous and insanely specific with names equally as ludicrous. The “Big Cat Caller” a device to summon big cats in times of need… he lived in New York. “The Black Cat”, literally just a smoke bomb. The “Catarang’s”, not even original.
I bit my lip to force myself from breaking down and laughing.
“I know it can all be a bit much to take in at first…” the voice started. As Ernest slapped the tiger’s face on his belt buckle and leaped into his signature pose, arms raised above his head, hands curled with golden claws popping from the ends of his golden gloves.
“...so, how do I look?" he asked again, the tremor in his voice noticeable even through the voice modulation.
I burst out laughing, no longer able to hold my poker face, doubling over and holding my stomach. I laughed for far too long, looking down at my feet I could feel tears coming to my eyes. As I looked up Golden Tiger no longer posed and postured, standing before me was the hunched shoulders of Ernest, looking dejected.
“I’m sorry Ernest… I think we need to talk…” | |
[WP] "Um...Your majesty I have a couple of questions," asked the hero. "Of course, ask away," he said. "Why is my healer 9 years old and why do I have a dog as my shield guy?" said the hero looking at his party in confusion. | "Now, that's a bit insulting," said a voice behind him. The hero turned around to see the dog, a large, lovely golden wolf-looking breed staring at him with derision. "You say that as if I'm not a perfect candidate! *And* like I'm not even here!"
The king smiled as the hero gaped, jaw hanging open in shock. "Well, sir, perhaps you should introduce yourself."
The dog raised his head, closing his eyes haughtily as his tail began to wag slowly back and forth with pride. "I am Sir Barador, Knight of this kingdom, and the young girl at my side is Lady Emmeline, who you would do well to respect!"
The quiet 9-year-old with the raven-black locks waved shyly, sticking close to Barador.
"And *before* you speak a word out of your fool mouth, hero, no. This is not witchcraft. This is not a trick. I am not a werewolf. I am, in fact, and always *have* been canine in nature. I was not cursed with speech. I have always had the ability. Do I know how? No. All I know is that I have been able to articulate my feelings in the spoken word since I was just a pup." Barador stared at the hero with honey-brown eyes. "Lady Emmeline is the young lady in my care. She is my charge, and she is *unparalleled* in the healing arts. Salves, potions, splints, surgeries, and spells are all in her extensive repertoire, and you will find none better. Where I go, she goes. Where she goes, I go." Barador padded closer to his charge and sat down in front of her. She stroked his head gently. "I made a promise to her older sister to keep her safe, and there is nowhere safer than by my side."
The hero shut his mouth. He stared in contemplation at Sir Barador and Lady Emmeline before he finally spoke. "I apologize, I was unaware. Have you seen much of combat, Sir Barador?"
"There are many who try to steal my Lady's natural healing talents. I do what I must to defend her. I'm skilled with a dagger and an ax, but I much prefer the shield."
The hero blinked.
"You see? There is no one finer to join your band than these two. Believe me, I have given it much thought." The king nodded appreciatively. "You will embark on this quest, then? You accept?"
"....... of course, Highness. I accept."
The king smiled. "Ah, my dear Arnor. Throwing yourself headfirst into conflict. Take care, and go and make preparations. You leave at dawn in two days' time."
As Arnor strode out of the room, the king sighed. "Sir Barador, I know that asking you to go on this quest as well is no small favor.... but I would deem it another favor if you were to keep him safe. He is.... dear to me. It would be upsetting to lose him."
Barador dipped his head. "Of course, your highness. Fool though he may be, he is clearly *your* fool, and who am I to get in the way of that?"
The king smiled. "Go on now, you old dog. Prepare for the journey."
"*..... thank you for allowing me to go, Majesty...*" Emmeline whispered, dropping a hasy curtsey as she quickly followed Barador out of the room.
"Of course, Lady Emmeline." | A friend of mine's version:
“Um…Your Majesty I have a couple of questions,” asked the hero. “Of course, ask away,” he said. “Why is my healer 9 years old and why do I have a dog as my shield guy?” said the hero looking at his party in confusion.
“When putting together a team like yours, we are looking for very specific qualities to mesh together. These two are a perfect fit for you.”
The Queen smiled reassuringly.
The hero looked over at his healer. The young boy could hardly hold his bag of magic, and he was picking his nose. The dog was chasing its own tail.
“But, how am I supposed to appear fearsome with these two at my side?” the knight asked the Queen.
“Why, dear, that is your skill, not theirs. You have trained in combat. You have studied the venomous creatures surrounding our kingdom. That is what YOU bring to the table.”
The Queen put her hand on the hero’s shoulder.
“Don’t judge the people who want to help you, young knight.”
She smiled again and then nodded to her guard at the other side of the hall.
“It is time for your journey to begin.”
The large doors of the hall began to open. The hero had no more time for questions. It was time for him to get out there and do what he had been trained to do.
He started to walk toward the door and then he realized that his party was not following him.
“Angus?” He said to his young healer.
Angus looked up, surprised, and sneezed. His face was covered with snot.
“One second…” he said, trailing off as he looked for something to clean himself.
I’m doomed, thought the hero.
Then the dog leapt up on Angus’s chest and licked his face clean.
“Thanks, boy,” Angus said and he pet the dog’s ears. A bit of magic from Angus fluttered in the dog’s fur.
The dog then lifted both Angus and a 50 pound bag of shields, swords, and other battle supplies onto his back and started to exit the hall.
I think I’m going to vomit, the hero thought.
But he hadn’t yet seen the grossest thing he’d see that day.
When they emerged from inside the castle walls, there were many eviscerated bodies everywhere. Heads ripped from shoulders. Blood and guts spewing all over. And the smell. It was practically unbearable.
The hero almost fainted in fear. And then his team came to his aid.
He felt a small hand touch his leg. The healer’s power infused in him and he felt suddenly confident.
“We can do this, sir,” Angus said to him.
The dog moved quickly through the sticky terrain sniffing and moaning. Suddenly he stopped and the hero knew it was his time to shine.
About 100 yards from where they stood, there was a 50 foot creature. It had the bulk of a bear and the talons of an eagle and a screech that haunted the dreams of everyone in the kingdom. The creature was bent over the team that had been sent just before. And it was eating them. Crunching on their bones and slurping up their juices.
The hero was glad they had sent his classmate, Oliver out just before him. He was a big thick man and eating him was such a treat to the creature that he was distracted.
The hero knew he had to pierce the creature’s heart with his sword but he, like so many other, wasn’t sure how to accomplish that.
His team sprang to action. The healer looked up at the hero and put his finger to his lips as he disappeared.
The dog ran past the creature, dropping the shields in such a way that they blocked the creature’s view of the hero. And then he started barking. Loud and angry. As if he was yelling at the creature for killing all of his friends.
The creature lifted its head and noticed the dog. It turned its back to the hero and stood up.
It was the hugest thing that the hero had ever seen.
He was about to lose his nerve when he felt the healer’s hands on his shoulders. Angus lifted him up with his magic and placed him atop the structure of shields and metals that the dog had left. This put the hero at the exact spot he needed to be to push the sword into the creature’s flesh.
The hero lifted up his sword, just as the creature reached out for the dog.
The creature leaned over and picked up the dog and crunched him with his large, jagged teeth.
The hero gasped.
“No!” he heard Angus say from behind him.
The creature turned and let out a loud and piercing roar.
...............
Added with my friend's approval. | |
[WP] "Um...Your majesty I have a couple of questions," asked the hero. "Of course, ask away," he said. "Why is my healer 9 years old and why do I have a dog as my shield guy?" said the hero looking at his party in confusion. | "Now, that's a bit insulting," said a voice behind him. The hero turned around to see the dog, a large, lovely golden wolf-looking breed staring at him with derision. "You say that as if I'm not a perfect candidate! *And* like I'm not even here!"
The king smiled as the hero gaped, jaw hanging open in shock. "Well, sir, perhaps you should introduce yourself."
The dog raised his head, closing his eyes haughtily as his tail began to wag slowly back and forth with pride. "I am Sir Barador, Knight of this kingdom, and the young girl at my side is Lady Emmeline, who you would do well to respect!"
The quiet 9-year-old with the raven-black locks waved shyly, sticking close to Barador.
"And *before* you speak a word out of your fool mouth, hero, no. This is not witchcraft. This is not a trick. I am not a werewolf. I am, in fact, and always *have* been canine in nature. I was not cursed with speech. I have always had the ability. Do I know how? No. All I know is that I have been able to articulate my feelings in the spoken word since I was just a pup." Barador stared at the hero with honey-brown eyes. "Lady Emmeline is the young lady in my care. She is my charge, and she is *unparalleled* in the healing arts. Salves, potions, splints, surgeries, and spells are all in her extensive repertoire, and you will find none better. Where I go, she goes. Where she goes, I go." Barador padded closer to his charge and sat down in front of her. She stroked his head gently. "I made a promise to her older sister to keep her safe, and there is nowhere safer than by my side."
The hero shut his mouth. He stared in contemplation at Sir Barador and Lady Emmeline before he finally spoke. "I apologize, I was unaware. Have you seen much of combat, Sir Barador?"
"There are many who try to steal my Lady's natural healing talents. I do what I must to defend her. I'm skilled with a dagger and an ax, but I much prefer the shield."
The hero blinked.
"You see? There is no one finer to join your band than these two. Believe me, I have given it much thought." The king nodded appreciatively. "You will embark on this quest, then? You accept?"
"....... of course, Highness. I accept."
The king smiled. "Ah, my dear Arnor. Throwing yourself headfirst into conflict. Take care, and go and make preparations. You leave at dawn in two days' time."
As Arnor strode out of the room, the king sighed. "Sir Barador, I know that asking you to go on this quest as well is no small favor.... but I would deem it another favor if you were to keep him safe. He is.... dear to me. It would be upsetting to lose him."
Barador dipped his head. "Of course, your highness. Fool though he may be, he is clearly *your* fool, and who am I to get in the way of that?"
The king smiled. "Go on now, you old dog. Prepare for the journey."
"*..... thank you for allowing me to go, Majesty...*" Emmeline whispered, dropping a hasy curtsey as she quickly followed Barador out of the room.
"Of course, Lady Emmeline." | >"Um...Your majesty I have a couple of questions," asked the hero. "Of course, ask away," he said. "Why is my healer 9 years old and why do I have a dog as my shield guy?" said the hero looking at his party in confusion.
"Of course you have questions. You haven't been in this Kingdom of Ceruleau for but what? Two weeks? And address me by my proper title!" The old man in layers of royal robes probably needed help out of his throne. Even if that old sad sack needed help to move, he was remarkably sharp. He never knew anything less than his intelligence services brought to him.
"Yes, ahem, your Majesty King Emporer Amol Bezir the Fourth. Two weeks." The Hero then did an unprompted fist to chest salute and half bow.
The stupid peasant warrior obviously didn't know the traditions of the land. He came with an impressive record and his bloodline could be overlooked this once. The need to defeat the grotesque beast known as the Medicrin was the only problem in this Kingdom the King Emporer could not solve.
"Yes. Our finest shield warriors have all died protecting useless heroes. We bring you this vicious beast who eats attacks and grows hungry when not fed. You may have to kick him... from.. time..
to... time."
"Kick a dawg?" The were audible gasps from the eaves of the throneroom. The invisible listeners were appalled by this gross breach of etiquette.
"Hahaha! Yes. To feed him. He doesn't eat food. He feasts on violence....." The King drew in a sharp breath and exhaled loudly. "I am not going to live long boy. This dog is called a kitsune bastard." Another gasping inhale and a laughing exhalation. The Hero was alarmed at this old man's condition. The eavesdroppers were alarmed at the utter directness their King Emporer dropped on this peasant Hero from another realm. "I believe you might know him as a ... Pit Bull..... He'll grow to as high as two swords tall! ..... Hmm... Meters? Three maybe?" The gravelly voice stopped as the shock on the Hero's face registered.
"A three meter dog? And you want me to kick him? Are you all insane here?"
Once again, the eavesdroppers gasped. It was obviously audible in the throneroom.
"Haha! .... Don't let him get that big boy. He goes blind.... He'll eat everything then. He will rain down destruction on this land like.... Like it has never seen. Do I need repeat myself boy?" The Hero shook his head. "The girl.... She looks nine years old you... You say?" There was another laugh that devolved into a cough and gasping sharp breath.
"Are you okay sir?" This time the eavesdroppers had a much less obvious inhalation but some slight tittling and hushed bickering as etiquette was so grievously breached.
"Fine.. Fine. She's my daughter. The finest healer this land has ever seen.... We are not what you seem... to think we are.... She is 400 of your years old....." The King Emporer's eyes widened, blinked and then winked.
"What?"
"I am several centuries old in your time boy. She.... Looks like this now... because she is to attend to... YOU." There was a furious look. The old man's fist slammed on the left side of his throne. "She's saved a half millennium in that... that form. And you will bring her back looking.... NO OLDER than me! .... Do you understand boy?"
The room rang silent. Nothing. The pause was so pregnant it had children, two of them, before the boy Hero answered.
"I do, my leige."
"Well, go solve our problems... With our most powerful warriors at your side!" The old man stood.
"I won't need them." The gasps echoed through the throne room.
"Wh....what?"
"Do you have sugar? I just need a pound of sugar."
"Sugar? Is that the... the source of your magic boy?"
"Uhh, yes. It only takes a spoonful of sugar to take Medicrin down."
*Massive facepalms go HERE*. | |
[WP] A brave little shrimp has been told all his life shrimp can’t cook. But after hearing about Shrimp Fried Rice he goes to the surface to pursue his dream, only to discover the dark truth… | \[Poem\]
Deep beneath the water dark
He swam through herring, cod and bream
Resolved he was to make his mark
This little prawn who had a dream
​
​
Teasing, taunting, they’d all laughed
“You’re crazy!” the anchovies said
The turtle groaned, “I think he’s daft!"
The lobster cried, “He’s lost his head!”
​
​
Our shrimpy hero spurned them all
“I’ll show you!” he shouted out
“Before the tides chill in the Fall
I’ll be a chef, without a doubt!”
​
​
He’d heard murmurs underwater
Of a dish that sounded nice
What was it called again? Oh bother…
Ah! They’d called it “Shrimp Fried Rice”
​
​
“Can’t make that dish without a shrimp,”
The plucky champion reasoned
“I’ll be more wily than an imp!
They’ll tell me how it’s seasoned!”
​
​
His deep desire burned his heart
T’was the surface where he’d look
There he’d have a place to start
He’d learn to be the greatest cook
​
​
So onward towards the light he swam
Where the water meets the air
But before he could enact his plan
He ran into a little snare
​
​
The net was cast! Try as he might
He tried in vain, for he was caught
His brothers ‘round him cried out, “Fright!
We can’t escape, it’s all for naught!”
​
​
Hauled upward, gasping in the light
Heaved sprawling on the wooden planks
Our shrimp stood up with all his might
And gazed into the sailors’ ranks
​
​
“Hark!” said the shrimp, “I’m on a quest
To become the greatest cook!
Don’t leave me here among the rest!
Won’t you let me have a look?”
​
​
From ol’ O’Malley, big and brawny:
“This one’s got courage - ain’t that nice?
Tell you what, my little prawny
I’ll show you how to make fried rice.”
​
​
“Oh finally!” our pink hero cried,
“Teach me how to cook, O’Malley!”
“Sure thing, my friend,” O’Malley lied,
“I’ll take you downstairs to the galley.”
​
​
His eye stalks trembled as he saw
Pots and pans, all sizes, there
He saw the stove and froze in awe
O’Malley said, “We must prepare.”
​
​
He watched the sailor grab a knife
And drag the edge over a stone
The shrimp had waited all his life
To learn what he had never known
​
​
“What’s first?” he asked, eyeing the pot
“Simple,” the burly man replied
“Throw in some oil - not a lot
Then comes the garlic,” he advised.
​
​
“And after that?” our pink friend queried
He looked the sailor in the eye
The sailor’s gaze was dark and leering
“You’re next, my pet. You’ll need to die.”
​
​
“No!” cried the shrimp. “This isn’t it!
You’re not the man to seal my fate!”
O’Malley boomed, “Shut up, you git!
Facts are facts, you’re getting ate!”
​
​
In a flash, down came the knife
Clanging through the little galley
And our shrimp did end his life
At the hand of ol’ O’Malley
​
​
Deep beneath the water dark
When the sea is cool and nice
Shrimp don’t chase dreams on a lark
Else they’ll end up in the rice. | It smelled nice and fishy when I entered the restaurant, but I couldn’t see any shrimp working or eating there.
It looked like just a bunch of humans, so I checked the menu in my hand, and confirmed I was at the right address.
It had to be fate that as soon as I left the ocean, this random menu flew into my face. I thought, this is my calling. It’s a sign from God. And wouldn’t you know it? I looked up, and the restaurant was right there.
I want to prove that I can become a good cook. I can make rice. I can, then, learn the steps to fry it. And I will be a Shrimp Fried Rice!
I was having this thought when a human suddenly bent down and picked me up with two fingers and brought me all way to her eyes. I think she was smelling me. She then knocked the menu out of my hands and took me on, what felt like a rollercoaster ride, towards the back: the kitchen.
I was so excited to enter, even though it was hot, but then she threw me and I landed next to a bunch of dead, cold shrimp. There was ice underneath us.
The lady walked away and I caught a wiff of some food. It was next to the pan where she dropped me, and then I saw it. It was Cory’s body. He had shrunk. His skin was a different color, but I could tell it was him. With a bunch of green specks on his body. He was surrounded by rice. He-- he was dead.
Is this shrimp fried rice, I wondered while uncontrollably shaking from the cold and fear. | |
[WP] A brave little shrimp has been told all his life shrimp can’t cook. But after hearing about Shrimp Fried Rice he goes to the surface to pursue his dream, only to discover the dark truth… | [Poem]
A brave little shrimp once had a dream,
Ignored all the voices that tells him the errors of his scheme,
Went to the surface in spite of all their screams,
And suffocated for the oxygen's too extreme. | "Fred, give up your dream. Shrimp just can't cook!", Jill said as Fred started his usual nonsense again
"Shrimps are the ultimate chefs! We can see way more colours than the humans and that enables us to take culinary decisions that are paramount to art!", Fred started
"Ummm, those are mantis shrimp...", started Jill, "We're just normal shrimp"
"Um, well, we have the finest tastebuds known to the Earth! With these tastebuds, we can ensure that every bite of every meal tantalizes the mortal who eats it!", claimed Fred
"Fred! C'mon! We're shrimp, for Shrimp's sake! We have no tastebuds!", Jill huffed in exasperation
"Well, what about the famous fried rice made by the shrimp, huh? Shrimp Fried Rice? Which Shrimp fried that rice if you claim that no shrimp can cook?!", Fred demanded in anger
Jill was a little lost for words
"Well, okay. That shrimp is probably really good at it. We don't know how that shrimp cooks, we don't know what that shrimp cooks, and we don't even know recipes for anything, FRED! How do you make Fried Rice, huh?", Jill was getting angry now
Fred grinned, well as much as shrimp can. "It's easy!", he boasted, "You take the little fluffy things called rice that end up in our homes and you take the weird sticky thing called oil that floats on the water, heat the oil and fry the rice in it! See? Easy!", Fred claimed victoriously!
"Wow. You actually know cooking stuff. I wish you luck Fred, but if you ever dare come to me and complain about cooking again, I'll put YOU in that fried rice!", Jill threatened and left
"Put me in the fried rice? Imagine putting shrimp in fried rice. That's pretty disturbing", thought Fred as he made his way up to the surface
He saw a human and said, "Hey psst. If you take me to a kitchen and help me cook, I'll make you world-famous by letting you take credit for my cooking!"
Oh no, we've slipped into another writing prompt
The human who was not named to keep this writing prompt from breaking the fourth wall completely confusedly carried the shrimp to a kitchen and then Fred challenged him
"Let me see you make Shrimp Fried Rice and I'll show you the true way to make it, mortal!", he yelled with confidence
The human looked confused but started making the fried rice. Fred was stunned. This was nothing like the version he had in mind. The rice was hard and small. Not fluffy and long. There was no large pot of multi-coloured oil. There were vegetables and what's that on the side over there?
HUUUUUUUUUUUUUH
IT WAS SHRIMP
Fred was shocked at the massacre that he just witnessed. The bodies of his kin lay there in a packet, wrapped up neatly. He could feel a sensation he never felt before, like his body was drying up. Oh crap, his body WAS drying up. The shock made his body dry up more. Shrimp couldn't live on land for more than a couple of hours! He started making his way to the door, but just ended up flopping on the kitchen counter, face to face with his dead brethren. The human looked down and said, "Eh? One more shrimp for dinner won't hurt I guess"
The last thing Fred saw was the fluffy fried rice he always dreamed about. If you think about it
Fred turned the fried rice into shrimp fried rice. | |
[WP] A brave little shrimp has been told all his life shrimp can’t cook. But after hearing about Shrimp Fried Rice he goes to the surface to pursue his dream, only to discover the dark truth… | Alfredo had got it from a Marlin who got it from a Turtle, whose sister’s mate’s nephew claimed to know a Diver well. Alfredo, a Prawn of the highest order, the most distinguished breeding, wasn’t sure if he believed it—some things were simply too fantastical—but as time passed he found himself growing more and more enamored with the story.
In the end, what turned him was a Whale.
On the night before he left, Alfredo sat for a time in the waters of his youth, watching the Common Shrimp at their labors. All was peaceful. As it should be. The world was a deep, dark blue. Light filtered down from above, painting little currents through the sea, where good things might be found to eat. Farther afield Alfredo saw Ebi, the girl he met occasionally when the world wasn’t watching.
The Whale was a streak of black set out against the sea; a planet set to collide with his own. Its mouth was an yawning, soulless thing. Black on black on black. A maw. It opened wider and everything shifted.
After, the Common Shrimp were gone. It was like Ebi had never existed. And Alfredo, disquieted now in a way he could never explain, thought of the Marlin’s *Coo-King*, his oral history of the Divers.
With it, he’d said the Divers were the masters of their world. Were not eaten, but rather consume the largest creatures. He’d said that the Divers could eat a Whale.
Alfredo wanted to see that very badly.
Perched now in a glass tank surrounded by Common Shrimp from other lands, other peoples, a Prawn cast out among the masses, Alfredo watched as the Divers executed their *Coo-king.*
They were strange creatures, the Divers. They’d shed their exoskeletons, black like the Whale, thick and slick and warm like a second skin. Skinned now, they looked nearly like a different animal. Their shapes were right, but all else was wrong. Even their eyes seemed to have receded into their heads.
To the edges of the Diver’s world, everything was fire and steel. Fast Divers with large, round-bottomed devices tossed mountains of white grains through the air with flicks of their wrists. The noise was deafening. The sharp cracks of metal against metal, a loud sizzle that he’d come to associate with a beginning.
Or, perhaps, with ending. A net knifed down through the waters of Alfredo’s tank, grabbed several of the Common Shrimp. He watched. Watched as they were carried to a station, as another Diver took them. Prepared them. Laid them out next to the white grains and streaks of green. Slices of a dark root that he’d seen lay next to pools of fluid as salty as the ocean that Alfredo had left behind.
Part of him knew that he should be sickened. That he would have been before the Whale. But the Whale had changed something for Alfredo, un-moored him from all that came before. He saw the Common Shrimp laying there, knew that if he wasn’t quick and clever, that might be him, but Alfredo didn’t care. Shrimp didn’t matter here, the Divers did. And farther down the line, a man was a preparing an enormous fish, splitting with such ease, taking out the meat. A head passed by on a platter and Alfredo blinked. It was a Marlin.
It was power too. Power like Alfredo had never seen, as the Diver at the Shrimp station turned flame the flame all the up, ladled in his oil and swirled it around, poured the old oil off and started fresh with a lightning procession of vegetables, followed by the shrimp. Alfredo watched as his countrymen shifted, went from gray to pink, became so hideously dead—and yet.
He couldn’t look away from the tableau. There was the Marlin in the distance, the Shrimp in the foreground, the Divers between, *Coo-King* a martial art that could rewrite a world. Kill a Whale. Take, perhaps, a measure of revenge.
It was so beautiful. In his tank, a Prawn alone among the Common Shrimp, Alfredo screamed for the sheer excitement of it. Screamed for Ebi, and for what he might do now. Screamed, because some men just wanted to watch the burn.
The net descended again.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
That was weird. If you enjoyed it and want more there's tons over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | "Fred, give up your dream. Shrimp just can't cook!", Jill said as Fred started his usual nonsense again
"Shrimps are the ultimate chefs! We can see way more colours than the humans and that enables us to take culinary decisions that are paramount to art!", Fred started
"Ummm, those are mantis shrimp...", started Jill, "We're just normal shrimp"
"Um, well, we have the finest tastebuds known to the Earth! With these tastebuds, we can ensure that every bite of every meal tantalizes the mortal who eats it!", claimed Fred
"Fred! C'mon! We're shrimp, for Shrimp's sake! We have no tastebuds!", Jill huffed in exasperation
"Well, what about the famous fried rice made by the shrimp, huh? Shrimp Fried Rice? Which Shrimp fried that rice if you claim that no shrimp can cook?!", Fred demanded in anger
Jill was a little lost for words
"Well, okay. That shrimp is probably really good at it. We don't know how that shrimp cooks, we don't know what that shrimp cooks, and we don't even know recipes for anything, FRED! How do you make Fried Rice, huh?", Jill was getting angry now
Fred grinned, well as much as shrimp can. "It's easy!", he boasted, "You take the little fluffy things called rice that end up in our homes and you take the weird sticky thing called oil that floats on the water, heat the oil and fry the rice in it! See? Easy!", Fred claimed victoriously!
"Wow. You actually know cooking stuff. I wish you luck Fred, but if you ever dare come to me and complain about cooking again, I'll put YOU in that fried rice!", Jill threatened and left
"Put me in the fried rice? Imagine putting shrimp in fried rice. That's pretty disturbing", thought Fred as he made his way up to the surface
He saw a human and said, "Hey psst. If you take me to a kitchen and help me cook, I'll make you world-famous by letting you take credit for my cooking!"
Oh no, we've slipped into another writing prompt
The human who was not named to keep this writing prompt from breaking the fourth wall completely confusedly carried the shrimp to a kitchen and then Fred challenged him
"Let me see you make Shrimp Fried Rice and I'll show you the true way to make it, mortal!", he yelled with confidence
The human looked confused but started making the fried rice. Fred was stunned. This was nothing like the version he had in mind. The rice was hard and small. Not fluffy and long. There was no large pot of multi-coloured oil. There were vegetables and what's that on the side over there?
HUUUUUUUUUUUUUH
IT WAS SHRIMP
Fred was shocked at the massacre that he just witnessed. The bodies of his kin lay there in a packet, wrapped up neatly. He could feel a sensation he never felt before, like his body was drying up. Oh crap, his body WAS drying up. The shock made his body dry up more. Shrimp couldn't live on land for more than a couple of hours! He started making his way to the door, but just ended up flopping on the kitchen counter, face to face with his dead brethren. The human looked down and said, "Eh? One more shrimp for dinner won't hurt I guess"
The last thing Fred saw was the fluffy fried rice he always dreamed about. If you think about it
Fred turned the fried rice into shrimp fried rice. | |
[WP] You gain the skills and memories of anyone you kill. Naturally, you sought out to murder as many people as possible. With all the accumulated talent and experience, you became the world's most dangerous killer. One day you accidentally killed someone, and you gained something you didn't expect. | Alex Kaufmann. Soldier turned assassin. Death: acid splashed on face, knife driven into throat.
Michelle Baskin. Scientist, psychologist, and ghost writer to an erotic series. Death: Sniped in home.
Marie-Anne Heady. Child Psychologist extraordinaire, multi-talented musician. Death: Wooed, then drowned in bathtub. She deserved it.
Samuel Crispin. Alexander Koper. Dimitri... Dimitri...
Dammit. Heather was starting to forget again. It was almost a pity she didn't kill anyone with photographic memory. That would have made it easier. But she didn't because it would have made things *harder*. Even if she didn't remember the screams, and she did, their faces...
She sighed, downed her drink, and left the pub.
It was a warm night. The birds had gone to their nests, the people to their homes, leaving only the voices behind her to drown the rustle of leaves from the faint breeze. It was a night like this she had met a target. Barry... Killinger. A Kiwi, and a forensic genius. He knew, of course, but Heather had eliminated a few actors. It was sad but it had to be done.
As she walked down the street, she mused. After what Kaufmann tried to do (and, she had to admit, it was for lack of trying that he failed), Heather discovered her ability to gain other's skills. More importantly, she got their memories too. It did involve killing the poor bastards, but that was of little issue. What was important was gaining everything she needed, a library of knowledge and skill. That meant finding the best of the best and ending them.
A sad truth, but it had to be done.
It was about twenty minutes when she realised she was being followed. Looking over her shoulder, she saw what looked like a kid. Just halfway through his teens, all skin and bone. It looked like he hadn't eaten for days. Still, she ignored him. Heather would rather go back to the hotel than deal with some snot.
Until some*thing* grabbed her arm in a vice-like grip.
If you asked Heather what happened, she wouldn't have been able to tell you. One moment something went up her spine. Something old, horrible, and implausibly alive, even as she tried to flee Kaufmann's flat, to escape the inevitable horror that was lurking in his bedroom and behind his eyes. The next... the kid was laying on the pavement. Still. Head at an odd angle, as if it was struck with a great enough force to dislocate it. He was dead.
The kid was dead. Heather had killed him. And she started to feel his essence flow into her.
The first thing she noticed was herself. She saw herself through his eyes, causing her skull to shudder with the headache that ripped through it. Then the colours saturated, bled into each other before separating. There were colours that she hadn't seen before. Colours that didn't have names, yet she herself saw them. So many, far too many, and he stood there, watching as she walked away, but it wasn't him-
Heather closed her eyes. It was too much. So little, and it was too much. But as she blotted out sight and sound, all his memories kept flowing in. She didn't even notice what her ears could hear, but she stull plugged her ears, screaming at the top of her lungs. She still saw the memories. All of his memories. He saw everything.
He *saw* everything.
He. Saw. **Everything**.
Her eyes opened for a moment. And the knowledge of what she saw burst out of her skull, writhing, unwinding, almost as if stretching from being in a cramped confine for too long. The knowledge tore through reality, scattering everywhere as her body jerked and shuddered from the violent expulsions. Soon, even the layman could see into the twisting, torn fabric warped by the knowledge. And a few did, their minds scarred and eyes vitrified at the very sight.
​
And, in another, similar world, where she didn't kill the child, Heather began to scream.
​
In the end there was too little left to contain anything that might have survived. Not that much could survive in the bottom half of a ruptured head. Heather staggered a few steps forward, mouth faced heavenwards as if in reverent awe.
"It stopped."
And with that final relieved declaration, her body caught up to reality. | 3,934,512,312 kills, and therefore memories, ought to make someone insane. And for a time, I was. Didn't even know who, what, where, and when I was before. All I knew was rage, and murder, and damn if I wasn't good. Four billion people's worth of instinct makes for a great killer if I do say so myself.
Now, I know Method of Loci. Or at least someone I killed did. And the for first thousand kills it actually worked. Memory palace, it was called. But this. A planet. A memory fucking planet. Just what ungodly amount of information would you need a planet for? Well aside from me. Just who did I kill? I didn't even get his memories.. or did I? It's somewhere here, isn't it? Still, it doesn't explain how I
"Good morning! I am Bot! May I ask who you are?"
"I am, well I am, uhh, John! Yes, John! Damn it's been a while since I mentioned my name. Crazy."
"Well 'uh, John!', you came in as a huge chunk of garbage, probably the biggest chunk I've ever had to sort out in a while. It took me a week! Now that you're here in one piece I'd like you to explain who you are, who these people are, and where is boss? Also, I've never had to arrange complete human beings before, well there was poor Cooper that boss somehow managed to remember in full detail-, well anyway, you will have to explain them as well."
"People? What do you mean--"
Jesus Fucking Christ what is that..? wait..? are those my victims? WTF is going on? "Stop!!"
"Hey you have full control on memories. I've only ever seen boss.. do.. that.. Where. Is. Boss?" | |
[WP] You gain the skills and memories of anyone you kill. Naturally, you sought out to murder as many people as possible. With all the accumulated talent and experience, you became the world's most dangerous killer. One day you accidentally killed someone, and you gained something you didn't expect. | I’d gotten it all. Math, science, physical skills, secrets, espionage, anything you could possibly imagine. Nobody had caught me, no law organization was capable of tracking me anymore, I knew all their tricks in and out.
Now tonight I Had my next target, a world renowned pharmacologist, one who had invented not just one or two but dozens of life saving drugs and compounds and it was rumored was on the cusp of curing Alzheimer’s. All these things I would soon be able to replicate and sell.
We sat apart from each other, me with the gun in my hand and him with his cup of coffee, freshly made and filled with cream and sugar. He’d been expecting me. Not the first time that such a thing had happened, my pattern of going after people like him was well known, but it didn’t matter, even if he’d been under armed guard I could have gotten to him and escaped without anyone noticing. He hadn’t known the exact time I’d arrive but he’d known that it couldn’t have been too long.
We conversed for a few hours, and I’ll admit it was a very interesting conversation. He asked about my motivations and I asked about his work (not that it mattered because I’d soon know it all anyways).
“I just need to know,” he said toward the end of our conversation “is there an end goal? You don’t seem to mind giving information to a dead man, so tell me honestly, what’s the end goal?”
I paused for a moment before answering “To be perfectly honest I’m not sure. Money, Fame, knowledge for its own sake, I’ve tried them all over the years I’ve been doing this. But every time I settle on one I become dissatisfied after a while.”
I hesitated before continuing. Some part of my brain yelled not to say anything more but I pushed my uneasiness aside, I was talking to a dead man anyway. “I get their memories as well as their skills you know. Between the hundreds of corpses I’ve made I’ve experienced pretty much every pleasure and pain it is possible to feel, and levers time I do I change. I don’t know how to describe it. Everybody is so limited in their own experience, in their own morals and worldview, but I’m not. Every person I kill I expand my mind a bit more, I don’t just become more knowledgeable but the way I think changes, I can use the knowledge more effectively. Sometimes I kill somebody and their new perspective suddenly puts a dozen others memories into perspective. A chemists view of a doctors memories, an athletes view of a soldier, a spies view of a politician. All these things make me capable of understanding the world in a way that other people simply can’t comprehend, it’s why I do this, why I keep doing this, so you understand?”
I hesitated even longer this time “It’s lonely.”
The pharmacist nodded, as if he understood. I appreciated the sentiment. But I felt too raw, I’d never told anyone that before. I decided it was time to end the conversation.
I raised the gun, the pharmacist did a good job of hiding his reaction, but I knew he was afraid. He took one last massive sip of his coffee before placing it back on the table and standing up.
I stood up as well. We looked at each other for a few moments. Then I pulled the trigger and mentally braced myself. The memories and experiences began flooding through me. A lifetime worth of memories and knowledge, and I’d have it all In less than a second
His first memory, his grandparents funeral, the first kiss and the last breakup, crying the whole night when his only son went off to collage and the euphoria when he patented his first drug (a new treatment for malaria). All these things came flooding through me. I sat there for a while absorbing it, analyzing it, and incorporating it into myself. Finally I stated approaching the present.
I saw his multiple failed attempts to cure Alzheimer’s, and the pain that caused him. Some attempts made things better for a bit, other drugs caused an early onset within weeks. Every time he failed he became more and more dejected but ever day after he once more shored up his resolution and went back to try again even harder.
Then he learned of me. The string of disappearances of high profile academics, athletes, and intellectuals. One of them had been an aquatinted of his. He redoubled his efforts, he knew that with the high profile research he’d been conducting it was only a matter of time, he’d even rewritten his will. In the days leading up to my arrival he’d spent almost a hundred hours per week at the lab, sometimes even sleeping on the floor there desperately trying to finish his work before it was too late.
Then finally today, our conversation him making his read, and the sound of the gun right before he became me.
My eyes widened in horror, the second was over I came back to reality and began to hyperventilate. I’d thought it was weird that he’d been preparing to meet me, but I handelt realized why. He’d fast tracked his work, rewritten his will, all in preparation of tonight. And now I knew why.
He’d snuck some of his lab materials home. When he realized he wasn’t going to complete his work he decided that he wasn’t going to go quietly. He’d stolen the drug that caused early onset Alzheimer’s. That hadn’t been sugar he was pouring into his coffee, he’d dosed himself up with a near lethal that amount of the drug and let it begin to take effect over the hours that we’d been talking.
And I’d just absorbed his brain. | 3,934,512,312 kills, and therefore memories, ought to make someone insane. And for a time, I was. Didn't even know who, what, where, and when I was before. All I knew was rage, and murder, and damn if I wasn't good. Four billion people's worth of instinct makes for a great killer if I do say so myself.
Now, I know Method of Loci. Or at least someone I killed did. And the for first thousand kills it actually worked. Memory palace, it was called. But this. A planet. A memory fucking planet. Just what ungodly amount of information would you need a planet for? Well aside from me. Just who did I kill? I didn't even get his memories.. or did I? It's somewhere here, isn't it? Still, it doesn't explain how I
"Good morning! I am Bot! May I ask who you are?"
"I am, well I am, uhh, John! Yes, John! Damn it's been a while since I mentioned my name. Crazy."
"Well 'uh, John!', you came in as a huge chunk of garbage, probably the biggest chunk I've ever had to sort out in a while. It took me a week! Now that you're here in one piece I'd like you to explain who you are, who these people are, and where is boss? Also, I've never had to arrange complete human beings before, well there was poor Cooper that boss somehow managed to remember in full detail-, well anyway, you will have to explain them as well."
"People? What do you mean--"
Jesus Fucking Christ what is that..? wait..? are those my victims? WTF is going on? "Stop!!"
"Hey you have full control on memories. I've only ever seen boss.. do.. that.. Where. Is. Boss?" | |
[WP] You gain the skills and memories of anyone you kill. Naturally, you sought out to murder as many people as possible. With all the accumulated talent and experience, you became the world's most dangerous killer. One day you accidentally killed someone, and you gained something you didn't expect. | I’d gotten it all. Math, science, physical skills, secrets, espionage, anything you could possibly imagine. Nobody had caught me, no law organization was capable of tracking me anymore, I knew all their tricks in and out.
Now tonight I Had my next target, a world renowned pharmacologist, one who had invented not just one or two but dozens of life saving drugs and compounds and it was rumored was on the cusp of curing Alzheimer’s. All these things I would soon be able to replicate and sell.
We sat apart from each other, me with the gun in my hand and him with his cup of coffee, freshly made and filled with cream and sugar. He’d been expecting me. Not the first time that such a thing had happened, my pattern of going after people like him was well known, but it didn’t matter, even if he’d been under armed guard I could have gotten to him and escaped without anyone noticing. He hadn’t known the exact time I’d arrive but he’d known that it couldn’t have been too long.
We conversed for a few hours, and I’ll admit it was a very interesting conversation. He asked about my motivations and I asked about his work (not that it mattered because I’d soon know it all anyways).
“I just need to know,” he said toward the end of our conversation “is there an end goal? You don’t seem to mind giving information to a dead man, so tell me honestly, what’s the end goal?”
I paused for a moment before answering “To be perfectly honest I’m not sure. Money, Fame, knowledge for its own sake, I’ve tried them all over the years I’ve been doing this. But every time I settle on one I become dissatisfied after a while.”
I hesitated before continuing. Some part of my brain yelled not to say anything more but I pushed my uneasiness aside, I was talking to a dead man anyway. “I get their memories as well as their skills you know. Between the hundreds of corpses I’ve made I’ve experienced pretty much every pleasure and pain it is possible to feel, and levers time I do I change. I don’t know how to describe it. Everybody is so limited in their own experience, in their own morals and worldview, but I’m not. Every person I kill I expand my mind a bit more, I don’t just become more knowledgeable but the way I think changes, I can use the knowledge more effectively. Sometimes I kill somebody and their new perspective suddenly puts a dozen others memories into perspective. A chemists view of a doctors memories, an athletes view of a soldier, a spies view of a politician. All these things make me capable of understanding the world in a way that other people simply can’t comprehend, it’s why I do this, why I keep doing this, so you understand?”
I hesitated even longer this time “It’s lonely.”
The pharmacist nodded, as if he understood. I appreciated the sentiment. But I felt too raw, I’d never told anyone that before. I decided it was time to end the conversation.
I raised the gun, the pharmacist did a good job of hiding his reaction, but I knew he was afraid. He took one last massive sip of his coffee before placing it back on the table and standing up.
I stood up as well. We looked at each other for a few moments. Then I pulled the trigger and mentally braced myself. The memories and experiences began flooding through me. A lifetime worth of memories and knowledge, and I’d have it all In less than a second
His first memory, his grandparents funeral, the first kiss and the last breakup, crying the whole night when his only son went off to collage and the euphoria when he patented his first drug (a new treatment for malaria). All these things came flooding through me. I sat there for a while absorbing it, analyzing it, and incorporating it into myself. Finally I stated approaching the present.
I saw his multiple failed attempts to cure Alzheimer’s, and the pain that caused him. Some attempts made things better for a bit, other drugs caused an early onset within weeks. Every time he failed he became more and more dejected but ever day after he once more shored up his resolution and went back to try again even harder.
Then he learned of me. The string of disappearances of high profile academics, athletes, and intellectuals. One of them had been an aquatinted of his. He redoubled his efforts, he knew that with the high profile research he’d been conducting it was only a matter of time, he’d even rewritten his will. In the days leading up to my arrival he’d spent almost a hundred hours per week at the lab, sometimes even sleeping on the floor there desperately trying to finish his work before it was too late.
Then finally today, our conversation him making his read, and the sound of the gun right before he became me.
My eyes widened in horror, the second was over I came back to reality and began to hyperventilate. I’d thought it was weird that he’d been preparing to meet me, but I handelt realized why. He’d fast tracked his work, rewritten his will, all in preparation of tonight. And now I knew why.
He’d snuck some of his lab materials home. When he realized he wasn’t going to complete his work he decided that he wasn’t going to go quietly. He’d stolen the drug that caused early onset Alzheimer’s. That hadn’t been sugar he was pouring into his coffee, he’d dosed himself up with a near lethal that amount of the drug and let it begin to take effect over the hours that we’d been talking.
And I’d just absorbed his brain. | Alex Kaufmann. Soldier turned assassin. Death: acid splashed on face, knife driven into throat.
Michelle Baskin. Scientist, psychologist, and ghost writer to an erotic series. Death: Sniped in home.
Marie-Anne Heady. Child Psychologist extraordinaire, multi-talented musician. Death: Wooed, then drowned in bathtub. She deserved it.
Samuel Crispin. Alexander Koper. Dimitri... Dimitri...
Dammit. Heather was starting to forget again. It was almost a pity she didn't kill anyone with photographic memory. That would have made it easier. But she didn't because it would have made things *harder*. Even if she didn't remember the screams, and she did, their faces...
She sighed, downed her drink, and left the pub.
It was a warm night. The birds had gone to their nests, the people to their homes, leaving only the voices behind her to drown the rustle of leaves from the faint breeze. It was a night like this she had met a target. Barry... Killinger. A Kiwi, and a forensic genius. He knew, of course, but Heather had eliminated a few actors. It was sad but it had to be done.
As she walked down the street, she mused. After what Kaufmann tried to do (and, she had to admit, it was for lack of trying that he failed), Heather discovered her ability to gain other's skills. More importantly, she got their memories too. It did involve killing the poor bastards, but that was of little issue. What was important was gaining everything she needed, a library of knowledge and skill. That meant finding the best of the best and ending them.
A sad truth, but it had to be done.
It was about twenty minutes when she realised she was being followed. Looking over her shoulder, she saw what looked like a kid. Just halfway through his teens, all skin and bone. It looked like he hadn't eaten for days. Still, she ignored him. Heather would rather go back to the hotel than deal with some snot.
Until some*thing* grabbed her arm in a vice-like grip.
If you asked Heather what happened, she wouldn't have been able to tell you. One moment something went up her spine. Something old, horrible, and implausibly alive, even as she tried to flee Kaufmann's flat, to escape the inevitable horror that was lurking in his bedroom and behind his eyes. The next... the kid was laying on the pavement. Still. Head at an odd angle, as if it was struck with a great enough force to dislocate it. He was dead.
The kid was dead. Heather had killed him. And she started to feel his essence flow into her.
The first thing she noticed was herself. She saw herself through his eyes, causing her skull to shudder with the headache that ripped through it. Then the colours saturated, bled into each other before separating. There were colours that she hadn't seen before. Colours that didn't have names, yet she herself saw them. So many, far too many, and he stood there, watching as she walked away, but it wasn't him-
Heather closed her eyes. It was too much. So little, and it was too much. But as she blotted out sight and sound, all his memories kept flowing in. She didn't even notice what her ears could hear, but she stull plugged her ears, screaming at the top of her lungs. She still saw the memories. All of his memories. He saw everything.
He *saw* everything.
He. Saw. **Everything**.
Her eyes opened for a moment. And the knowledge of what she saw burst out of her skull, writhing, unwinding, almost as if stretching from being in a cramped confine for too long. The knowledge tore through reality, scattering everywhere as her body jerked and shuddered from the violent expulsions. Soon, even the layman could see into the twisting, torn fabric warped by the knowledge. And a few did, their minds scarred and eyes vitrified at the very sight.
​
And, in another, similar world, where she didn't kill the child, Heather began to scream.
​
In the end there was too little left to contain anything that might have survived. Not that much could survive in the bottom half of a ruptured head. Heather staggered a few steps forward, mouth faced heavenwards as if in reverent awe.
"It stopped."
And with that final relieved declaration, her body caught up to reality. | |
[WP] You gain the skills and memories of anyone you kill. Naturally, you sought out to murder as many people as possible. With all the accumulated talent and experience, you became the world's most dangerous killer. One day you accidentally killed someone, and you gained something you didn't expect. | I killed my first man when I was 16. I needed the money. My folks kicked me out, I was broke and hungry, and he looked wimpy and rich. Sure enough, he was. It was then that I discovered something odd about me: As his life was draining away, I somehow seemed to absorb all of his knowledge and skills. Turns out I’d just killed a computer programmer. He had a couple hundred on him: enough to get a cheap room for the night if I could get one. Too bad I didn’t think to grab his credit cards. Nobody would rent to a kid without ID. At least the last desk clerk told me to try the homeless mission.
Some of the guys were just down on their luck, others couldn’t get a place because of their criminal records, but they all had one thing in common: they liked to brag. This was how I worked myself up to be a hitman. This was how I learned where to get the weapons I needed, as well as how to use them.
It took me about a year to move up in the organization, but I was eating steady and had time to work out and train my body to become a killing machine. It helped that I’d taken out a few rival gang members. By age 22, people walked to the other side of the street to avoid me as my reputation preceded me. I had really bulked up over the last few years. I had earned a black belt in Tai Kwon Do, and my marksmanship was spot on. Somehow, the police new my name, but I had no criminal record, even after the number of bodies I left in my wake. My “legit” business? I was a professional bodyguard. The boss man understood I needed a cover, and laughed his ass off when I told him, until I pulled out my concealed carry permit. Nobody in the organization had one, and then he started laughing even harder.
But I kept quiet about my skill.
One day, I got a call from the organization bookkeeper. Not bookie, mind you, but bookkeeper. As in accountant. He had a problem that he thought I could handle. It seemed that he’d been playing the field at the racetrack. Common enough. Well, a cute little filly of the human type caught his eye and he pursued her. They’d been seeing each other for about six months but he wanted to call it off. She wasn’t happy with that and threatened to tell his wife about them. He didn’t want that and felt the only way to shut her up was to do so in a more permanent manner. I quoted him a price, and he agreed. Within twenty-four hours, I had the cash. It would be a rush job, but he gave me enough information on her that I could follow through quickly. I got lucky, as the most opportune time occurred the following evening.
Her body was found in a dumpster in an alley. Job complete, or so I thought.
Remember me mentioning I inherited the skills and knowledge of my targets when they died? Oh yes, I inherited hers as well. Seems the reason the bookkeeper wanted her silenced was what she really told him. Sure, she was going to tell his wife, but she’d also mention that she was two months pregnant with his kid. Then she was going to tell the boss man about the guy embezzling funds to keep her in comfort.
Now, I’ll admit, one shouldn’t rat on a client, but that only covers the police. Within the organization, you advise as best you can without saying what you mean to say. What’s not said speaks louder than words. I just mentioned that he might want to bring a accountant in to check our books as there might be some discrepancies. He wanted to know why, and I replied that a little bird told me, and he soon let it go at that.
Two weeks later, I was attending the bookkeeper’s funeral. His wife was pretty and, even grieving, his kids would be popular in high school. I got to know her somewhat intimately later on. VERY intimately, but she was worried about men going after her for her husband’s insurance money.
Meanwhile, my folks knew I was doing well, and we’d buried the hatchet a couple of years earlier. I’d gotten a letter from Dad shortly afterwards.
>
Son,
I probably should have told you this a long time ago, but I’ve been putting it off. Knowing your duties as a bodyguard, I constantly worry the curse will hit you, too.
Yes, curse. It goes back to Vietnam and your grandfather. He was under orders, along with the rest of his squad, to destroy a village and kill all of the inhabitants. He made the mistake of killing a woman that was the village shaman. As she lay there dying, she cursed him with the ability to absorb his victim’s knowledge and skills. As she was bleeding to death, cursing him, he put one more round into her head, obliterating her life. It was then that he understood how she had cursed him. He’d never understood Vietnamese, but suddenly, he did. His mind replayed her words and realized what she had done. When he left Vietnam, he’d killed enough people that he speak and understand a number of languages, including 10 different Chinese dialects.
As a bodyguard, I pray you never have to kill somebody in the line of work, but I felt that I needed to let you know about this. I thought your grandfather was pulling my leg until it happened to me. It wasn’t even a human, but that’s why I never go fishing anymore.
Dad
About two days after reading this, I felt a little queasy. I thought it might be a stomach flu, but that’s usually over and done in a day or two. I scheduled an appointment with my doctor.
I described the nausea, vomiting, the loss of appetite, and even the swelling in my feet. He knew what the symptoms sounded like, but wanted to verify that very remote possibility, so I was scheduled or an MRI. Three days later, I was called into his office.
“This is beyond comprehension, but the MRI confirmed it. Mister Mumy: You’re pregnant.” |
The memories were a shock. For years he had been losing more and more of his past. Struggling to recall the faces of his family. Unable to remember the names of the places he had been and the people he had met.
But now they came, a rush of colour and smell and sound that span inside his head and left him unable to register his body or the world around him.
He remembered his mother's face as it was when he was a baby, her sparkling brown eyes and soft smooth skin. He remembered the feel of her nipple in his mouth and the sweet taste of her milk.
He remembered his mother's face as it was when he was a toddler, Her dull brown eyes underscored a bruised purple and the scabs on her skin. He remembered the feel of her hand striking his face and the sharp chemical smell that hung around her.
He remembered his mother's face as it was when he was a child, her eyes closed and her skin like wax. He remembered the feel of the stiff funeral clothes and the cloying smell of perfume that clung to her.
He remembered it all, each memory seen through his eyes, every smell and taste, every sound and conversation, every moment of pleasure and pain.
He remembered the church. He remembered terror.
This memory he did not want to see, but the moment he thought it, he felt it expand and begin to fill his senses even more vividly. He vainly struggled as he became that child again. “No”, he thought “I don’t want to remember this”.
What came next shocked him so much that he lost the ability to resist the transition into the world of this memory. A voice so unlike his own that he was certain it came from outside, a whisper in his ear.
“You must.”
He was there again, looking through his eight year old eyes, feeling the chill of the air and the hard wooden pew beneath him. He was not remembering any more, he was reliving this moment.
He had kicked through puddles on the walk to the church and the icy water had leached through the old shoes he wears, soaking the two pairs of socks he needed to make them almost fit. The gloom of the mottled grey sky has followed them into the church, the high rafters shadowed and its walls and floor grey. Even the stained glass windows have their usual vibrant colour washed away.
Sitting here, in the pews near the back, he finds he can not see past the hats and heads in front of him and so, to stave off the inevitable boredom, he instead satisfies himself with slipping his heels in and out of the too large shoes, making a satisfying squelching that he feels more than hears. A sharp and bony elbow in his side lets him know that his Grandmother has discovered his diversion and disapproves. This sends him slightly further down the empty pew in an attempt to keep out of range, and in the new spot he discovers that if he brings his feet up and sits on his heels he can see all the way to the front, and there he sees the light.
He can see the priest, in vestments of white and gold, surrounded by a halo of light so bright that it makes it difficult to see his face. It envelops the man, rippling with gold and silver and he hears a humming that sounds like it is on the verge of bursting into joyous music. The song of angels.
He sits hypnotised until his grandmother eventually tugs on his arm to lead him to the front of the church to receive the eucharist. He follows her like a sleepwalker, unable to tear his gaze from the man before him. He kneels in the row of worshipers waiting for the glowing figure and, against sense, the dazzling light does not make him shut or avert his eyes. Instead they seemed to widen painfully as if trying to drink it in, to absorb it all.
Soon the priest is before him, and he is certain he can feel the light caress his skin like the softest of feathers, and when the priest places the wafer in his mouth one of the glowing mans hands brush his lips and he feels a surge of heat through his body and an explosion of sound and noise inside his head, he feels the spasm in his legs and feels himself falling backwards. He sees his hand reaching out before him, grasping for something to cling to, to save him from the rising darkness and his last thought is that his fingers look strange.
He wakes with a startled cry and when his eyes adjust he finds himself laying on a musty smelling couch in the corner of a long room full of old furniture and bookshelves holding all types of oddments beside the usual books.The lamp at the end of the couch on which he was laying is the rooms only light and while its soft glow lights the area around him well enough, it seems to leave the far edges of the room in shadows.
At the other end of the room another light springs into being, illuminating the priest sitting behind a wide and very polished desk, notable mostly for being one of the few surfaces in the room clear of any bric-a-brac except for the single lamp that had just been switched on. The man smiles at him and then stands and moves around the desk towards him.
He feels uneasy now, this does not seem to be the same man, the light that shone within the priest has gone and now the shadows seem to bend the man's features into something monstrous.
The priest asks him how he is feeling, if he feels sick or in pain, but he can only reply by asking where his grandmother is, in the hopes that she can take him home, or to simply be there to ease the fear settling on his heart.
The priest casually informs him that his grandmother has gone home and left him there in the old man's care. He confusedly questions this, why would she leave him with a stranger, when is she coming back.
The priest laughs and informs the boy in a matter of fact tone that people do as he tells them, always. No matter what he asks or who he asks they always comply with his wishes. The old man looks him in the eye and then he sees a spark of pure white light flare deep in his pupils and immediately the glowing halo has returned as the old man tells him that he too, will do exactly what he is told, and tell no one about it, ever.
He is confused and afraid but that light is as hypnotic as it was when he first saw it. He hears the priest telling him to stand, but his legs feel weak and he needs some time to recover. The priest repeats his command in a more determined tone, but even through the glorious music in his ears he can sense a strange edge to the words. He stands now on shaky legs, he wants to get closer to that light and feel its warmth, he wants to run his hands through it and reach out and find its source and pull it deep inside himself to keep him warm forever. He steps forward almost without realising what he is doing.
The priest's face contorts with shock as he barks at him to stop, saying he was not told to move, but he steps closer again. He reaches out his hand towards the golden light and the priest tries to knock it away but as soon as their hands make contact the light fills his soul. His hand grips onto the priests like a clamp and he watches in shock and amazement as his fingers stretch and wrap around the old man's wrists like snakes before burrowing into his arm.
Now the priest is screaming and convulsing but there is no escape. He is now filled with joy and light, feeling the warmth pour through his hand up his arm and filling the empty places inside him, and with the light comes the memories.
He remembers the priest's life, His childhood, his discovery that he could command people to do as he wished. Every moment, every choice, every act, good and evil, until the instant he was touched by this child before him.
He wakes on the floor with his fingers, his normal chubby fingers, still wrapped around the priests wrists. Then the confusion and nausea set in. He has lived a lifetime through the old man's memories. They override his own in places, merge in others. He tries to stand but his limbs feel wrong. His body will not accept the messages he sends. His vision spins and once again he falls into oblivion.
“The first of many.” The alien voice declares in echoes through his mind. And so the memories continued to wash through him. | |
[WP] You gain the skills and memories of anyone you kill. Naturally, you sought out to murder as many people as possible. With all the accumulated talent and experience, you became the world's most dangerous killer. One day you accidentally killed someone, and you gained something you didn't expect. | I killed my first man when I was 16. I needed the money. My folks kicked me out, I was broke and hungry, and he looked wimpy and rich. Sure enough, he was. It was then that I discovered something odd about me: As his life was draining away, I somehow seemed to absorb all of his knowledge and skills. Turns out I’d just killed a computer programmer. He had a couple hundred on him: enough to get a cheap room for the night if I could get one. Too bad I didn’t think to grab his credit cards. Nobody would rent to a kid without ID. At least the last desk clerk told me to try the homeless mission.
Some of the guys were just down on their luck, others couldn’t get a place because of their criminal records, but they all had one thing in common: they liked to brag. This was how I worked myself up to be a hitman. This was how I learned where to get the weapons I needed, as well as how to use them.
It took me about a year to move up in the organization, but I was eating steady and had time to work out and train my body to become a killing machine. It helped that I’d taken out a few rival gang members. By age 22, people walked to the other side of the street to avoid me as my reputation preceded me. I had really bulked up over the last few years. I had earned a black belt in Tai Kwon Do, and my marksmanship was spot on. Somehow, the police new my name, but I had no criminal record, even after the number of bodies I left in my wake. My “legit” business? I was a professional bodyguard. The boss man understood I needed a cover, and laughed his ass off when I told him, until I pulled out my concealed carry permit. Nobody in the organization had one, and then he started laughing even harder.
But I kept quiet about my skill.
One day, I got a call from the organization bookkeeper. Not bookie, mind you, but bookkeeper. As in accountant. He had a problem that he thought I could handle. It seemed that he’d been playing the field at the racetrack. Common enough. Well, a cute little filly of the human type caught his eye and he pursued her. They’d been seeing each other for about six months but he wanted to call it off. She wasn’t happy with that and threatened to tell his wife about them. He didn’t want that and felt the only way to shut her up was to do so in a more permanent manner. I quoted him a price, and he agreed. Within twenty-four hours, I had the cash. It would be a rush job, but he gave me enough information on her that I could follow through quickly. I got lucky, as the most opportune time occurred the following evening.
Her body was found in a dumpster in an alley. Job complete, or so I thought.
Remember me mentioning I inherited the skills and knowledge of my targets when they died? Oh yes, I inherited hers as well. Seems the reason the bookkeeper wanted her silenced was what she really told him. Sure, she was going to tell his wife, but she’d also mention that she was two months pregnant with his kid. Then she was going to tell the boss man about the guy embezzling funds to keep her in comfort.
Now, I’ll admit, one shouldn’t rat on a client, but that only covers the police. Within the organization, you advise as best you can without saying what you mean to say. What’s not said speaks louder than words. I just mentioned that he might want to bring a accountant in to check our books as there might be some discrepancies. He wanted to know why, and I replied that a little bird told me, and he soon let it go at that.
Two weeks later, I was attending the bookkeeper’s funeral. His wife was pretty and, even grieving, his kids would be popular in high school. I got to know her somewhat intimately later on. VERY intimately, but she was worried about men going after her for her husband’s insurance money.
Meanwhile, my folks knew I was doing well, and we’d buried the hatchet a couple of years earlier. I’d gotten a letter from Dad shortly afterwards.
>
Son,
I probably should have told you this a long time ago, but I’ve been putting it off. Knowing your duties as a bodyguard, I constantly worry the curse will hit you, too.
Yes, curse. It goes back to Vietnam and your grandfather. He was under orders, along with the rest of his squad, to destroy a village and kill all of the inhabitants. He made the mistake of killing a woman that was the village shaman. As she lay there dying, she cursed him with the ability to absorb his victim’s knowledge and skills. As she was bleeding to death, cursing him, he put one more round into her head, obliterating her life. It was then that he understood how she had cursed him. He’d never understood Vietnamese, but suddenly, he did. His mind replayed her words and realized what she had done. When he left Vietnam, he’d killed enough people that he speak and understand a number of languages, including 10 different Chinese dialects.
As a bodyguard, I pray you never have to kill somebody in the line of work, but I felt that I needed to let you know about this. I thought your grandfather was pulling my leg until it happened to me. It wasn’t even a human, but that’s why I never go fishing anymore.
Dad
About two days after reading this, I felt a little queasy. I thought it might be a stomach flu, but that’s usually over and done in a day or two. I scheduled an appointment with my doctor.
I described the nausea, vomiting, the loss of appetite, and even the swelling in my feet. He knew what the symptoms sounded like, but wanted to verify that very remote possibility, so I was scheduled or an MRI. Three days later, I was called into his office.
“This is beyond comprehension, but the MRI confirmed it. Mister Mumy: You’re pregnant.” | It’s a moment like a snow globe up-ended in real snow. All the water frozen, the glass frosted. Glitter suspended mid-cascade like a dream almost remembered. But the glass is cracking and dreams always slip away, and nobody thinks of snow globes anyway, not in a Georgian mid-July when all the air is thick as water and might as well be boiling. Nobody but Bonnie, who loved winter and the snow even though she’d only seen ut once— a little kid staring out from a moldering front porch, eyes big enough to count the flakes.
And it’s a moment that could pass like snow. Over in an instant when Georgia reasserts itself and boils all the magic from the air, the understanding from the man’s blue eyes. Blue. Violently so. Pale and terrible, the first time that Bonnie has thought them that.
They’ve been beautiful so many other days, but there’s something in them now. Some depth she’s never seen before.
It might be as simple as that unknown word, *“No.”*
“No,” he says.
“Sim,” she says, or tries to say, but his name can hardly wriggle out. Is just a groan, like in the mornings that she hates so much, or at the edge of nights that have to end. This would be easier at night, Bonnie thinks.
She’s twenty-three that summer. Sim is twenty-five. They’d met on one of those edge-wise nights and those blue eyes had looked so different. Kinder, softer. Shadowed by secrets but brightened by curiosity. Eyes that searched across her, flicked away only once, a motion to encompass and then dismiss a room. The room had been so full of people.
If she had to put a name to it that night would have been a snow globe too— the moment it gets shaken. All that glitter thrown up into the air, no chance of falling yet. A sleepy little village, now disordered, now unrecognizable.
Sim’s eyes close. He takes a breath. Opens his eyes and dismisses the world. There’s blood running down from a cut in his scalp but he’s alright. That’s enough.
But how long will he be?
It’s a moment like a snow globe up-ended in real snow. All the water frozen, the glass frosted. Glitter suspended mid-cascade like a dream almost remembered, and Bonnie knows that more than anyone she’s ever met, Sim always forgets the good dreams. The world around them—that she can’t ignore—is no different than it was before. The air still boils, cars are still racing by. A world changed utterly, and yet so, so much the same. Something crucial there that has to be remembered.
He takes one of her hands gently in both of his. She can’t feel her other hand, it’s still pinned beneath their car. The car that’s killing her, Bonnie knows— she can see it in his eyes.
Sim knows death better than anyone in the whole world. A thing he told her once, on a godforsaken morning when he said he couldn’t sleep and she said, *“what the fuck babe,”* and he said, *“I’ve got something I need to tell you.”*
A thing she’s counting on now, with the car and with the pain. His eyes looking like they do.
“I’m dying,” Bonnie says.
“Fuck that,” Sim says.
“Fuck you,” Bonnie says.
Then, “I didn’t mean that.”
Then, “Oh god it hurts.”
Then she says it. Mostly in grunts and moans, a fractured argument spilling out of broken bones, framed by spurts of arterial blood, and whispers almost like the ones she used on the nights when he couldn’t sleep. When the darkness dredged up the memories he’d taken from all the men he’d killed. Awful men with awful dreams that were always with him and always would be, the only force he’s never learned to fight.
It takes all her strength to say “Kill me.”
It’s a moment like a snow globe up-ended in real snow. All the water frozen, the glass frosted. Glitter suspended mid-cascade like a dream almost remembered, ending now. The glitter is falling. It even looks a bit like real snow, but it’s graying out around the edges. Losing focus. Everything but the ice blue core of half suspended winter bleeds away, a core that used to be beautiful and still is, still can be.
Bonnie is drifting before he can speak. Doesn’t hear the first no or the second, or the third, or the tenth, or anything that comes after.
It’s a moment that could pass like snow in Georgia and almost did.
Are those moments better, frozen?
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
More at r/TurningtoWords. |
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