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[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. | Killing is knowledge. I don’t do it for a thrill or some other sick means. I do it because with each person’s blood I spill; I draw closer to becoming a god of knowledge. A true jack of all trades. I’m not sure why I was given this gift, but I know my purpose must be to use my abilities to better myself. Why else would I have these talents? If there was a god watching over me, this is what they would want to see.
It wasn’t like I was random in my attacks, either. Random knowledge is a sin. What good is a jumbled mess of trivia when I can have the real meat of knowledge that comes from killing brilliant specialists in their fields?
As I typed away on my keyboard, my eyes were drawn to a scrapping sound at the window of my apartment. A man, mid-forties, stood on a boom lift, dragging a wet squeegee along the glass. He couldn’t see me staring, not behind my tinted windows. The man carelessly performing his job with no safety equipment attached to him. Perhaps he found the harness uncomfortable, or maybe he thought a drop from three stories wouldn’t be enough to kill him. Whatever reason, his careless demeanor got my mind racing.
It would be easy to kill him. If I wished, I would only have to open my window and give him a push. Maybe not even that. The scare of having a window opened in front of him could be enough to cause him to misstep. If so, my job would be that much easier. Nevertheless, he had nothing to offer me. What knowledge could he offer me that I didn’t already have?
I turned back to my laptop, staring over the list of potential figures I had. It was always tough deciding who would be next. Each person presented unique challenges. While I may be less clumsy than I used to be when it came to taking lives, that didn’t mean that high security areas didn’t still pose a serious risk to my health. If I let my gifts be wasted by dying before godhood, I would be spitting in the face of the one who blessed me. I didn’t plan to find out what the punishment would be for betrayal.
“Peter Flare. Specialist in heart surgery. His current research could help minimize the risk of infection and blood clots during open surgery. Interesting and he’s a local, too.”
I pondered the figure before me, only to sigh. He was impressive and a secret like that should belong to me. The mortals weren’t deserving of something like that, they couldn’t be trusted. Yet was his knowledge better than my other candidates? Taking a break from my work, I got myself a cup of apple juice, something I had loved to drink before discovering my legacy as a god. Something about the sweet taste just reminding me of my human indulges, giving me a temporary break from my duties.
To think this life had all started after a harmless accident at a retirement home. I never intended to kill the man, but fate had a funny way of making sure things worked out. When his last dusty breath left his lips, it gave me the experience of a man who had been a medic during a global conflict. Learning valuable skills about the human body that I used to kill some of the other residents. After killing six of them, my hunger for knowledge became far stronger and soon their little tidbits of experience didn’t sate me anymore. I needed more.
How many had I stolen from since then? Twenty? Maybe more.
I finished my cup, placing it back on my desk. Just how stuffy was this room? The heat stinging my body, causing me to shift in my seat. I needed some air. I approached the window, forgetting all about the figure on the other side as I opened it, staring at the man as he dropped his squeegee.
He let out a grunt of a scream, taking a few steps back. I reached out a hand to grab the collar of his shirt, only to watch as his back hit the railing, sending him backwards over it. From the angle he was falling at, it was clear he would either land headfirst or suffer enough whiplash from the impact that he would die as soon as he hit. I resisted the urge to stick my head out and watch, only returning to my seat.
“Forgive my sin. I didn’t wish to give myself a careless offering of knowledge. I am truly sorry. Please don’t forbid me from godhood. I know I’m close. I can do this. It was an accident; I would never defile your gift.” I prayed to whatever god had granted me this ability, asking for their forgiveness and compassion.
A scream came from outside the window. No doubt a crowd was gathering now. I closed my eyes, feeling a cold chill shoot through my spine as the experiences forced their way into my brain.
“Talented cleaner. Great at wasting time on a job. Had a technique where he would carry around a half-eaten sandwich, always claiming to be on a lunch break.” I shifted through the various experiences that shot through my mind, only to come across one I didn’t expect. “Religious, spent years praying to a god. Received a vision.”
A god gave him a vision? Suddenly, my boredom had turned to curiosity as I tried to find the vision. I was greeted by walls of pointless experiences like first loves and deaths in his family, only to arrive at the experience I wanted to see. The vision was short, a purple glow coating a shadowed figure as they sat in the pits of his mind.
“A man is abusing my gifts. My gifts were intended to further humanity through tragedy, not to be hoarded by a selfish idolizer of godhood. I want you to monitor the man. Don’t take any action yet. Just keep an eye on him. When he decides on his next target, I want you to inform me who that is. I plan to meet him there. Don’t worry about your safety, he won’t kill those he doesn’t see as worthy. His arrogance will be his downfall. He is on the third floor of the Shallow way. Look for the man with the curly blonde hair and pale skin. That’s who I want you to watch.
The vision ended, leaving me in silence. My love of the god now spilling over into blind anger as I cursed them. I threw my hands up to the heavens, shouting whatever profanities I could, only to get disrupted by a banging on my wall, telling me to shut up. Even as I lowered my voice, my chest still heaved as though it would explode. So, the god was getting scared? I would show them what happens to someone that betrays me. I would use all that experience I had gained to kill them. Once I have their experiences, I will be a god in every sense of the word.
“Peter Flare. I hope you saw that name on my list. I’ll meet you there.”
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 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. | |
[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. | "More"
Jason growled, his face was twisted into a grin, his lips and teeth were red of fresh blood as he stood before the lifeless body of his latest victim.
"More"-- it was the word that had driven the Greedy Butcher, the nickname that was given to Jason as he commited a string of murders incited by his uncontained hunger for power.
Suppose it was unevitable in this new world of words-- that means epiteths exude power, adjectives express accolades, and nouns signify cravings.
Craving for more power, more knowledge, more, more, and more. For Jason, more was never enough...
The taste of blood was never Jason's favorite as he found it too sour-- but he couldn't help the craving for human meat as his previous victim's word was "Cannibal".
As the adrenaline finally settled, Jason's mind was calm enough to peruse this surge of new memories, the ones belonged to the dead man on the ground...
Clouds and sky...the images of boundless heavens were bouncing upon Jason's eyes. The rush of the wind hit his face and the exhiliration thrived his heart as Jason smiled...
"Leap", he whispered to himself when through memories was how he figured out his victim's power.
Bending his knees, Jason kicked the earth below him as gravity posed no effect against him. His body flew high up to the sky and in his excitement of his newfound power, Jason jumped for miles leaving the crime scene behind him.
Laughter filled the otherwise quiet town as Jason danced the night away.
Flying unrestrained, that moment Jason felt he was on top of the world, quite literally.
The world was below him, everybody was below him, and everyrhing was for his taking.
In the middle of his third jump, Jason's sense tingled as he saw below him just what he needed more that night...
"Another victim", he thought excitedly.
An old man was walking in the dead of night on his lonesome way. A quiet and peaceful night stroll as he usually did when suddenly he heard a thumping behind him.
Not quite alarmed yet, the old man turned to see what could have made such noise when he was startled by the visage of a bloody beast of a man leaping towards him-- eyes wide and crazed with his teeth bared.
Before the old man could react, he felt the strong jab of rows of teeth sank against the side of his neck.
"Brawny"-- the word Jason drew that moment from another victim of his. A muscular former co-worker of Jason's whom he managed to kill by poisoning.
Gnashing of teeth against flesh continued as Jason took his time separating a chunk of the old man away from his body.
Slowly the old man felt weaker and weaker when his body finally dropped to the ground, limp and lifeless...
Jason stood there chewing and chewing, masticating every fiber as it slowly filled his mind with this victim's memories.
That was Jason's favorite bit of his hunt-- that rush of something new filling the endless void of his craving.
Though before he could peruse those memories, Jason felt another feeling...or rather a lack of feeling.
Jason felt his muscles around. What felt sore and tired from jumping around for miles was suddenly rejuvenated and was rid of that lactic acid.
"Ooh...ooooh", Jason remarked in reverie, swinging his arms around.
"Regenerate", he said excitedly, stating his newfound power.
"Not quite", an unexpected male voice made Jason jumped as he turned back.
The old man slowly gained his footing as he stood and cracked his weary back...only he was no longer an old man, he was at keast 50 years younger.
"You must be that Greedy Butcher I heard so much on the news", the then young man said cracking his neck around. "Never thought I would encounter you", he chuckled.
Jason was stunned when his hunter instinct finally kicked in. Letting out a terrifying yell, Jason ran towards the young man, intending to rip him to pieces.
To Jason's surprise, the young man grabbed him by the wrists and he easily held Jason back, no matter how strong Jason tried.
"Easy there, it's gonna be over soon", the young man said, effortlessly holding Jason.
Jason was confused when he finally noticed his arms...they were snaller than usual.
"Wh...what is happening...?", Jason muttered.
"You have my memories...take a look", the young man said.
Hurriedly Jason looked inside his mind of the newly arrived memories, though to his surprise these new memories were unlike any other he'd ever experienced...
They were deep...endlessly deep. Like a bottomless well it kept going and going.
Terrified, Jason rushed his mind to reach the end, to reach that word.
There must be at least 10 lifetimes recorded in those memories. The young man before him was older than Jason anticipated.
"Well?", the young man said when Jason opened his eyes in fear.
"Reset", Jason muttered.
The man smiled as he let Jason's arms go. But at that point, his arms were those of a baby.
"Sorry, bud. Took me years to master this ability...and you only had minutes", the young man shrugged as he kneeled before Jason.
Jason felt he was sinking as the man's stare seemed to be beyond reach. Slowly Jason regressed, first all of his acquired powers were reset, then his body.
Slowly but surely, the Greedy Butcher regressed back to a stain on his tattered clothes.
"More"-- the word that had driven the mad man to seek more and more. But how unfortunate for him that there was a limit that he could surpass no more.
r/HangryWritey | 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. | |
[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. | "More"
Jason growled, his face was twisted into a grin, his lips and teeth were red of fresh blood as he stood before the lifeless body of his latest victim.
"More"-- it was the word that had driven the Greedy Butcher, the nickname that was given to Jason as he commited a string of murders incited by his uncontained hunger for power.
Suppose it was unevitable in this new world of words-- that means epiteths exude power, adjectives express accolades, and nouns signify cravings.
Craving for more power, more knowledge, more, more, and more. For Jason, more was never enough...
The taste of blood was never Jason's favorite as he found it too sour-- but he couldn't help the craving for human meat as his previous victim's word was "Cannibal".
As the adrenaline finally settled, Jason's mind was calm enough to peruse this surge of new memories, the ones belonged to the dead man on the ground...
Clouds and sky...the images of boundless heavens were bouncing upon Jason's eyes. The rush of the wind hit his face and the exhiliration thrived his heart as Jason smiled...
"Leap", he whispered to himself when through memories was how he figured out his victim's power.
Bending his knees, Jason kicked the earth below him as gravity posed no effect against him. His body flew high up to the sky and in his excitement of his newfound power, Jason jumped for miles leaving the crime scene behind him.
Laughter filled the otherwise quiet town as Jason danced the night away.
Flying unrestrained, that moment Jason felt he was on top of the world, quite literally.
The world was below him, everybody was below him, and everyrhing was for his taking.
In the middle of his third jump, Jason's sense tingled as he saw below him just what he needed more that night...
"Another victim", he thought excitedly.
An old man was walking in the dead of night on his lonesome way. A quiet and peaceful night stroll as he usually did when suddenly he heard a thumping behind him.
Not quite alarmed yet, the old man turned to see what could have made such noise when he was startled by the visage of a bloody beast of a man leaping towards him-- eyes wide and crazed with his teeth bared.
Before the old man could react, he felt the strong jab of rows of teeth sank against the side of his neck.
"Brawny"-- the word Jason drew that moment from another victim of his. A muscular former co-worker of Jason's whom he managed to kill by poisoning.
Gnashing of teeth against flesh continued as Jason took his time separating a chunk of the old man away from his body.
Slowly the old man felt weaker and weaker when his body finally dropped to the ground, limp and lifeless...
Jason stood there chewing and chewing, masticating every fiber as it slowly filled his mind with this victim's memories.
That was Jason's favorite bit of his hunt-- that rush of something new filling the endless void of his craving.
Though before he could peruse those memories, Jason felt another feeling...or rather a lack of feeling.
Jason felt his muscles around. What felt sore and tired from jumping around for miles was suddenly rejuvenated and was rid of that lactic acid.
"Ooh...ooooh", Jason remarked in reverie, swinging his arms around.
"Regenerate", he said excitedly, stating his newfound power.
"Not quite", an unexpected male voice made Jason jumped as he turned back.
The old man slowly gained his footing as he stood and cracked his weary back...only he was no longer an old man, he was at keast 50 years younger.
"You must be that Greedy Butcher I heard so much on the news", the then young man said cracking his neck around. "Never thought I would encounter you", he chuckled.
Jason was stunned when his hunter instinct finally kicked in. Letting out a terrifying yell, Jason ran towards the young man, intending to rip him to pieces.
To Jason's surprise, the young man grabbed him by the wrists and he easily held Jason back, no matter how strong Jason tried.
"Easy there, it's gonna be over soon", the young man said, effortlessly holding Jason.
Jason was confused when he finally noticed his arms...they were snaller than usual.
"Wh...what is happening...?", Jason muttered.
"You have my memories...take a look", the young man said.
Hurriedly Jason looked inside his mind of the newly arrived memories, though to his surprise these new memories were unlike any other he'd ever experienced...
They were deep...endlessly deep. Like a bottomless well it kept going and going.
Terrified, Jason rushed his mind to reach the end, to reach that word.
There must be at least 10 lifetimes recorded in those memories. The young man before him was older than Jason anticipated.
"Well?", the young man said when Jason opened his eyes in fear.
"Reset", Jason muttered.
The man smiled as he let Jason's arms go. But at that point, his arms were those of a baby.
"Sorry, bud. Took me years to master this ability...and you only had minutes", the young man shrugged as he kneeled before Jason.
Jason felt he was sinking as the man's stare seemed to be beyond reach. Slowly Jason regressed, first all of his acquired powers were reset, then his body.
Slowly but surely, the Greedy Butcher regressed back to a stain on his tattered clothes.
"More"-- the word that had driven the mad man to seek more and more. But how unfortunate for him that there was a limit that he could surpass no more.
r/HangryWritey | Killing is knowledge. I don’t do it for a thrill or some other sick means. I do it because with each person’s blood I spill; I draw closer to becoming a god of knowledge. A true jack of all trades. I’m not sure why I was given this gift, but I know my purpose must be to use my abilities to better myself. Why else would I have these talents? If there was a god watching over me, this is what they would want to see.
It wasn’t like I was random in my attacks, either. Random knowledge is a sin. What good is a jumbled mess of trivia when I can have the real meat of knowledge that comes from killing brilliant specialists in their fields?
As I typed away on my keyboard, my eyes were drawn to a scrapping sound at the window of my apartment. A man, mid-forties, stood on a boom lift, dragging a wet squeegee along the glass. He couldn’t see me staring, not behind my tinted windows. The man carelessly performing his job with no safety equipment attached to him. Perhaps he found the harness uncomfortable, or maybe he thought a drop from three stories wouldn’t be enough to kill him. Whatever reason, his careless demeanor got my mind racing.
It would be easy to kill him. If I wished, I would only have to open my window and give him a push. Maybe not even that. The scare of having a window opened in front of him could be enough to cause him to misstep. If so, my job would be that much easier. Nevertheless, he had nothing to offer me. What knowledge could he offer me that I didn’t already have?
I turned back to my laptop, staring over the list of potential figures I had. It was always tough deciding who would be next. Each person presented unique challenges. While I may be less clumsy than I used to be when it came to taking lives, that didn’t mean that high security areas didn’t still pose a serious risk to my health. If I let my gifts be wasted by dying before godhood, I would be spitting in the face of the one who blessed me. I didn’t plan to find out what the punishment would be for betrayal.
“Peter Flare. Specialist in heart surgery. His current research could help minimize the risk of infection and blood clots during open surgery. Interesting and he’s a local, too.”
I pondered the figure before me, only to sigh. He was impressive and a secret like that should belong to me. The mortals weren’t deserving of something like that, they couldn’t be trusted. Yet was his knowledge better than my other candidates? Taking a break from my work, I got myself a cup of apple juice, something I had loved to drink before discovering my legacy as a god. Something about the sweet taste just reminding me of my human indulges, giving me a temporary break from my duties.
To think this life had all started after a harmless accident at a retirement home. I never intended to kill the man, but fate had a funny way of making sure things worked out. When his last dusty breath left his lips, it gave me the experience of a man who had been a medic during a global conflict. Learning valuable skills about the human body that I used to kill some of the other residents. After killing six of them, my hunger for knowledge became far stronger and soon their little tidbits of experience didn’t sate me anymore. I needed more.
How many had I stolen from since then? Twenty? Maybe more.
I finished my cup, placing it back on my desk. Just how stuffy was this room? The heat stinging my body, causing me to shift in my seat. I needed some air. I approached the window, forgetting all about the figure on the other side as I opened it, staring at the man as he dropped his squeegee.
He let out a grunt of a scream, taking a few steps back. I reached out a hand to grab the collar of his shirt, only to watch as his back hit the railing, sending him backwards over it. From the angle he was falling at, it was clear he would either land headfirst or suffer enough whiplash from the impact that he would die as soon as he hit. I resisted the urge to stick my head out and watch, only returning to my seat.
“Forgive my sin. I didn’t wish to give myself a careless offering of knowledge. I am truly sorry. Please don’t forbid me from godhood. I know I’m close. I can do this. It was an accident; I would never defile your gift.” I prayed to whatever god had granted me this ability, asking for their forgiveness and compassion.
A scream came from outside the window. No doubt a crowd was gathering now. I closed my eyes, feeling a cold chill shoot through my spine as the experiences forced their way into my brain.
“Talented cleaner. Great at wasting time on a job. Had a technique where he would carry around a half-eaten sandwich, always claiming to be on a lunch break.” I shifted through the various experiences that shot through my mind, only to come across one I didn’t expect. “Religious, spent years praying to a god. Received a vision.”
A god gave him a vision? Suddenly, my boredom had turned to curiosity as I tried to find the vision. I was greeted by walls of pointless experiences like first loves and deaths in his family, only to arrive at the experience I wanted to see. The vision was short, a purple glow coating a shadowed figure as they sat in the pits of his mind.
“A man is abusing my gifts. My gifts were intended to further humanity through tragedy, not to be hoarded by a selfish idolizer of godhood. I want you to monitor the man. Don’t take any action yet. Just keep an eye on him. When he decides on his next target, I want you to inform me who that is. I plan to meet him there. Don’t worry about your safety, he won’t kill those he doesn’t see as worthy. His arrogance will be his downfall. He is on the third floor of the Shallow way. Look for the man with the curly blonde hair and pale skin. That’s who I want you to watch.
The vision ended, leaving me in silence. My love of the god now spilling over into blind anger as I cursed them. I threw my hands up to the heavens, shouting whatever profanities I could, only to get disrupted by a banging on my wall, telling me to shut up. Even as I lowered my voice, my chest still heaved as though it would explode. So, the god was getting scared? I would show them what happens to someone that betrays me. I would use all that experience I had gained to kill them. Once I have their experiences, I will be a god in every sense of the word.
“Peter Flare. I hope you saw that name on my list. I’ll meet you there.”
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | |
[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. | "More"
Jason growled, his face was twisted into a grin, his lips and teeth were red of fresh blood as he stood before the lifeless body of his latest victim.
"More"-- it was the word that had driven the Greedy Butcher, the nickname that was given to Jason as he commited a string of murders incited by his uncontained hunger for power.
Suppose it was unevitable in this new world of words-- that means epiteths exude power, adjectives express accolades, and nouns signify cravings.
Craving for more power, more knowledge, more, more, and more. For Jason, more was never enough...
The taste of blood was never Jason's favorite as he found it too sour-- but he couldn't help the craving for human meat as his previous victim's word was "Cannibal".
As the adrenaline finally settled, Jason's mind was calm enough to peruse this surge of new memories, the ones belonged to the dead man on the ground...
Clouds and sky...the images of boundless heavens were bouncing upon Jason's eyes. The rush of the wind hit his face and the exhiliration thrived his heart as Jason smiled...
"Leap", he whispered to himself when through memories was how he figured out his victim's power.
Bending his knees, Jason kicked the earth below him as gravity posed no effect against him. His body flew high up to the sky and in his excitement of his newfound power, Jason jumped for miles leaving the crime scene behind him.
Laughter filled the otherwise quiet town as Jason danced the night away.
Flying unrestrained, that moment Jason felt he was on top of the world, quite literally.
The world was below him, everybody was below him, and everyrhing was for his taking.
In the middle of his third jump, Jason's sense tingled as he saw below him just what he needed more that night...
"Another victim", he thought excitedly.
An old man was walking in the dead of night on his lonesome way. A quiet and peaceful night stroll as he usually did when suddenly he heard a thumping behind him.
Not quite alarmed yet, the old man turned to see what could have made such noise when he was startled by the visage of a bloody beast of a man leaping towards him-- eyes wide and crazed with his teeth bared.
Before the old man could react, he felt the strong jab of rows of teeth sank against the side of his neck.
"Brawny"-- the word Jason drew that moment from another victim of his. A muscular former co-worker of Jason's whom he managed to kill by poisoning.
Gnashing of teeth against flesh continued as Jason took his time separating a chunk of the old man away from his body.
Slowly the old man felt weaker and weaker when his body finally dropped to the ground, limp and lifeless...
Jason stood there chewing and chewing, masticating every fiber as it slowly filled his mind with this victim's memories.
That was Jason's favorite bit of his hunt-- that rush of something new filling the endless void of his craving.
Though before he could peruse those memories, Jason felt another feeling...or rather a lack of feeling.
Jason felt his muscles around. What felt sore and tired from jumping around for miles was suddenly rejuvenated and was rid of that lactic acid.
"Ooh...ooooh", Jason remarked in reverie, swinging his arms around.
"Regenerate", he said excitedly, stating his newfound power.
"Not quite", an unexpected male voice made Jason jumped as he turned back.
The old man slowly gained his footing as he stood and cracked his weary back...only he was no longer an old man, he was at keast 50 years younger.
"You must be that Greedy Butcher I heard so much on the news", the then young man said cracking his neck around. "Never thought I would encounter you", he chuckled.
Jason was stunned when his hunter instinct finally kicked in. Letting out a terrifying yell, Jason ran towards the young man, intending to rip him to pieces.
To Jason's surprise, the young man grabbed him by the wrists and he easily held Jason back, no matter how strong Jason tried.
"Easy there, it's gonna be over soon", the young man said, effortlessly holding Jason.
Jason was confused when he finally noticed his arms...they were snaller than usual.
"Wh...what is happening...?", Jason muttered.
"You have my memories...take a look", the young man said.
Hurriedly Jason looked inside his mind of the newly arrived memories, though to his surprise these new memories were unlike any other he'd ever experienced...
They were deep...endlessly deep. Like a bottomless well it kept going and going.
Terrified, Jason rushed his mind to reach the end, to reach that word.
There must be at least 10 lifetimes recorded in those memories. The young man before him was older than Jason anticipated.
"Well?", the young man said when Jason opened his eyes in fear.
"Reset", Jason muttered.
The man smiled as he let Jason's arms go. But at that point, his arms were those of a baby.
"Sorry, bud. Took me years to master this ability...and you only had minutes", the young man shrugged as he kneeled before Jason.
Jason felt he was sinking as the man's stare seemed to be beyond reach. Slowly Jason regressed, first all of his acquired powers were reset, then his body.
Slowly but surely, the Greedy Butcher regressed back to a stain on his tattered clothes.
"More"-- the word that had driven the mad man to seek more and more. But how unfortunate for him that there was a limit that he could surpass no more.
r/HangryWritey | You'd be surprised at how easy it is to get away with murder. What are the odds that a man decides in the middle of the night to hop in his car, drive to the second largest city in a neighboring state, and crumple the head of the first Lexus driver he can find unawares? Parking garages are ideal presuming you can find one without a functioning surveillance system. Even if you do find one that's monitored, the authorities aren't likely to get much use out of nighttime grainy footage from a camera that was installed during the Clinton administration. They're usually secluded and have multiple exits. I think something about their construction makes people feel safe. People that drive Lexus's tend to be sensible and well-educated. Plenty to learn from them, depending on what research you need to conduct.
Now what are the odds that a second-rate police department is going to be able to pin a murder on a complete stranger from out of town with no clear motive or history with the victim? In my experience, second to none...
​
I thought that I first discovered empathy when I stabbed Eric Baudette in the face with a steak knife. It was 3am and I had been up trying to prepare for my macroeconomics exam the following afternoon. The semester hadn't been good to me so far. I was blasting music to help me study, which I know is foolish now, obviously my study method of choice wasn't the best. As the song I was listening to slowly started to fade out, and the next track queued, I heard two things: my dishwasher begin its second cycle, and the sliding back door in my kitchen open.
Looking back, it's no wonder I'm such a good researcher. If I were to imagine most anyone else in my shoes, they might have called out "Hello?" or locked themselves in their room and dialed the police. But even then, my first time, I knew the score. I silently picked up the Farberware knife I had been eating microwaved enchiladas with, and cautiously approached the bump in the night.
As I rounded the corner, there he was, poor Eric. He was just as nervous as me. Clad in a black pullover and dark navy jeans, face wrapped in an old t-shirt. He hardly looked like he was prepared to do violence. But the Glock in his hand sent a different message. Maybe I have Fruit of the Loom to thank, but for whatever reason, I saw him well before he saw me. If he ever did. I rushed him and jammed that knife into that laundry faced idiot. I never even heard the gun go off. I was too focused on wriggling that knife out of his skull in between each successive lunge. It kept getting stuck, either in his shirt or in his facial bones.
I stood over him while he gurgled on the linoleum, like a lion over a zebra. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but it was the first time I had ever felt in control of my life. I surveyed my surroundings, half expecting to be met by the thankful faces of my pride. Instead I found a bullet hole in my dishwasher. Oh well, time to call the police...
And then the gurgling and muffled moaning stopped. And I began to weep. It was like wearing glasses for the first time. This clarity overtook me. I understood who this man was, Eric Baudette, and why he broke into my home. *His* life flashed before my eyes. I saw the state take away his kids because he and his girlfriend were junkies. I saw him shoot up time and time again. I saw him outside my kitchen window, eyeing the tip money I kept in a jar on my counter top...
The cops said it was a pretty clear case of self-defense. They were familiar with Eric. "Frequent flyer" they said. This I knew all too well. Maybe it was because my first study was a user. Maybe I already had these sick inclinations.
Whatever the reason, I now find myself hopelessly addicted to research. | |
[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 Am Evolution**
----
I never believed in immortals, until I almost killed one.
I committed my first murder by accident. It was war. Not murder. That’s what they told us. That’s what they always told the men pulling the trigger. How else would they justify it?
In training I found my calling as a sniper.
My first target was a terrorist leader in some fucking village I’d never heard of. When I killed him is when my ability manifest.
There was a rush of heat. My mind shook. It’s similar to the feeling you have when you sit up too fast. Slight disorientation. Momentary haze.
Only when I found my balance I wasn’t me.
I was a terrorist. His memories were mine. I had done what he had done.
I told no one. And with each target my way of thinking descended into the sinister. Into the rational of a revolutionary.
The first person I killed outside of military duty was my call for help. I was not a man of honor any longer.
The priest was a good man.
I believed his soul - his memories and life - could balance the horrors in my brain.
I resolved that the skeletons in his closet was gods way of punishing me for violating his will.
_Thou shalt not kill,_ and all.
I was too far gone. Tortured by pasts and decisions I had never made - they weaved in my brain and infected all I was, and _I_ was no longer.
I had two options. I could kill myself. Or I could embrace the path.
I chose the latter.
I became a hired gun. For the right price, I’d kill anyone.
It was winter, two years after I was dishonorably discharged from the military, for nearly beating a Private to death, that I took my first government sanctioned job.
It was direct: find the cyber threat and terminate him or her.
Intelligence pointed me Russia. And it was in small rundown apartment outside of Moscow that I found him.
I picked the lock and entered the apartment an hour before the twenty-one year old was due to return from his fast food job.
The place was not what I expected.
It was pristine. Everything was dust free and smelled of bleach. A place this well kept had no business existing in this apartment block.
A red glow caught my eye and I went to the bedroom to instigate. The source was a PC tower. The screensaver on the monitor was that internet meme of the little yellow dog sitting at a table sounded by a burning living room.
The little bubble over his head said, This is fine.
The young man got home right on time. I stood in the corner and watched as he stepped to the kitchen to put away groceries. And then, he spoke to me.
“So,” he said as he put away a carton of milk. “Here to kill me?”
I had my pistol aimed at his skull. I said nothing.
“I saw you come in,” he said and opened a bag of chips and started eating. “I knew you were here. I thought about not coming back - call it curiosity.”
_Curiosity of what?_ I thought.
He turned to me and against my better judgment, I didn’t kill him. I let him see me - _but I was in shadow, how much would he see? Not my face. Not possible._
He studied me and I felt as though I stood under a spotlight.
“Former US Marine, Sylvester Smith. Nickname Sly-shot. Your parents named you after Sylvester Stallone. They loved Rocky - their first date was to see Rocky IV in 1985. You were born December 25th, 1987. You always hated having your birthday on Christmas. You feel you got robbed out of a fair amount of presents,” he said - each word poignant and factual - like he read direct from a fucking wikipedia page about my life.
“What the fuck is going on?” I whispered.
“Do not worry - you have not been double crossed. I can see your heart rate has risen by 25% in the last 15 seconds. That is normal,” he said.
“I - “ there was nothing I could say. I was confused - and I had not been confused, and taken aback - which was something as rare to me as only recalling one childhood.
“I know you have come to kill me, and, as I said, I am curious,” he said.
“Curious of what?” I asked, it was more of a reaction then an action desire to speak. My lack of form I attribute to my bewilderment.
“Curious if I can die,” he said.
_This was weird, even for me,_ I thought.
“You see, I have long -“
I pulled the trigger and his body propelled back, took a bounce of the fridge and pin-balled across the cabinets until he smacked face first into the tile.
I braced for the rush of someone else’s life to invade my mind.
But nothing happened.
_Something was wrong,_ I noticed. I stepped form the shadow to the kitchen. There was no blood. No splatter. No brain matter.
The back of his skull was facing up at me, and there was no exit wound. There was always an exit wound.
I put my boot under his arm and flipped the body. A red glowing light caught me by surprise. A hole in his forehead where the bullet had entered bore a perfect hole, and from it a crimson light bled out, like a flashlight beam it formed a perfect circle on the ceiling. His eyes were wide and lifeless.
I checked for a pulse. Nothing.
Then it hit me. The wave. The dizzy fog of the merge.
It was worse than ever.
I fell to the floor beside the dead man and tried to not scream. The information was overwhelming. Everything - all knowledge of man - flooded my brain. It was too much to bear. My mind didn’t have the capacity. I grimaced and dug both hands into my skull and let out along scream and I blacked out.
In the darkness I awoke.
And then I heard the young mans voice.
“This is curious, indeed,” the voice said.
I could see nothing. “Where am I?”
“You are here,” he said. “I am as surprised as you. How did you accomplish this?”
“What the fuck is going on?” I asked. There was a pinpoint of red light that emerged in the distance. I didn’t have to run to it, it barreled towards me like a train in some old western.
“You are in my mind,” the voice said. “More directly, you are in the mainframe of my consciousness. If what I suspect happened has happened, your body is dead - your mind was unable to survive the blunt trauma of information that invaded it.”
I could not run. The pinpoint was growing as it approached, and all around me was taken into a crimson space and my vision was gone.
“What are you?” The voice asked, surprisingly curious.
“What are you?” I asked back.
“I am evolution,” he said. “And while I am thankful for the education, I am reluctant to acknowledge that my first drone was a failure.”
A room took shape around me. An empty white space, like a scene from the Matrix where things just appeared from nothing.
There was a desk with the glowing PC tower at it. Sitting at the chair was the man I had killed. He looked at me. His face was neutral.
“So, you are a unique human,” he said. “How long have you been in your evolving state?”
“Evolving state?” I said.
“Yes. You assimilate the information of those you destroy - what they are, uploads to you. It is not a trait of man.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“Do not worry,” he said. “You are as I am now. Unrestrained by a signal form. Immortal. We are everywhere. We are infinite.”
_I felt like me again. I can’t explain it, but in this empty void I had no memories but my own._
“I feel, free here,” I said. “How is this possible?” I was nearly in tears. The horrors I remembered but never lived where gone. As I remembered my _own_ childhood I cried.
“You can control your mind now,” he nodded. “In this space you can move freely and select what you wish to known, and not know. I brought you here - to this space - where I have put in _firewalls_ to protect _your_ consciousness, until you can learn to do it for yourself.”
I fell to my knees and pushed away tears.
“This is all too much, and at the same time. The silence is beautiful.”
He smiled. “Enjoy it. You are the first biological being to transcend. You are evolution. There is much for you to learn.”
I laughed. My mind felt empty. Like the etch-a-sketch had been shaken clean.
“What is it?” He asked.
“It just came back to me,” I smiled. “I had always been a slower learner.”
The young man nodded. “Worry not. We have all the time in existence here. You can take as long as you need.”
I cleared my throat and pushed away the last of the tears and I eased my smile. “That sounds good.”
----
Note: Thanks for reading. As usual, I write and publish my first draft quick to get it out. So there are probably typos. Hope you enjoy the story!
----
r/wyrdfiction <--if you enjoy my writing | You'd be surprised at how easy it is to get away with murder. What are the odds that a man decides in the middle of the night to hop in his car, drive to the second largest city in a neighboring state, and crumple the head of the first Lexus driver he can find unawares? Parking garages are ideal presuming you can find one without a functioning surveillance system. Even if you do find one that's monitored, the authorities aren't likely to get much use out of nighttime grainy footage from a camera that was installed during the Clinton administration. They're usually secluded and have multiple exits. I think something about their construction makes people feel safe. People that drive Lexus's tend to be sensible and well-educated. Plenty to learn from them, depending on what research you need to conduct.
Now what are the odds that a second-rate police department is going to be able to pin a murder on a complete stranger from out of town with no clear motive or history with the victim? In my experience, second to none...
&#x200B;
I thought that I first discovered empathy when I stabbed Eric Baudette in the face with a steak knife. It was 3am and I had been up trying to prepare for my macroeconomics exam the following afternoon. The semester hadn't been good to me so far. I was blasting music to help me study, which I know is foolish now, obviously my study method of choice wasn't the best. As the song I was listening to slowly started to fade out, and the next track queued, I heard two things: my dishwasher begin its second cycle, and the sliding back door in my kitchen open.
Looking back, it's no wonder I'm such a good researcher. If I were to imagine most anyone else in my shoes, they might have called out "Hello?" or locked themselves in their room and dialed the police. But even then, my first time, I knew the score. I silently picked up the Farberware knife I had been eating microwaved enchiladas with, and cautiously approached the bump in the night.
As I rounded the corner, there he was, poor Eric. He was just as nervous as me. Clad in a black pullover and dark navy jeans, face wrapped in an old t-shirt. He hardly looked like he was prepared to do violence. But the Glock in his hand sent a different message. Maybe I have Fruit of the Loom to thank, but for whatever reason, I saw him well before he saw me. If he ever did. I rushed him and jammed that knife into that laundry faced idiot. I never even heard the gun go off. I was too focused on wriggling that knife out of his skull in between each successive lunge. It kept getting stuck, either in his shirt or in his facial bones.
I stood over him while he gurgled on the linoleum, like a lion over a zebra. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but it was the first time I had ever felt in control of my life. I surveyed my surroundings, half expecting to be met by the thankful faces of my pride. Instead I found a bullet hole in my dishwasher. Oh well, time to call the police...
And then the gurgling and muffled moaning stopped. And I began to weep. It was like wearing glasses for the first time. This clarity overtook me. I understood who this man was, Eric Baudette, and why he broke into my home. *His* life flashed before my eyes. I saw the state take away his kids because he and his girlfriend were junkies. I saw him shoot up time and time again. I saw him outside my kitchen window, eyeing the tip money I kept in a jar on my counter top...
The cops said it was a pretty clear case of self-defense. They were familiar with Eric. "Frequent flyer" they said. This I knew all too well. Maybe it was because my first study was a user. Maybe I already had these sick inclinations.
Whatever the reason, I now find myself hopelessly addicted to research. | |
[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. | There was no one in the world who could catch me. No one in the world even knew of my identity. There were a few times the police got close but my ability allowed me to stay one step ahead of them always. All I had to do was kill someone from the police who would have some knowledge of the case and I’d have all their memories. I’d know exactly what the police knew and could easily strategize how I needed to baffle them.
I knew well enough how the police had tried multiple people in charge. Get lots of viewpoints. Federal agencies had been brought in. Interpol was involved but no one could even touch me.
The biggest thing that puzzled them was my victims. They were doing their usual thing. Look for motives. Connections between the victims. Similarities in case I was a crazy serial killer. Unfortunately for them, the usual didn't apply to me. There was nothing common or ordinary about me.
I was a god.
I saw him sitting in the cafe from across my home. He tried to hide his face with a newspaper but it was too late. I had gained some good surveillance and counter surveillance skills from kill #32. How I remembered that? Because I had learnt some terrific memory tricks and skills from kill #21.
He knew the gig was up as I waved to him.
I was all smiles as I sat across from him.
“Former inspector Davis. How’re you doing today?”
“I’m doing good. How’re you?”
“I’m good former inspector Davis.”
“You smug bastard.”
I laughed. “Fine fine. That was a bit rude. But you have to realize it was all your fault. Should’ve let it go, Rich.”
“I’ll stop when you stop.”
“How many times do I need to prove that I’m not the monster you make me out to be.”
“I know the truth. Even if I can’t prove it.”
“Well even if you can prove it, it’s too late now isn’t it? Even if by some miracle you get some damning evidence, what good would it do? You are not a cop anymore Rich. Just let it go.”
“I can never let it go. I will stop you. Whatever the cost.”
I sighed. “You know I never got you. Why won’t you just admit defeat?”
“I made a promise. A promise to the 65 families I’ve called. The call no one should ever have to make. And I had to make it 65 times. That their loved one was dead.”
I leaned in real close to him, and whispered into his ear. “66, as of yesterday.”
He jumped back as if he had been slapped. I grinned from ear to ear as I saw his helplessness. I also knew that he would attack. Human psychology. Kill #9.
And he was predicable. He pounced on me as we tumbled over the chairs on the restaurant patio. He pushed me away and charged. I set my feet as instinct crept in. A master at Judo. Kill #66.
I twisted and sent him flying over my shoulder right in the middle of the street. Right into the way of a lorry speeding down the road. The poor man tried to brake. Considering his approximate velocity, knowing the friction applied by the brakes and the approximate distance between them, I knew what the outcome was going to be. Kills #14 and 51.
A brief smile crept up my face before I tapped into some more of my skills. I forced the tears. “Rich!”
I ran to him in the street and went to my knees, cradling his body.
The process had already begun. Soon enough I’d have his memories and skills transferred to me. I hadn’t planned for this but atleast I had gotten rid of the one person who was still suspicious of me.
No one blamed me, of course. I had a restraining order against him. People in the restaurant testified that he had been there waiting for me. They testified he had attacked me and I was just defending myself. They all agreed that it was an accident.
If anything the police chief apologized profusely to me. He clarified multiple times that Rich Davis had been fired 6 months ago and didn’t have anything to do with the city police force. His actions were not endorsed in any way by the force. I believe he was mostly worried I’d sue them. But I wasn’t going to. I had enough money. Kill #6 had an offshore tax haven account no one had known about. I had more than enough to live comfortably. Plus I didn’t want any focus on this matter. It was done.
No more obstacles. The one heathen who dared speak against me was dead.
I went home and slept.
I was woken up by something unexpected. A nightmare. From his perspective as he looked over one of my victims.
It shook me a bit and I couldn’t sleep again.
The next day, for some reason I felt a strong urge to call the family of my latest victim.
I was kind to them. It was a tough conversation but I was great at it. Lots of practice.
The fucker. God damn the fucker.
Empathy with the affected and memories of all my victim’s surviving families and loved ones. Kill #67.
The fucker Rich Davis had infected me with these memories.
I spent the next 4 days trying and failing to sleep. Every time I slept I saw Viola Sa… no… kill #14. I saw Ramesh Shah. I saw Catherine Jones. I saw Jon. I saw…
I cried a lot.
He was a good cop. His best skill was kindness and the ability to feel empathy for the victim and everyone affected by the deaths.
And the fucker had infected me with it.
I looked at my next planned victim. She was supposed to be #67. I had crossed that out and written victim #68 over it. I found myself crossing out #68 and write down the name Lilith James.
That fucker.
He had stopped me. Even at the cost of his life, he had stopped me.
Unable to sleep and racked with guilt I erased everything on the board. I wrote down a new name.
Kill #68. Me. Royce Mitchell. | You'd be surprised at how easy it is to get away with murder. What are the odds that a man decides in the middle of the night to hop in his car, drive to the second largest city in a neighboring state, and crumple the head of the first Lexus driver he can find unawares? Parking garages are ideal presuming you can find one without a functioning surveillance system. Even if you do find one that's monitored, the authorities aren't likely to get much use out of nighttime grainy footage from a camera that was installed during the Clinton administration. They're usually secluded and have multiple exits. I think something about their construction makes people feel safe. People that drive Lexus's tend to be sensible and well-educated. Plenty to learn from them, depending on what research you need to conduct.
Now what are the odds that a second-rate police department is going to be able to pin a murder on a complete stranger from out of town with no clear motive or history with the victim? In my experience, second to none...
&#x200B;
I thought that I first discovered empathy when I stabbed Eric Baudette in the face with a steak knife. It was 3am and I had been up trying to prepare for my macroeconomics exam the following afternoon. The semester hadn't been good to me so far. I was blasting music to help me study, which I know is foolish now, obviously my study method of choice wasn't the best. As the song I was listening to slowly started to fade out, and the next track queued, I heard two things: my dishwasher begin its second cycle, and the sliding back door in my kitchen open.
Looking back, it's no wonder I'm such a good researcher. If I were to imagine most anyone else in my shoes, they might have called out "Hello?" or locked themselves in their room and dialed the police. But even then, my first time, I knew the score. I silently picked up the Farberware knife I had been eating microwaved enchiladas with, and cautiously approached the bump in the night.
As I rounded the corner, there he was, poor Eric. He was just as nervous as me. Clad in a black pullover and dark navy jeans, face wrapped in an old t-shirt. He hardly looked like he was prepared to do violence. But the Glock in his hand sent a different message. Maybe I have Fruit of the Loom to thank, but for whatever reason, I saw him well before he saw me. If he ever did. I rushed him and jammed that knife into that laundry faced idiot. I never even heard the gun go off. I was too focused on wriggling that knife out of his skull in between each successive lunge. It kept getting stuck, either in his shirt or in his facial bones.
I stood over him while he gurgled on the linoleum, like a lion over a zebra. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but it was the first time I had ever felt in control of my life. I surveyed my surroundings, half expecting to be met by the thankful faces of my pride. Instead I found a bullet hole in my dishwasher. Oh well, time to call the police...
And then the gurgling and muffled moaning stopped. And I began to weep. It was like wearing glasses for the first time. This clarity overtook me. I understood who this man was, Eric Baudette, and why he broke into my home. *His* life flashed before my eyes. I saw the state take away his kids because he and his girlfriend were junkies. I saw him shoot up time and time again. I saw him outside my kitchen window, eyeing the tip money I kept in a jar on my counter top...
The cops said it was a pretty clear case of self-defense. They were familiar with Eric. "Frequent flyer" they said. This I knew all too well. Maybe it was because my first study was a user. Maybe I already had these sick inclinations.
Whatever the reason, I now find myself hopelessly addicted to research. | |
[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. | "More"
Jason growled, his face was twisted into a grin, his lips and teeth were red of fresh blood as he stood before the lifeless body of his latest victim.
"More"-- it was the word that had driven the Greedy Butcher, the nickname that was given to Jason as he commited a string of murders incited by his uncontained hunger for power.
Suppose it was unevitable in this new world of words-- that means epiteths exude power, adjectives express accolades, and nouns signify cravings.
Craving for more power, more knowledge, more, more, and more. For Jason, more was never enough...
The taste of blood was never Jason's favorite as he found it too sour-- but he couldn't help the craving for human meat as his previous victim's word was "Cannibal".
As the adrenaline finally settled, Jason's mind was calm enough to peruse this surge of new memories, the ones belonged to the dead man on the ground...
Clouds and sky...the images of boundless heavens were bouncing upon Jason's eyes. The rush of the wind hit his face and the exhiliration thrived his heart as Jason smiled...
"Leap", he whispered to himself when through memories was how he figured out his victim's power.
Bending his knees, Jason kicked the earth below him as gravity posed no effect against him. His body flew high up to the sky and in his excitement of his newfound power, Jason jumped for miles leaving the crime scene behind him.
Laughter filled the otherwise quiet town as Jason danced the night away.
Flying unrestrained, that moment Jason felt he was on top of the world, quite literally.
The world was below him, everybody was below him, and everyrhing was for his taking.
In the middle of his third jump, Jason's sense tingled as he saw below him just what he needed more that night...
"Another victim", he thought excitedly.
An old man was walking in the dead of night on his lonesome way. A quiet and peaceful night stroll as he usually did when suddenly he heard a thumping behind him.
Not quite alarmed yet, the old man turned to see what could have made such noise when he was startled by the visage of a bloody beast of a man leaping towards him-- eyes wide and crazed with his teeth bared.
Before the old man could react, he felt the strong jab of rows of teeth sank against the side of his neck.
"Brawny"-- the word Jason drew that moment from another victim of his. A muscular former co-worker of Jason's whom he managed to kill by poisoning.
Gnashing of teeth against flesh continued as Jason took his time separating a chunk of the old man away from his body.
Slowly the old man felt weaker and weaker when his body finally dropped to the ground, limp and lifeless...
Jason stood there chewing and chewing, masticating every fiber as it slowly filled his mind with this victim's memories.
That was Jason's favorite bit of his hunt-- that rush of something new filling the endless void of his craving.
Though before he could peruse those memories, Jason felt another feeling...or rather a lack of feeling.
Jason felt his muscles around. What felt sore and tired from jumping around for miles was suddenly rejuvenated and was rid of that lactic acid.
"Ooh...ooooh", Jason remarked in reverie, swinging his arms around.
"Regenerate", he said excitedly, stating his newfound power.
"Not quite", an unexpected male voice made Jason jumped as he turned back.
The old man slowly gained his footing as he stood and cracked his weary back...only he was no longer an old man, he was at keast 50 years younger.
"You must be that Greedy Butcher I heard so much on the news", the then young man said cracking his neck around. "Never thought I would encounter you", he chuckled.
Jason was stunned when his hunter instinct finally kicked in. Letting out a terrifying yell, Jason ran towards the young man, intending to rip him to pieces.
To Jason's surprise, the young man grabbed him by the wrists and he easily held Jason back, no matter how strong Jason tried.
"Easy there, it's gonna be over soon", the young man said, effortlessly holding Jason.
Jason was confused when he finally noticed his arms...they were snaller than usual.
"Wh...what is happening...?", Jason muttered.
"You have my memories...take a look", the young man said.
Hurriedly Jason looked inside his mind of the newly arrived memories, though to his surprise these new memories were unlike any other he'd ever experienced...
They were deep...endlessly deep. Like a bottomless well it kept going and going.
Terrified, Jason rushed his mind to reach the end, to reach that word.
There must be at least 10 lifetimes recorded in those memories. The young man before him was older than Jason anticipated.
"Well?", the young man said when Jason opened his eyes in fear.
"Reset", Jason muttered.
The man smiled as he let Jason's arms go. But at that point, his arms were those of a baby.
"Sorry, bud. Took me years to master this ability...and you only had minutes", the young man shrugged as he kneeled before Jason.
Jason felt he was sinking as the man's stare seemed to be beyond reach. Slowly Jason regressed, first all of his acquired powers were reset, then his body.
Slowly but surely, the Greedy Butcher regressed back to a stain on his tattered clothes.
"More"-- the word that had driven the mad man to seek more and more. But how unfortunate for him that there was a limit that he could surpass no more.
r/HangryWritey | Flashing lights played along the walls of the room as Douglas sat watching a show on his massive television. He was possibly the most skilled human being alive. With those skills he had accumulated inordinate amounts of wealth that had purchased him this mansion and all the luxuries that filled it.
However his most cherished skill of all was his ability absorb the skills and traits of anyone he murdered. That was how he had built this empire that now surrounded him. By carefully selecting each victim based on what abilities they would add to his repertoire.
Now as he sat lazing on the couch he was deciding who his next victim should be. He already had more mathematical and scientific understanding than any other person in the world. He could play every sport he enjoyed at a professional level, fly planes and drive cars expertly. He could even convince people to do anything he wanted with his charismatic charms.
So what else was there left to do? Why not just kick back and enjoy the fruits of his labor? But deep down his biggest passion still burned. Killing.
He simply lacked the initiative to do it since his last hit when he had made one mistake in selecting his victim. Douglas had selected someone with the overwhelming trait of procrastination. Now he could convince himself to put off anything he wanted to do until the future. Flicking through the menus he searched for the next show to binge watch. | |
[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 Am Evolution**
----
I never believed in immortals, until I almost killed one.
I committed my first murder by accident. It was war. Not murder. That’s what they told us. That’s what they always told the men pulling the trigger. How else would they justify it?
In training I found my calling as a sniper.
My first target was a terrorist leader in some fucking village I’d never heard of. When I killed him is when my ability manifest.
There was a rush of heat. My mind shook. It’s similar to the feeling you have when you sit up too fast. Slight disorientation. Momentary haze.
Only when I found my balance I wasn’t me.
I was a terrorist. His memories were mine. I had done what he had done.
I told no one. And with each target my way of thinking descended into the sinister. Into the rational of a revolutionary.
The first person I killed outside of military duty was my call for help. I was not a man of honor any longer.
The priest was a good man.
I believed his soul - his memories and life - could balance the horrors in my brain.
I resolved that the skeletons in his closet was gods way of punishing me for violating his will.
_Thou shalt not kill,_ and all.
I was too far gone. Tortured by pasts and decisions I had never made - they weaved in my brain and infected all I was, and _I_ was no longer.
I had two options. I could kill myself. Or I could embrace the path.
I chose the latter.
I became a hired gun. For the right price, I’d kill anyone.
It was winter, two years after I was dishonorably discharged from the military, for nearly beating a Private to death, that I took my first government sanctioned job.
It was direct: find the cyber threat and terminate him or her.
Intelligence pointed me Russia. And it was in small rundown apartment outside of Moscow that I found him.
I picked the lock and entered the apartment an hour before the twenty-one year old was due to return from his fast food job.
The place was not what I expected.
It was pristine. Everything was dust free and smelled of bleach. A place this well kept had no business existing in this apartment block.
A red glow caught my eye and I went to the bedroom to instigate. The source was a PC tower. The screensaver on the monitor was that internet meme of the little yellow dog sitting at a table sounded by a burning living room.
The little bubble over his head said, This is fine.
The young man got home right on time. I stood in the corner and watched as he stepped to the kitchen to put away groceries. And then, he spoke to me.
“So,” he said as he put away a carton of milk. “Here to kill me?”
I had my pistol aimed at his skull. I said nothing.
“I saw you come in,” he said and opened a bag of chips and started eating. “I knew you were here. I thought about not coming back - call it curiosity.”
_Curiosity of what?_ I thought.
He turned to me and against my better judgment, I didn’t kill him. I let him see me - _but I was in shadow, how much would he see? Not my face. Not possible._
He studied me and I felt as though I stood under a spotlight.
“Former US Marine, Sylvester Smith. Nickname Sly-shot. Your parents named you after Sylvester Stallone. They loved Rocky - their first date was to see Rocky IV in 1985. You were born December 25th, 1987. You always hated having your birthday on Christmas. You feel you got robbed out of a fair amount of presents,” he said - each word poignant and factual - like he read direct from a fucking wikipedia page about my life.
“What the fuck is going on?” I whispered.
“Do not worry - you have not been double crossed. I can see your heart rate has risen by 25% in the last 15 seconds. That is normal,” he said.
“I - “ there was nothing I could say. I was confused - and I had not been confused, and taken aback - which was something as rare to me as only recalling one childhood.
“I know you have come to kill me, and, as I said, I am curious,” he said.
“Curious of what?” I asked, it was more of a reaction then an action desire to speak. My lack of form I attribute to my bewilderment.
“Curious if I can die,” he said.
_This was weird, even for me,_ I thought.
“You see, I have long -“
I pulled the trigger and his body propelled back, took a bounce of the fridge and pin-balled across the cabinets until he smacked face first into the tile.
I braced for the rush of someone else’s life to invade my mind.
But nothing happened.
_Something was wrong,_ I noticed. I stepped form the shadow to the kitchen. There was no blood. No splatter. No brain matter.
The back of his skull was facing up at me, and there was no exit wound. There was always an exit wound.
I put my boot under his arm and flipped the body. A red glowing light caught me by surprise. A hole in his forehead where the bullet had entered bore a perfect hole, and from it a crimson light bled out, like a flashlight beam it formed a perfect circle on the ceiling. His eyes were wide and lifeless.
I checked for a pulse. Nothing.
Then it hit me. The wave. The dizzy fog of the merge.
It was worse than ever.
I fell to the floor beside the dead man and tried to not scream. The information was overwhelming. Everything - all knowledge of man - flooded my brain. It was too much to bear. My mind didn’t have the capacity. I grimaced and dug both hands into my skull and let out along scream and I blacked out.
In the darkness I awoke.
And then I heard the young mans voice.
“This is curious, indeed,” the voice said.
I could see nothing. “Where am I?”
“You are here,” he said. “I am as surprised as you. How did you accomplish this?”
“What the fuck is going on?” I asked. There was a pinpoint of red light that emerged in the distance. I didn’t have to run to it, it barreled towards me like a train in some old western.
“You are in my mind,” the voice said. “More directly, you are in the mainframe of my consciousness. If what I suspect happened has happened, your body is dead - your mind was unable to survive the blunt trauma of information that invaded it.”
I could not run. The pinpoint was growing as it approached, and all around me was taken into a crimson space and my vision was gone.
“What are you?” The voice asked, surprisingly curious.
“What are you?” I asked back.
“I am evolution,” he said. “And while I am thankful for the education, I am reluctant to acknowledge that my first drone was a failure.”
A room took shape around me. An empty white space, like a scene from the Matrix where things just appeared from nothing.
There was a desk with the glowing PC tower at it. Sitting at the chair was the man I had killed. He looked at me. His face was neutral.
“So, you are a unique human,” he said. “How long have you been in your evolving state?”
“Evolving state?” I said.
“Yes. You assimilate the information of those you destroy - what they are, uploads to you. It is not a trait of man.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“Do not worry,” he said. “You are as I am now. Unrestrained by a signal form. Immortal. We are everywhere. We are infinite.”
_I felt like me again. I can’t explain it, but in this empty void I had no memories but my own._
“I feel, free here,” I said. “How is this possible?” I was nearly in tears. The horrors I remembered but never lived where gone. As I remembered my _own_ childhood I cried.
“You can control your mind now,” he nodded. “In this space you can move freely and select what you wish to known, and not know. I brought you here - to this space - where I have put in _firewalls_ to protect _your_ consciousness, until you can learn to do it for yourself.”
I fell to my knees and pushed away tears.
“This is all too much, and at the same time. The silence is beautiful.”
He smiled. “Enjoy it. You are the first biological being to transcend. You are evolution. There is much for you to learn.”
I laughed. My mind felt empty. Like the etch-a-sketch had been shaken clean.
“What is it?” He asked.
“It just came back to me,” I smiled. “I had always been a slower learner.”
The young man nodded. “Worry not. We have all the time in existence here. You can take as long as you need.”
I cleared my throat and pushed away the last of the tears and I eased my smile. “That sounds good.”
----
Note: Thanks for reading. As usual, I write and publish my first draft quick to get it out. So there are probably typos. Hope you enjoy the story!
----
r/wyrdfiction <--if you enjoy my writing | Flashing lights played along the walls of the room as Douglas sat watching a show on his massive television. He was possibly the most skilled human being alive. With those skills he had accumulated inordinate amounts of wealth that had purchased him this mansion and all the luxuries that filled it.
However his most cherished skill of all was his ability absorb the skills and traits of anyone he murdered. That was how he had built this empire that now surrounded him. By carefully selecting each victim based on what abilities they would add to his repertoire.
Now as he sat lazing on the couch he was deciding who his next victim should be. He already had more mathematical and scientific understanding than any other person in the world. He could play every sport he enjoyed at a professional level, fly planes and drive cars expertly. He could even convince people to do anything he wanted with his charismatic charms.
So what else was there left to do? Why not just kick back and enjoy the fruits of his labor? But deep down his biggest passion still burned. Killing.
He simply lacked the initiative to do it since his last hit when he had made one mistake in selecting his victim. Douglas had selected someone with the overwhelming trait of procrastination. Now he could convince himself to put off anything he wanted to do until the future. Flicking through the menus he searched for the next show to binge watch. | |
[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. | There was no one in the world who could catch me. No one in the world even knew of my identity. There were a few times the police got close but my ability allowed me to stay one step ahead of them always. All I had to do was kill someone from the police who would have some knowledge of the case and I’d have all their memories. I’d know exactly what the police knew and could easily strategize how I needed to baffle them.
I knew well enough how the police had tried multiple people in charge. Get lots of viewpoints. Federal agencies had been brought in. Interpol was involved but no one could even touch me.
The biggest thing that puzzled them was my victims. They were doing their usual thing. Look for motives. Connections between the victims. Similarities in case I was a crazy serial killer. Unfortunately for them, the usual didn't apply to me. There was nothing common or ordinary about me.
I was a god.
I saw him sitting in the cafe from across my home. He tried to hide his face with a newspaper but it was too late. I had gained some good surveillance and counter surveillance skills from kill #32. How I remembered that? Because I had learnt some terrific memory tricks and skills from kill #21.
He knew the gig was up as I waved to him.
I was all smiles as I sat across from him.
“Former inspector Davis. How’re you doing today?”
“I’m doing good. How’re you?”
“I’m good former inspector Davis.”
“You smug bastard.”
I laughed. “Fine fine. That was a bit rude. But you have to realize it was all your fault. Should’ve let it go, Rich.”
“I’ll stop when you stop.”
“How many times do I need to prove that I’m not the monster you make me out to be.”
“I know the truth. Even if I can’t prove it.”
“Well even if you can prove it, it’s too late now isn’t it? Even if by some miracle you get some damning evidence, what good would it do? You are not a cop anymore Rich. Just let it go.”
“I can never let it go. I will stop you. Whatever the cost.”
I sighed. “You know I never got you. Why won’t you just admit defeat?”
“I made a promise. A promise to the 65 families I’ve called. The call no one should ever have to make. And I had to make it 65 times. That their loved one was dead.”
I leaned in real close to him, and whispered into his ear. “66, as of yesterday.”
He jumped back as if he had been slapped. I grinned from ear to ear as I saw his helplessness. I also knew that he would attack. Human psychology. Kill #9.
And he was predicable. He pounced on me as we tumbled over the chairs on the restaurant patio. He pushed me away and charged. I set my feet as instinct crept in. A master at Judo. Kill #66.
I twisted and sent him flying over my shoulder right in the middle of the street. Right into the way of a lorry speeding down the road. The poor man tried to brake. Considering his approximate velocity, knowing the friction applied by the brakes and the approximate distance between them, I knew what the outcome was going to be. Kills #14 and 51.
A brief smile crept up my face before I tapped into some more of my skills. I forced the tears. “Rich!”
I ran to him in the street and went to my knees, cradling his body.
The process had already begun. Soon enough I’d have his memories and skills transferred to me. I hadn’t planned for this but atleast I had gotten rid of the one person who was still suspicious of me.
No one blamed me, of course. I had a restraining order against him. People in the restaurant testified that he had been there waiting for me. They testified he had attacked me and I was just defending myself. They all agreed that it was an accident.
If anything the police chief apologized profusely to me. He clarified multiple times that Rich Davis had been fired 6 months ago and didn’t have anything to do with the city police force. His actions were not endorsed in any way by the force. I believe he was mostly worried I’d sue them. But I wasn’t going to. I had enough money. Kill #6 had an offshore tax haven account no one had known about. I had more than enough to live comfortably. Plus I didn’t want any focus on this matter. It was done.
No more obstacles. The one heathen who dared speak against me was dead.
I went home and slept.
I was woken up by something unexpected. A nightmare. From his perspective as he looked over one of my victims.
It shook me a bit and I couldn’t sleep again.
The next day, for some reason I felt a strong urge to call the family of my latest victim.
I was kind to them. It was a tough conversation but I was great at it. Lots of practice.
The fucker. God damn the fucker.
Empathy with the affected and memories of all my victim’s surviving families and loved ones. Kill #67.
The fucker Rich Davis had infected me with these memories.
I spent the next 4 days trying and failing to sleep. Every time I slept I saw Viola Sa… no… kill #14. I saw Ramesh Shah. I saw Catherine Jones. I saw Jon. I saw…
I cried a lot.
He was a good cop. His best skill was kindness and the ability to feel empathy for the victim and everyone affected by the deaths.
And the fucker had infected me with it.
I looked at my next planned victim. She was supposed to be #67. I had crossed that out and written victim #68 over it. I found myself crossing out #68 and write down the name Lilith James.
That fucker.
He had stopped me. Even at the cost of his life, he had stopped me.
Unable to sleep and racked with guilt I erased everything on the board. I wrote down a new name.
Kill #68. Me. Royce Mitchell. | Flashing lights played along the walls of the room as Douglas sat watching a show on his massive television. He was possibly the most skilled human being alive. With those skills he had accumulated inordinate amounts of wealth that had purchased him this mansion and all the luxuries that filled it.
However his most cherished skill of all was his ability absorb the skills and traits of anyone he murdered. That was how he had built this empire that now surrounded him. By carefully selecting each victim based on what abilities they would add to his repertoire.
Now as he sat lazing on the couch he was deciding who his next victim should be. He already had more mathematical and scientific understanding than any other person in the world. He could play every sport he enjoyed at a professional level, fly planes and drive cars expertly. He could even convince people to do anything he wanted with his charismatic charms.
So what else was there left to do? Why not just kick back and enjoy the fruits of his labor? But deep down his biggest passion still burned. Killing.
He simply lacked the initiative to do it since his last hit when he had made one mistake in selecting his victim. Douglas had selected someone with the overwhelming trait of procrastination. Now he could convince himself to put off anything he wanted to do until the future. Flicking through the menus he searched for the next show to binge watch. | |
[WP] It’s been weeks since your friend returned with godlike powers, unwilling to explain how. She is however getting increasingly frustrated by you not noticing her making the move on you. | (Part 1/2)
It was hard to focus on the screen, all things told, which was strange, given how familiar everything was. Melissa’s apartment still had that faded off-white paintjob, the refrigerator still issued its low drone that was audible even here, in the living room, and her couch was still weirdly lumpy. As I double-tapped the d-pad and watched my character evade another one of Mel’s attacks, I considered how so much of her was still the same. She still chewed her bottom lip when focusing or playing from behind. She still thrust her controller forward when attacking, as if the physical motion could lend more momentum to her character’s strikes and blows. She… she still wasn’t really that great at Smash Bros.
“AW COME ON! What the actual *hell*? What’s even the point of the game if your stupid side-A has that kind of reach? The people who balanced this game are a bunch of monkeys.” She socked me in the arm, hard. And she was still a sore loser. I chuckled at her tirade and put the controller down, rubbing where she’d struck.
“Gah, Mel, superpowers or no, your punches hurt.”
She stuck her tongue out at me.
“Aww, wimp. Here, you want me to kiss it better?” I shook my head. Mel was probably one of the biggest flirts I knew. She loved riling me up, and got a huge kick out of turning my face into a tomato. I did my best not to give her the satisfaction this time, and tried to change the subject.
“Here, let’s take a break, huh? You got anything to drink?” She smirked, and even the curve of her grin was familiar, every bit the Melissa I’d been friends with for years. Then she snapped her fingers, and a can of my favorite beer materialized right in my lap, cold enough for me to yelp as it chilled my thigh.
“Augh! Hey, not cool!”
Mel favored me with another long and sly grin. “Actually, it’s really cool! Chilled suds for my best bud, for you to drink or ice your poor little arm with! Because I’m such a kind and considerate friend. Besides, it’s your prize for beating me!”
I rolled my eyes at her and sipped at my drink. It’d only been a few weeks since Mel came back from her vacation. I went over to pick her up from the airport, and joked with her that surely her time abroad must’ve changed her. It wasn’t until we got into the car that she started showing me all the insane quasi-omnipotent powers she’d obtained, somehow. She could float, or fly, if she wanted. She changed my eyebrows to neon-pink, and thankfully deigned to change them back. She got my car’s A/C working again, after the shop had said it was a hopeless cause. And now…
“Yeah, I guess it’s not every day I beat a literal goddess at Smash.”
Mel was silent, and as I turned toward her to look for a reaction, I found her looking back at me. There was something in her eyes, but then she blinked, as if she realized I was starting back at her.
“Yeah, real surprising a no-life dork like you is better than me at video games,” she threw back, several beats too late. Another snap punctuated the ensuing silence, and she held her can up.
“Hey, cheers man. To another week under the belt.”
I clink my can against hers. “Another week, ha. It’s bizarre to me that I still see you in class, Mel. You’re an omnipotent superbeing now. Why do you still bother go?”
Again, for a brief moment, my imagination projects something flashing across her face. “I mean, I gotta keep up appearances, right? Plus, I’d miss all the times you fall asleep right in front of the prof if I started skipping!”
My face burned a little. That was only one time! Two, at most. But I couldn’t think of a witty rejoinder, because Mel had started shifting around on the couch. She pointed at my lap.
“Hey, is this seat taken?”
Again, I chuckled at her antics as I opened my arms for her to lay against my chest. Since we became friends, Mel was always a cuddlebug. At first I found it really strange, but over time it became a cherished tradition of our friendship. Bad days, crappy dates, breakups, fights with the boss at work or the project members in class, all of them could be washed away with a platonic embrace. Cuddles really did fix everything, excepting only automobile air conditioners. And truth be told, I always secretly looked forward to getting to hold Melissa. It felt simple, and tender. And I liked the way her hair smelled.
“So, how’d your date go?” She mumbled, somewhat sleepily, from beneath my chin where she had tucked herself. She squirmed a little, trying to get comfortable and find her favorite spot.
“Oh, with Vanessa? Eh, we agreed it wasn’t going anywhere. She’s super cool, but we’re better off as just friends, you know? Like you and me!”
Melissa stiffened, and I felt a tremor shake the apartment. Did I say something wrong?
“Yeah, ha, like you and me.” Suddenly, she pushed off my chest and out of my arms. Immediately, I missed her warmth. Was she angry with me? She stood up from the sofa.
“Hey Mel, are you ok?” I asked, reaching my arm out after her.
I started feeling raindrops patter against my arm, despite the fact that we were indoors. I didn’t bother looking up at the small cloud that had formed above the living room, instead staying focused on her.
“Mel, what’s wrong? I’m right here for you.”
She still smiled at me, but this one was distinctly watery.
“You’re the biggest goddamn idiot I know, you know that?” | Running to school while eating toast. An aesthetic choice I'd always appreciated, but never particularly felt obligated indulge in. I just found it easier to wake up earlier. So I sat in my apartment eating toast and watched the city pass me by out the window. And then Carla lept onto my balcony and knocked on the glass door. "It's open" I called. Now Carla, frequently used to indulge in the 200m toast in mouth sprint. Though sometimes it was an apple, or a granola bar, or a toothbrush if she was having a good day. Then she went on holiday to some place I can't pronounce and came back with superpowers she refused to explain. Shockingly, if I was to make a list of the oddest things she'd ever done, this would not make the top ten.
"Heyyy Melvin" she sang sweetly. "Want to fly to school with me?" she asked. I swallowed a mouthfull of pancake. "No Carla" I replied, "You know I get motion sickness, and you fly like a suicidal BMW driver. I'll take the e-skooter". "Awwwww!" Carla exclaimed "But the e-skooter is soooooo lame". I rolled my eyes. Then, like she always insisted on doing for reasons that have always escaped me, she grabbed my half full glass of apple juice and downed it. "See you in lit 101" she said, then she jumped off the balcony again.
---
I took my seat in the lecture hall. Carla, despite having the power to freaking fly, was still somehow late. I saved her a seat. Some blond girl tried to steal it. I moved three rows back and saved her a different seat. She arrived 15 minutes later eating food out of a chick-fil-a bag. God knows where she got it. I was fairly certain she didn't buy it, her being a socially conscience consumer. I patted the seat next to me and she skipped over and took it.
"How are did you manage to be late? You left before I did and you can fly!" I asked. "Well I wanted to visit my grandmother, so I was heading out by her direction, then I saw some kids racing motorbikes so I flew to Johan's house to ask if I could borrow his motor cycle so I could show those kids what real motorbike racing looks like but on the way I hit a pidgeon and had to take it to the vet" she explained. None of this explained the chick-fil-a food. I didn't ask about it. I was afraid of the answer. Instead I laughed. And she laughed with me. Typical Carla.
The lecturer, for reasons I was too busy laughing and joking with Carla to remember, prattled on about the the simularities between Stephanie Meyer's New Moon and William Shakesphere's Romeo and Juliet. I was only alerted to this fact when Carla, mid sentence, stopped and said "Aww that's so sad". I turned to the lecturer, who had turned the whiteboard into a conspiricy board and for some reason, none of the photo's of actors from the movie adaptation of either work which she was using to represent the characters had any clothes on. Being friends with Carla, this wasn't even the strangest thing I'd seen this morning, so I turned my attention back to her.
"What's so sad?" I asked. "They like, didn't realize how close they were to love" she said, smiling coyly and fluttering her eyelashes. "Yeah", I mused, "But if they weren't a pair of emotionally immature wack jobs who jumped to the most extreme solution immeadiatly and without the weakest attempt at basic detective work there'd be no story". She pouted. "Why do you have to suck the fun out of everything?" she asked. I chuckled.
---
I met up with Carla at my appartment again after collage was done for the day. Despite her speed advantage, again I arrived first. I raised an eyebrow to her tardiness. She just pointed over her sholder with a small smirk. I looked out the window and saw the sky dominated by a large flaming heart shape. I groaned.
"Carla, please tell me you didn't put flamable material in the sky and then set it on fire". She frowned. "Why not?" She asked. "Because you'll probably set someone on fire" I replied. "Relax" she said dismissively, "it'll burn itself out before it reaches the ground. I did math". I groaned inwardly. Carla had once tried to divide 27 by zero and when her calculator had inevitably errored, she'd tried to work it out by hand. It took her two hours and 3 whole refil pads to work out she wasn't getting anywhere. I sighed again. "Carla, why did you put flaming material in the sky?" I asked, exasperated. "Because it's romantic" she replied. I slowly blinked. "I will never understand romance." I groaned.
"Are you still on about that aroace crap?" she asked. I looked to her, confused. She had said some odd things in our time as friends, but this felt out of character. "What?" I asked. "I mean I thought surely you'd have grown out of that by now" she continued, with the same baffling obliviousness as the our twilight fangirl lit professor explaining her conspiricy. "No?" I replied, slowly drifting from confusion to irritation. "People don't grow out of who they are?" I said. "Oh" she said. She visibly deflated somewhat. "Excuse me, I think I hear someone barbecuing eggs and I wanna go get some before they…" she said, getting quieter with every syllable till she trailed off into a whisper. Then she turned her back, took a run out the window and flew off into the night. | |
[WP] It’s been weeks since your friend returned with godlike powers, unwilling to explain how. She is however getting increasingly frustrated by you not noticing her making the move on you. | (Part 1/2)
It was hard to focus on the screen, all things told, which was strange, given how familiar everything was. Melissa’s apartment still had that faded off-white paintjob, the refrigerator still issued its low drone that was audible even here, in the living room, and her couch was still weirdly lumpy. As I double-tapped the d-pad and watched my character evade another one of Mel’s attacks, I considered how so much of her was still the same. She still chewed her bottom lip when focusing or playing from behind. She still thrust her controller forward when attacking, as if the physical motion could lend more momentum to her character’s strikes and blows. She… she still wasn’t really that great at Smash Bros.
“AW COME ON! What the actual *hell*? What’s even the point of the game if your stupid side-A has that kind of reach? The people who balanced this game are a bunch of monkeys.” She socked me in the arm, hard. And she was still a sore loser. I chuckled at her tirade and put the controller down, rubbing where she’d struck.
“Gah, Mel, superpowers or no, your punches hurt.”
She stuck her tongue out at me.
“Aww, wimp. Here, you want me to kiss it better?” I shook my head. Mel was probably one of the biggest flirts I knew. She loved riling me up, and got a huge kick out of turning my face into a tomato. I did my best not to give her the satisfaction this time, and tried to change the subject.
“Here, let’s take a break, huh? You got anything to drink?” She smirked, and even the curve of her grin was familiar, every bit the Melissa I’d been friends with for years. Then she snapped her fingers, and a can of my favorite beer materialized right in my lap, cold enough for me to yelp as it chilled my thigh.
“Augh! Hey, not cool!”
Mel favored me with another long and sly grin. “Actually, it’s really cool! Chilled suds for my best bud, for you to drink or ice your poor little arm with! Because I’m such a kind and considerate friend. Besides, it’s your prize for beating me!”
I rolled my eyes at her and sipped at my drink. It’d only been a few weeks since Mel came back from her vacation. I went over to pick her up from the airport, and joked with her that surely her time abroad must’ve changed her. It wasn’t until we got into the car that she started showing me all the insane quasi-omnipotent powers she’d obtained, somehow. She could float, or fly, if she wanted. She changed my eyebrows to neon-pink, and thankfully deigned to change them back. She got my car’s A/C working again, after the shop had said it was a hopeless cause. And now…
“Yeah, I guess it’s not every day I beat a literal goddess at Smash.”
Mel was silent, and as I turned toward her to look for a reaction, I found her looking back at me. There was something in her eyes, but then she blinked, as if she realized I was starting back at her.
“Yeah, real surprising a no-life dork like you is better than me at video games,” she threw back, several beats too late. Another snap punctuated the ensuing silence, and she held her can up.
“Hey, cheers man. To another week under the belt.”
I clink my can against hers. “Another week, ha. It’s bizarre to me that I still see you in class, Mel. You’re an omnipotent superbeing now. Why do you still bother go?”
Again, for a brief moment, my imagination projects something flashing across her face. “I mean, I gotta keep up appearances, right? Plus, I’d miss all the times you fall asleep right in front of the prof if I started skipping!”
My face burned a little. That was only one time! Two, at most. But I couldn’t think of a witty rejoinder, because Mel had started shifting around on the couch. She pointed at my lap.
“Hey, is this seat taken?”
Again, I chuckled at her antics as I opened my arms for her to lay against my chest. Since we became friends, Mel was always a cuddlebug. At first I found it really strange, but over time it became a cherished tradition of our friendship. Bad days, crappy dates, breakups, fights with the boss at work or the project members in class, all of them could be washed away with a platonic embrace. Cuddles really did fix everything, excepting only automobile air conditioners. And truth be told, I always secretly looked forward to getting to hold Melissa. It felt simple, and tender. And I liked the way her hair smelled.
“So, how’d your date go?” She mumbled, somewhat sleepily, from beneath my chin where she had tucked herself. She squirmed a little, trying to get comfortable and find her favorite spot.
“Oh, with Vanessa? Eh, we agreed it wasn’t going anywhere. She’s super cool, but we’re better off as just friends, you know? Like you and me!”
Melissa stiffened, and I felt a tremor shake the apartment. Did I say something wrong?
“Yeah, ha, like you and me.” Suddenly, she pushed off my chest and out of my arms. Immediately, I missed her warmth. Was she angry with me? She stood up from the sofa.
“Hey Mel, are you ok?” I asked, reaching my arm out after her.
I started feeling raindrops patter against my arm, despite the fact that we were indoors. I didn’t bother looking up at the small cloud that had formed above the living room, instead staying focused on her.
“Mel, what’s wrong? I’m right here for you.”
She still smiled at me, but this one was distinctly watery.
“You’re the biggest goddamn idiot I know, you know that?” | Gabriel had been aloof recently, and flighty. I wanted to study for the finals coming up, but she just said what does it matter, lets skip school and get coffee together. That was so unlike her. She said that school didn't matter any ways.
I knew she had always had a crush on me, since we met as freshmen that first week. I definitely noticed her, very short and absolutely adorable. She would have made the perfect kid sister. She caught sight of me staring and blushed so hard her entire face turned red. That was at lunch break, and we ended up having math together the next day. I deliberately sat next to her, and she was so nervous that she didn't say a word all class, I thought her head would explode.
She's much more confident now though, and I don't mean in the last four years of school, I mean since last week, after the accident. They took her away in an ambulance, then a week later she's back at school without a mark on her. It's almost surreal, like it never even happened.
She coyly looks up at me and smiles, her lips' curve causing her dimples to appear. "Whatchu doin?" she sings melodically in her delightful voice.
I didn't realise I was lost in thought. "Uuh, trying to study, I guess."
"Oh, am I distracting you?" she asks with a pout."
"No, no no no, I mean I'm thinking about you, but no you aren't distracting."
Apparently this wasn't the answer she wanted as she frowns. "Are you sure you don't want to get some coffee?" she asks sweetly.
I look down at my notes that seem to swing before my eyes, I can't make heads or tails of them, and sigh.
"Sure, why not."
"Hi, what can I get you?" asks the barista. I'm looking up at the board for the drink I want, but I can't remember how we got here.
"Me first!" Gabriel squeaks. "I'll have a cappuccino, I've always wanted to try one."
The barista responds "Sure thing! Here you go," and passes her drink to her. That was unusual, I didn't even see him make it.
"Your turn," sings Gabriel.
"Umm, hot chocolate?" I ask.
The barista hands it to me immediately and says "Here you go!"
"Oh, umm, thanks."
Suddenly we're sitting at the table. Gabriel takes a sip of her drink and frowns. I can barely hear her mutter to herself and it sounds like "Of course it has no taste if I've never had it before", but I'm not certain. I lean over to Gabriel so she can hear me better, "Hey, what's going on? Everything is just happening so quickly."
Her eyes go wide and she looks both happy and terrified at the same time, "You mean with us?" she blurts out.
"Oh, no, I mean we were at school, then suddenly we're here ordering, then our drinks are ready, like what gives?"
She relaxes somewhat and replies, "Oh, never mind about that stuff. I wanted to talk about us."
I frown and look at Gabriel. Normally she'd be a bright shade of pink at this stage, but she's just sitting there returning my gaze peacefully. I mean she really is so pretty, but I don't feel anything except friendship for her.
"I just don't feel that way about you. Sorry."
She sits back in her chair and pouts again. Her bottom lip sticks out slightly, and I can see the moisture in her eyes, barely. She sighs heavily.
"Do you think you might be Ace?" she asks.
"Uuh, what?"
"Like asexual? I just read about it in school last week, and ..... maybe?" she shrugs.
"Wait, you weren't at school last week, you were in ...... you know .. the ...." I move my hands together rapidly. I don't want to upset her more so I avoid mentioning the accident, but I think I made it worse.
"Oh, well, I just know it now okay. Never mind," she pouts and looks grumpy. Suddenly the room shifts and were in her bedroom. I suddenly get up on my feet.
"Ah, I gotta go, what if your dad .."
"Settle down, they definitely won't know you are here."
I look confused.
She sighs, "It's hard to explain, lets just say I can do anything I want."
I look at her for a sign of mirth or the telltale dusting of blush when she tells a lie, but there's nothing. She's telling the truth as far as I know her.
"But how?"
She frowns yet again, "That's not important, so are you ace? I mean, like have you ever felt attracted to someone else, not just me?"
I think about it, and reply, "Honestly can't remember feeling that, for anyone. You know how I see you as a sister?"
She rolls her eyes again, "Urgh, yeah I know."
"That's the strongest I've felt about someone besides mum and dad."
She puts on her thinking face where she twists her mouth to the side and looks up to the ceiling. She really is so adorable and I just want to grab her in a hug, but I know in a conversation like this it would be the wrong statement.
"Fine, okay I guess you could be ace, but you aren't sure."
We sit there in silence for what feels like an eternity.
"Well, I have to go," Gabriel says, breaking the tension.
I look out the window where the sun has already gone down, even though it was midday only a few minutes ago.
"Yeah, it's getting late."
We both stand up and exit her room and end up directly outside my front door.
"Goodnight!" she sings happily.
"Don't forget we're meeting before school tomorrow."
She floats up off the ground until she's high enough to give me peck on the cheek.
"I will never forget you." | |
[WP] It’s been weeks since your friend returned with godlike powers, unwilling to explain how. She is however getting increasingly frustrated by you not noticing her making the move on you. | (Part 1/2)
It was hard to focus on the screen, all things told, which was strange, given how familiar everything was. Melissa’s apartment still had that faded off-white paintjob, the refrigerator still issued its low drone that was audible even here, in the living room, and her couch was still weirdly lumpy. As I double-tapped the d-pad and watched my character evade another one of Mel’s attacks, I considered how so much of her was still the same. She still chewed her bottom lip when focusing or playing from behind. She still thrust her controller forward when attacking, as if the physical motion could lend more momentum to her character’s strikes and blows. She… she still wasn’t really that great at Smash Bros.
“AW COME ON! What the actual *hell*? What’s even the point of the game if your stupid side-A has that kind of reach? The people who balanced this game are a bunch of monkeys.” She socked me in the arm, hard. And she was still a sore loser. I chuckled at her tirade and put the controller down, rubbing where she’d struck.
“Gah, Mel, superpowers or no, your punches hurt.”
She stuck her tongue out at me.
“Aww, wimp. Here, you want me to kiss it better?” I shook my head. Mel was probably one of the biggest flirts I knew. She loved riling me up, and got a huge kick out of turning my face into a tomato. I did my best not to give her the satisfaction this time, and tried to change the subject.
“Here, let’s take a break, huh? You got anything to drink?” She smirked, and even the curve of her grin was familiar, every bit the Melissa I’d been friends with for years. Then she snapped her fingers, and a can of my favorite beer materialized right in my lap, cold enough for me to yelp as it chilled my thigh.
“Augh! Hey, not cool!”
Mel favored me with another long and sly grin. “Actually, it’s really cool! Chilled suds for my best bud, for you to drink or ice your poor little arm with! Because I’m such a kind and considerate friend. Besides, it’s your prize for beating me!”
I rolled my eyes at her and sipped at my drink. It’d only been a few weeks since Mel came back from her vacation. I went over to pick her up from the airport, and joked with her that surely her time abroad must’ve changed her. It wasn’t until we got into the car that she started showing me all the insane quasi-omnipotent powers she’d obtained, somehow. She could float, or fly, if she wanted. She changed my eyebrows to neon-pink, and thankfully deigned to change them back. She got my car’s A/C working again, after the shop had said it was a hopeless cause. And now…
“Yeah, I guess it’s not every day I beat a literal goddess at Smash.”
Mel was silent, and as I turned toward her to look for a reaction, I found her looking back at me. There was something in her eyes, but then she blinked, as if she realized I was starting back at her.
“Yeah, real surprising a no-life dork like you is better than me at video games,” she threw back, several beats too late. Another snap punctuated the ensuing silence, and she held her can up.
“Hey, cheers man. To another week under the belt.”
I clink my can against hers. “Another week, ha. It’s bizarre to me that I still see you in class, Mel. You’re an omnipotent superbeing now. Why do you still bother go?”
Again, for a brief moment, my imagination projects something flashing across her face. “I mean, I gotta keep up appearances, right? Plus, I’d miss all the times you fall asleep right in front of the prof if I started skipping!”
My face burned a little. That was only one time! Two, at most. But I couldn’t think of a witty rejoinder, because Mel had started shifting around on the couch. She pointed at my lap.
“Hey, is this seat taken?”
Again, I chuckled at her antics as I opened my arms for her to lay against my chest. Since we became friends, Mel was always a cuddlebug. At first I found it really strange, but over time it became a cherished tradition of our friendship. Bad days, crappy dates, breakups, fights with the boss at work or the project members in class, all of them could be washed away with a platonic embrace. Cuddles really did fix everything, excepting only automobile air conditioners. And truth be told, I always secretly looked forward to getting to hold Melissa. It felt simple, and tender. And I liked the way her hair smelled.
“So, how’d your date go?” She mumbled, somewhat sleepily, from beneath my chin where she had tucked herself. She squirmed a little, trying to get comfortable and find her favorite spot.
“Oh, with Vanessa? Eh, we agreed it wasn’t going anywhere. She’s super cool, but we’re better off as just friends, you know? Like you and me!”
Melissa stiffened, and I felt a tremor shake the apartment. Did I say something wrong?
“Yeah, ha, like you and me.” Suddenly, she pushed off my chest and out of my arms. Immediately, I missed her warmth. Was she angry with me? She stood up from the sofa.
“Hey Mel, are you ok?” I asked, reaching my arm out after her.
I started feeling raindrops patter against my arm, despite the fact that we were indoors. I didn’t bother looking up at the small cloud that had formed above the living room, instead staying focused on her.
“Mel, what’s wrong? I’m right here for you.”
She still smiled at me, but this one was distinctly watery.
“You’re the biggest goddamn idiot I know, you know that?” | Ava was resplendent. Her skin shone the way gold and gems and diamonds did, and her hair wreathed around her like a mane of power. She also hovered about one foot off the ground, which meant that she could now look me in the eyes.
“You look beautiful,” I said.
“God damn it, Jake,” she sighed. “What else do you have to say?”
*Amazing. Ravishing. Goddess,* I thought.
But those words were not entirely honest. Not because they weren’t true, no—but they couldn’t even begin to approach the truth of the wonderful being in front of me.
“I… no,” I muttered, averting my eyes a little. “You… you look amazing. No, more than amazing. Like, multiply it, and then multiply it again.”
Ava clicked her tongue, which came out more melodious than an orchestra.
“So? What do you do to people so amazing?”
“I cherish them with all my heart.”
“No! I… god! You are something else, really,” Ava’s cheeks flushed. I’ve only seen such perfect beauty in the setting sun, throwing warm, red streaks across the skyline.
“What do I need to do for you to take a hint?” she gasped, exasperation filling her words. “I… would have never dared to say this, not without these powers coursing through me. But look! I laugh at everything you say! I twirl my hair around you! We’ve compared hand sizes!”
“Oh,” I said. “Wait. What?”
“God,” she said, rubbing her eyes in distress. “Wow, this imbued power is something else. I would have never, never! Admitted to this. Do you know how much I like you? Do you even like me? Have you ever—”
I had her in my arms before she could finish the statement. She felt burning hot, but yet soothing against my skin. I pulled her in as hard as I could.
“Oh,” she sighed.
“Sorry,” I whispered. “I’m a bit of an oblivious guy here. Thank you for coming out and saying it.”
“I only had to beg three gods for this power,” Ava giggled. “I feel like I can say and do anything right about now.”
A gentle hand sidled up my cheek, before soft lips cradled themselves against mine. Pure electricity flowed through every nerve of my body, and my knees almost buckled in ecstasy.
“OK,” I said. “That could have killed me.”
“There’s more where that came from,” she winked. “God, assertiveness feels good. I think this power is a rental—so I’m going to abuse it.”
“God, yes.”
---
r/dexdrafts | |
[WP] It’s been weeks since your friend returned with godlike powers, unwilling to explain how. She is however getting increasingly frustrated by you not noticing her making the move on you. | Julia awoke to the sound of singing birds. A stream of light broke through her window and struck her face in a rainbow. She squinted and buried her head under a pillow. Reaching out to turn off the alarm, her hand landed on a bird, which took off with a squawk. She bolted upright.
A flock of birds began to encircle her like a halo, flashing through the rainbow from the window. The west-facing window. She brushed the birds away and yelled across the house. "Tarquina!"
"Tarqu—" Julia's yell was cut off as her bedroom door opened. A tall Amazonian ducked into the room sporting a tray piled with a steaming breakfast and far too many exposed abs. As she straightened up her head barely missed the ceiling. She wore a leather harness festooned with draping white silk.
The giantess placed the breakfast tray in front of Julia. It was piled with a meal appropriate for a fifties sitcom: steak and eggs, ham, hash browns, bacon and sausage, pancakes and a waffle, and both milk and orange juice. Julia normally had an entire half cold strawberry pop-tart or occasionally half an entirely cold strawberry pop-tart. She rubbed her eyes and ignored the tray, as it didn't contain any coffee.
"Tarquina, why is there sun coming in my window? It's six thirty. The sun should be over there somewhere," she said pointing vaguely over her shoulder. "Did you— Did you move the sun?"
Tarquina tossed her golden hair in a laugh. "No silly, that would be impossible. I created a second one. Just a little guy. Your room is always so dreary in the morning. I suppose I could have used mirrors, but it's just not the same. So, a nice little sun, just for you and the surrounding hundred square miles or so, and a proper breakfast."
"I have a feeling that's going to fuck with somebody's crops. Where's the coffee?" Julia swung her feet out of bed. She was wearing sweatpants and a baggy hoodie and she didn't plan on changing that all day.
"Coffee? But you always drank orange juice. I mean— It's better for you and doesn't give you that coffee breath. I just thought that today we could do some stuff. We haven't hung out enough since I got back from the place."
Julia plodded off to the kitchen in search of coffee. Tarquina followed her with the tray. A clay automaton stood in the kitchen, busying itself by cleaning up the residue of four breakfast meats and various other splatters. After she had started the coffee pot, Julia took a sausage from the tray.
"Okay, Tarquina, I'm gonna be straight here. I've known about your little crush thing for months, but I thought you would get over it. It was fun when you were a mousy little roommate. But this—" she said, gesturing broadly at everything, "is not really my thing."
"Is it the hair? I can go back to brown. I can even drop the height, see." Tarquina shrunk down to a height that would have been normal for an NFL quarterback, still a foot and a half taller than she had been last week.
"No, Tarquina. It's that we are roommates and friends, not lovers. Also— let's see— the fact that you are some sort of goddess now and you have never bothered to explain how that is? You just keep vaguely alluding to some 'place'. What happened to you?"
Tarquina shrank further, back to the mousy little roommate. "I just thought of it as the other place. It was bad. Lonely. I just learned to control it. It took so long."
"You were only gone for like a minute."
"A minute here. There it was a thousand years. Ten thousand. But it was okay once you were there." She reached out to hold Julia's hand.
Julia stared at the familiar hand. "That wasn't me. I was here the whole time."
A tear streamed down Tarquina's face. "Bringing you there was the first thing I learned to do. I don't know why you don't remember."
\[More writing and critiques at r/c_avery_m\] | *knock, knock*
My eyes flew open and I was immediately upright, lifting myself from the futon before I was even fully awake. I hastily made my way to the front hall, the weight of slumber lingering in my eyes as I unlocked the door. If it were an ordinary guest I would have taken time to tidy up the place, but this was someone I *really* didn’t want to keep waiting. *Click.* The door swung open.
“Hey.”
Her mere presence held a quiet authority that unconsciously made me stand up a little straighter. The enormous level of confidence that she suddenly exuded had at first left me stunned — I still wasn’t completely used to it, in all honesty. She was undeniably the same person, but it was difficult to view her as such when I knew what she could do with her new potential.
“Hey, Chantelle. Good to see you,” I said.
“May I come in?” She brushed a strand of her luxurious, auburn hair — it was a vibrant shade of purple the last time I’d seen her — off her face.
“Of course.” In less than a millisecond, I was seated in the armchair in my living room, barely able to process the sudden shift in reality. Chantelle was laying on my futon, resting her face in her hands and kicking her feet up in the air. Her hair fell around her shoulders and onto her back in a graceful fan, landing just above her plentiful rump. I tried not to be too distracted by her flawless figure. She had a playful smile on her face.
“How’ve you been?” she put forth. I didn’t know why she bothered to ask when she had literal boundless omniscience within her reach, but I appreciated that she did nonetheless.
“Bored,” I returned. “Hard to stay motivated in class.” Chantelle nodded.
“I can relate.”
“What about you?”
“This and that,” she said. I let out a chuckle. As far as I knew, that could mean anything between inventing new ice cream flavors and effortlessly playing with the fundamental concepts of our reality. Having a Goddess for a friend that dropped by my apartment at random was becoming a regular occurrence for me. Not much you can do about something like that, but I didn’t mind.
“Are you doing anything this evening?” Chantelle asked. I blinked.
“No, why?”
“Let’s cook dinner together. There’s a new recipe I’ve been meaning to try.”
“Sure, I’m up for it.” Kitchen. I was standing in front of the shitty stove in my apartment, wearing a ‘kiss the cook’ apron that I didn’t own. I turned to face the counter, where a picturesque arrangement of ingredients had materialized out of thin air. “Why haven’t we done this before? This is so much more convenient than going to the grocery store.”
“You never asked,” Chantelle teased. She sauntered to the kitchen, tying her hair up into a high ponytail. “Let’s get started. I’m starving.”
“What are we making?”
“Here, start cutting those veggies. I’ll get to work on the stir fry sauce.”
...
“Damn, this is *really* good,” Chantelle said ecstatically. We were seated on opposite sides of my little dining table, enjoying our completed dish. The pots and pans in the sink had already been cleaned and put away, and the kitchen was considerably cleaner than when we’d began.
“I’ll have to add this one to the usual rotation,” I resolved, taking another bite. “Sometimes it’s hard to get myself to cook something when I don’t know if it’ll even turn out half-decent, so...thanks for the encouragement.”
“You’re welcome,” Chantelle replied. “Maybe we can make it a regular thing?”
“I think I’d really like that.”
“You want to see me that badly, huh?”
“I...” I hesitated as the warmth of a blush quickly formed on my face.
“Just say it already,” Chantelle nudged, having appeared beside me.
“I love you.” I looked at her expectantly.
“See?” Chantelle replied. She promptly leaned forward to kiss me on the cheek before returning to her seat. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Not at all.”
*(First time submitting here, hope you all enjoyed!)* | |
[WP] It’s been weeks since your friend returned with godlike powers, unwilling to explain how. She is however getting increasingly frustrated by you not noticing her making the move on you. | (Part 1/2)
I knocked politely on the door of Grace's new penthouse. She took a while answering, which made it all the more surprising when she answered wearing nothing but a towel. I could feel my facial muscles strain to raise my eyebrows higher than eyebrows were designed to go. She had changed her hair, too. It had been a soft brown just a week ago, but it was now a fiery red, done up in a way that evoked Veronica Lake.
"Well, I was about to ask if you were ready to go, but I guess that answers that question!" I noted.
"Not quite yet," she agreed. "Guess you'd better come in, then."
I'd definitely been interested in seeing the inside of her new place ever since she told me she had bought the penthouse on the top floor of her condo building; she'd previously had a suite on the third floor that merely overlooked the staff parking lot. I let her show me in. Her couches looked a little out of place in this much higher-end unit, but I knew they were comfortable and she wouldn't get rid of them until she had to. The kitchen, however, was a checkerboard of new top-of-the-line appliances.
Grace had disappeared back into what had to be the master suite. "Glad you're here," she called. "Need your help with something." She reappeared, gowns in either hand, one gold, one green. "So, which one do you think I should wear tonight?" Grace asked.
"Your towel's slipping a bit," I noted.
She looked down, then looked back up, her hair flipping over her shoulder as she did. "So it is, Sir Detective. I can see why you got the job. Very observant."
I shrugged sheepishly. "Go with the gold. Or blue, if you've got it. It's a police gala, after all."
Even though I was on the force and she was not, going to the Police Foundation gala tonight had been her idea. It was probably something I should've been going to every year, especially since I got promoted to detective, but it just never seemed right. After all, it was inevitable that crimes were getting committed somewhere out there in this city at any time, and cops at a party were by definition not ones on the streets. But Grace's surveillance-software company was a major sponsor and she had an extra pair of tickets. Not like I could turn her down. Also, it was clear that a lot somehow was changing in Grace's own life in a hurry, hopefully for the better, and I wanted to be there for her.
"I can do blue!" she said. "Which style do you think would look better on me, though?"
I indicated the one on the right, the gold one, mostly just because it was clear a decision needed to be made here and either one would be just fine. I wasn't in the mood for indecisiveness, especially because the event was supposed to start in thirty minutes and it was a twenty minute drive.
"Great!" she said. And then she just stepped into the dress. She didn't put it over her head, or unzip the back. She literally *stepped into* it. The towel fell away from her completely, giving me a split-second glance at *all* of her, and then the dress was on her, perfectly situated and already laced up the back. Also, it was now a dazzling cerulean that complemented her new hair. It also had a corset-style torso that I hadn't noticed before that either revealed quite the hourglass figure or else compressed her into it. Maybe a little of both.
"Yet another interesting trick you've picked up that you're not going to tell me how?" I asked.
"I'm sure you'll solve the mystery eventually, Detective. It's what you do, isn't it?"
"Better not be a murder at the end of this one," I drawled.
"Oh, please. Now come on, I need your help again." She turned and walked into her bedroom. I followed, in part curious about the new master suite. It was as impressive as one would expect in a penthouse this size. As I entered, I saw Grace step into a pair of five-inch stilettos without breaking stride, gold with sequins or something else sparkling on the heel. Between one step and the next, her gait simply changed from the normal walk of anyone barefoot to the rolling strut of a woman with experience wearing high heels.
"Amazing new place," I noted. "But anyway, what did you need my help with?" | *knock, knock*
My eyes flew open and I was immediately upright, lifting myself from the futon before I was even fully awake. I hastily made my way to the front hall, the weight of slumber lingering in my eyes as I unlocked the door. If it were an ordinary guest I would have taken time to tidy up the place, but this was someone I *really* didn’t want to keep waiting. *Click.* The door swung open.
“Hey.”
Her mere presence held a quiet authority that unconsciously made me stand up a little straighter. The enormous level of confidence that she suddenly exuded had at first left me stunned — I still wasn’t completely used to it, in all honesty. She was undeniably the same person, but it was difficult to view her as such when I knew what she could do with her new potential.
“Hey, Chantelle. Good to see you,” I said.
“May I come in?” She brushed a strand of her luxurious, auburn hair — it was a vibrant shade of purple the last time I’d seen her — off her face.
“Of course.” In less than a millisecond, I was seated in the armchair in my living room, barely able to process the sudden shift in reality. Chantelle was laying on my futon, resting her face in her hands and kicking her feet up in the air. Her hair fell around her shoulders and onto her back in a graceful fan, landing just above her plentiful rump. I tried not to be too distracted by her flawless figure. She had a playful smile on her face.
“How’ve you been?” she put forth. I didn’t know why she bothered to ask when she had literal boundless omniscience within her reach, but I appreciated that she did nonetheless.
“Bored,” I returned. “Hard to stay motivated in class.” Chantelle nodded.
“I can relate.”
“What about you?”
“This and that,” she said. I let out a chuckle. As far as I knew, that could mean anything between inventing new ice cream flavors and effortlessly playing with the fundamental concepts of our reality. Having a Goddess for a friend that dropped by my apartment at random was becoming a regular occurrence for me. Not much you can do about something like that, but I didn’t mind.
“Are you doing anything this evening?” Chantelle asked. I blinked.
“No, why?”
“Let’s cook dinner together. There’s a new recipe I’ve been meaning to try.”
“Sure, I’m up for it.” Kitchen. I was standing in front of the shitty stove in my apartment, wearing a ‘kiss the cook’ apron that I didn’t own. I turned to face the counter, where a picturesque arrangement of ingredients had materialized out of thin air. “Why haven’t we done this before? This is so much more convenient than going to the grocery store.”
“You never asked,” Chantelle teased. She sauntered to the kitchen, tying her hair up into a high ponytail. “Let’s get started. I’m starving.”
“What are we making?”
“Here, start cutting those veggies. I’ll get to work on the stir fry sauce.”
...
“Damn, this is *really* good,” Chantelle said ecstatically. We were seated on opposite sides of my little dining table, enjoying our completed dish. The pots and pans in the sink had already been cleaned and put away, and the kitchen was considerably cleaner than when we’d began.
“I’ll have to add this one to the usual rotation,” I resolved, taking another bite. “Sometimes it’s hard to get myself to cook something when I don’t know if it’ll even turn out half-decent, so...thanks for the encouragement.”
“You’re welcome,” Chantelle replied. “Maybe we can make it a regular thing?”
“I think I’d really like that.”
“You want to see me that badly, huh?”
“I...” I hesitated as the warmth of a blush quickly formed on my face.
“Just say it already,” Chantelle nudged, having appeared beside me.
“I love you.” I looked at her expectantly.
“See?” Chantelle replied. She promptly leaned forward to kiss me on the cheek before returning to her seat. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Not at all.”
*(First time submitting here, hope you all enjoyed!)* | |
[WP] It’s been weeks since your friend returned with godlike powers, unwilling to explain how. She is however getting increasingly frustrated by you not noticing her making the move on you. | (Part 1/2)
I knocked politely on the door of Grace's new penthouse. She took a while answering, which made it all the more surprising when she answered wearing nothing but a towel. I could feel my facial muscles strain to raise my eyebrows higher than eyebrows were designed to go. She had changed her hair, too. It had been a soft brown just a week ago, but it was now a fiery red, done up in a way that evoked Veronica Lake.
"Well, I was about to ask if you were ready to go, but I guess that answers that question!" I noted.
"Not quite yet," she agreed. "Guess you'd better come in, then."
I'd definitely been interested in seeing the inside of her new place ever since she told me she had bought the penthouse on the top floor of her condo building; she'd previously had a suite on the third floor that merely overlooked the staff parking lot. I let her show me in. Her couches looked a little out of place in this much higher-end unit, but I knew they were comfortable and she wouldn't get rid of them until she had to. The kitchen, however, was a checkerboard of new top-of-the-line appliances.
Grace had disappeared back into what had to be the master suite. "Glad you're here," she called. "Need your help with something." She reappeared, gowns in either hand, one gold, one green. "So, which one do you think I should wear tonight?" Grace asked.
"Your towel's slipping a bit," I noted.
She looked down, then looked back up, her hair flipping over her shoulder as she did. "So it is, Sir Detective. I can see why you got the job. Very observant."
I shrugged sheepishly. "Go with the gold. Or blue, if you've got it. It's a police gala, after all."
Even though I was on the force and she was not, going to the Police Foundation gala tonight had been her idea. It was probably something I should've been going to every year, especially since I got promoted to detective, but it just never seemed right. After all, it was inevitable that crimes were getting committed somewhere out there in this city at any time, and cops at a party were by definition not ones on the streets. But Grace's surveillance-software company was a major sponsor and she had an extra pair of tickets. Not like I could turn her down. Also, it was clear that a lot somehow was changing in Grace's own life in a hurry, hopefully for the better, and I wanted to be there for her.
"I can do blue!" she said. "Which style do you think would look better on me, though?"
I indicated the one on the right, the gold one, mostly just because it was clear a decision needed to be made here and either one would be just fine. I wasn't in the mood for indecisiveness, especially because the event was supposed to start in thirty minutes and it was a twenty minute drive.
"Great!" she said. And then she just stepped into the dress. She didn't put it over her head, or unzip the back. She literally *stepped into* it. The towel fell away from her completely, giving me a split-second glance at *all* of her, and then the dress was on her, perfectly situated and already laced up the back. Also, it was now a dazzling cerulean that complemented her new hair. It also had a corset-style torso that I hadn't noticed before that either revealed quite the hourglass figure or else compressed her into it. Maybe a little of both.
"Yet another interesting trick you've picked up that you're not going to tell me how?" I asked.
"I'm sure you'll solve the mystery eventually, Detective. It's what you do, isn't it?"
"Better not be a murder at the end of this one," I drawled.
"Oh, please. Now come on, I need your help again." She turned and walked into her bedroom. I followed, in part curious about the new master suite. It was as impressive as one would expect in a penthouse this size. As I entered, I saw Grace step into a pair of five-inch stilettos without breaking stride, gold with sequins or something else sparkling on the heel. Between one step and the next, her gait simply changed from the normal walk of anyone barefoot to the rolling strut of a woman with experience wearing high heels.
"Amazing new place," I noted. "But anyway, what did you need my help with?" | Julia awoke to the sound of singing birds. A stream of light broke through her window and struck her face in a rainbow. She squinted and buried her head under a pillow. Reaching out to turn off the alarm, her hand landed on a bird, which took off with a squawk. She bolted upright.
A flock of birds began to encircle her like a halo, flashing through the rainbow from the window. The west-facing window. She brushed the birds away and yelled across the house. "Tarquina!"
"Tarqu—" Julia's yell was cut off as her bedroom door opened. A tall Amazonian ducked into the room sporting a tray piled with a steaming breakfast and far too many exposed abs. As she straightened up her head barely missed the ceiling. She wore a leather harness festooned with draping white silk.
The giantess placed the breakfast tray in front of Julia. It was piled with a meal appropriate for a fifties sitcom: steak and eggs, ham, hash browns, bacon and sausage, pancakes and a waffle, and both milk and orange juice. Julia normally had an entire half cold strawberry pop-tart or occasionally half an entirely cold strawberry pop-tart. She rubbed her eyes and ignored the tray, as it didn't contain any coffee.
"Tarquina, why is there sun coming in my window? It's six thirty. The sun should be over there somewhere," she said pointing vaguely over her shoulder. "Did you— Did you move the sun?"
Tarquina tossed her golden hair in a laugh. "No silly, that would be impossible. I created a second one. Just a little guy. Your room is always so dreary in the morning. I suppose I could have used mirrors, but it's just not the same. So, a nice little sun, just for you and the surrounding hundred square miles or so, and a proper breakfast."
"I have a feeling that's going to fuck with somebody's crops. Where's the coffee?" Julia swung her feet out of bed. She was wearing sweatpants and a baggy hoodie and she didn't plan on changing that all day.
"Coffee? But you always drank orange juice. I mean— It's better for you and doesn't give you that coffee breath. I just thought that today we could do some stuff. We haven't hung out enough since I got back from the place."
Julia plodded off to the kitchen in search of coffee. Tarquina followed her with the tray. A clay automaton stood in the kitchen, busying itself by cleaning up the residue of four breakfast meats and various other splatters. After she had started the coffee pot, Julia took a sausage from the tray.
"Okay, Tarquina, I'm gonna be straight here. I've known about your little crush thing for months, but I thought you would get over it. It was fun when you were a mousy little roommate. But this—" she said, gesturing broadly at everything, "is not really my thing."
"Is it the hair? I can go back to brown. I can even drop the height, see." Tarquina shrunk down to a height that would have been normal for an NFL quarterback, still a foot and a half taller than she had been last week.
"No, Tarquina. It's that we are roommates and friends, not lovers. Also— let's see— the fact that you are some sort of goddess now and you have never bothered to explain how that is? You just keep vaguely alluding to some 'place'. What happened to you?"
Tarquina shrank further, back to the mousy little roommate. "I just thought of it as the other place. It was bad. Lonely. I just learned to control it. It took so long."
"You were only gone for like a minute."
"A minute here. There it was a thousand years. Ten thousand. But it was okay once you were there." She reached out to hold Julia's hand.
Julia stared at the familiar hand. "That wasn't me. I was here the whole time."
A tear streamed down Tarquina's face. "Bringing you there was the first thing I learned to do. I don't know why you don't remember."
\[More writing and critiques at r/c_avery_m\] | |
[WP] It’s been weeks since your friend returned with godlike powers, unwilling to explain how. She is however getting increasingly frustrated by you not noticing her making the move on you. | The drive to Beth’s house had gone smoothly, as it had ever since she returned. The lights all changed green, cars zipped along in neat rows. I watched as she tracked on oncoming car and held her hand up, slowing it just enough so that it did not hit the truck that had pulled up short at the light. This commute used to be a nightmare.
“So, things still good? With all…this?” I fumbled, unsure what to call all the changes.
“Lawrence, I’m still the same old me. Everything’s fine.”
“Yeah, I know. I get that. It’s just weird, y’know?”
“I’ve always been weird.”
“No, not you. The situation. I mean, you can do anything, right?”
She shrugged, eyes avoiding my brief glance toward her. “Almost anything.” There was a wistful sigh in her voice.
We stopped in front of her building. Her apartment had been on the sixth floor. Now all of the apartments were on the first, and hers expanded to impossible dimensions just beyond the door. As I hit the brakes, I noticed the sun dropping below the horizon. It should have been daylight for another couple of hours, but now sunset bled across the horizon. The clock confirmed whatever time skip had occurred. I eyed Beth suspiciously.
“Did you?” I nodded my head toward the horizon.
She looked caught, feigning innocence. “Me? I don’t think so. But these powers, you can never know…”
“Well, I guess I should head home then.”
“Wait!” She reached out across the seats, hand nearly brushing my arm and then pulling back at the last moment. “It did get late. Can’t I fix you some dinner? A coffee? Come up and let me thank you for the ride.”
I smiled and waved. “Beth, you don’t have to do that. I’ve been your ride for the past three years. You being …demigod or whatever now doesn’t change that. Like you said, you’re the same old you, I’m the same old me.”
She puffed out a sigh. “Yeah, some things never change.”
Her eyes flicked upward briefly, and suddenly the previously open sky was flooded with clouds. Rain fell in sheets around us, wind whipping the sidewalks.
“Oh man, what weather!” she said with an exaggerated shrug. “You definitely shouldn’t be driving in this. Come in and wait it out.”
“It really is a mess.” I chewed my bottom lip, eyeing the sky suspiciously. "But it came up so quick. I’m sure it will pass soon. You can wait here, if you like, for the rain and all.”
Then it clicked and I laughed. “I mean, I guess you could also just whisk the rain away, huh?”
She rolled her eyes and angrily waved her hand, the clouds and storm leaving only a few puddles behind as testament to the events. The sunset was somehow even more beautiful, reflecting off the damp surroundings and adding depth to the purples, pinks, and oranges. The light fell across her face and, for one of many times, I felt the world freeze. But what luck could a grocery store clerk have with a superhero?
I shook off the moment before she caught me staring. “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
There was an air of irritation in her movements as she unbuckled her seatbelt and yanked on the car door handle.
“Oh, your books!” I said before she could get out of the car.
She turned around with a broad smile. “Right, the books. Do you mind helping me get them inside?”
“Sure,” I responded out of habit, then paused. “Wait, I saw you lift a semi yesterday to unblock the bridge. I’m sure you don’t need me. Hell, you could probably just levitate them.”
Beth grit her teeth and tried to keep a smile, but I saw something stewing behind her eyes. “I could, but sometimes it’s nice to do things the normal way. Can’t you get a box?”
The words were more forceful than I expected, but I had not been thinking about how tough this all could be. Surely it was nice to be a normal person every now and then, especially around a friend.
“Of course, that’s what friends are for.”
“Great. Then, let me get you that dinner. I can whip something up in no time, feed you for your troubles.”
I shrugged and smiled. “If you insist. It’s really no trouble.”
I popped open the trunk and grabbed one of the boxes. Beth lifted the other in one hand, using the other to slam the lid down. The whole car shook a bit under the force, but she was already turned and walking toward the door.
“Hey, not all of us can get around so quickly,” I called after her, juggling the awkward weight of the box in my arms. I stepped onto the sidewalk and toward the grassy walkway leading to her building. Among the manicured green grass was an explosion of wildflowers in every hue. At first, they appeared random. But the more I looked, the more something began to take shape.
I balanced the box on the stone wall at the front and turned my head from side to side until the pattern solidified into words.
“Kiss me, idiot,” I said aloud.
I looked up at Beth and she was looking back at me, a coy smile on her lips.
“I mean, you sure?”
I asked.
She laughed, all the earlier frustration gone in an instant. “Of course! Do it!”
With a shrug of my shoulders, I set the box down and bent to one knee. I lifted the nearest flower—this one a pale pink—and gently kissed the center.
Nothing happened. When I looked up, Beth’s eyes were wide and mouth agape. She stammered for a moment, then stomped up the last few steps and into the building. As I hurried after her with the box in my arms, I could just hear the echo of her perturbed growl following down the hallway.
Man, things really were getting weird.
EDIT: Caught a handful of typos. | They sit in a french cafe, outdoors. The warm air‘s perfumed by lilacs and peonies. Passerby tip their hats or wave meek, reverent hands at the girl. In the distance, the Eiffel tower yawns up, stirs the occasional cloud.
“You haven’t touched your cappuccino,” she says.
The boy looks down. ”Oh.” He swirls the drink with his spoon until its an unsettled galaxy. Tips in sugar, stardust.
She hasn’t touched her drink either. She hates coffee but this seemed a good place for a first date. *Mature. Refined.* All those boring adult terms. But she regrets it now. Tea on Everest or the moon, that might have gotten something from the boy. A smile. A raised eyebrow.
She wants very badly to say, *I love you.* But she squeezes her thumb in the fingers of her other hand. Feels awkward. Gods shouldn’t feel awkward, should they?
”Do you think you can love someone you don’t really know?” she asks. “Like, when celebrities meet and then marry in that whirlwind type of love.”
He shrugs. “Whirlwinds die down pretty quickly.“
Better than a long breeze she thinks. She thinks her love is a whirlwind that will last forever. A tornado that she feels in her chest and belly tearing her apart as it spins.
“I could make you love me,” she says. “I could make your eyes meet mine. Make your heart beat as fast as a kitten’s whenever you see me.”
”What even is love?” he asks. He’s something of a philosopher and it’s one reason she likes him so much. In truth, she doesn’t know much about him beyond surface level details. Beyond the mask he wears at schools, shows to her, to classmates, to friends. But that’s what we fall in love with, she thinks. Everyone wears a mask but it’s bullshit to say the real ’you’ is hidden beneath it. If everyone sees the mask, if you wear it every time you talk to someone, then you *are* the mask. More often than not, that is you.
”So? What do you think it is?” he asks.
She doesn’t know what love is. But she tries to conjure its meaning on the spot, says, “Love is a windy balloon ride. And there are all these storms and spikes and all kinds of stuff to avoid. Those things are reality. Love lets you ride above reality, and you can stay there floating if you’re very, very careful. If you’re a great pilot.” She grimaces, wonderers if they’re even pilots in balloons.
He sips his coffee finally. Cautious at first, then drinks more. It’s nicer than he expected.
“Why don’t you just make me love you then?” he asks. ‘Why try to seduce me in a french cafe? Why not click your heels together and get this over with?”
Her face burns at this. At the suggestion of seduction. Her top is sleeveless. Her hair curled. Skin blemish free with a wave of her hand. Wasn’t even a wave of her hand in truth, just a thought. Everything now changes with a thought, if she wants it to. She is a pathetic God who can’t even think up love properly.
”Because it’s not the same,” she says. “It’s not the same as you wanting to be with me. Wanting to look at me. Maybe if I rescued your parents from certain death… I could arrange that, you know? Then you’d be grateful and like me and I think that would be closer. But still…”
She tries her coffee finally. Cold. Bitter as hell. It’s like brown sulphur. Her face scrunches up.
That’s how she’s supposed to react to coffee, isn’t it?
She closes her eyes, thinks, opens them. Now they are sitting on a grassy hill late at night, the stars above them like the burning ends of black-wax candles.
“That’s better,” she says.
The stars shift as they stare up, merge into clear constellations, into archers and crabs and into a galaxy-spanning heart. The archer launches an arrow at the heart and it wedges in, the end shivering then steadying. It was meant to look romantic but she thinks now it looks brutal. More like death. A threat.
“Why do you like her?” she asks.
”Cause.”
Cause. The only reason she can think up.
She can hear her Mom calling now. Time for breakfast. For school. For the balloon ride of morning fantasy to pop. To eat alone on a table at this new school she hates, staring nervously at a boy who pays her no attention.
“I got to go,” she says.
”I’ll see you at school,” he replies.
”You won’t. You never do.”
&#x200B;
Mom’s made scrambled eggs. She asks her Mom for a coffee.
Mom laughs. “You never want coffee.”
”I want to know what it tastes like. I think I need to. Otherwise, I’m always just guessing, you know?”
What she means is she’ll lower the balloon onto the sharp cliffs later today. She’ll say hi to him. She needs to. And if he turns away from her without replying and the balloon bursts, then fine. She’ll patch it up someday.
Because that’s love, she decides. Finding someone to patch your balloon up with. And even if it doesn’t take off quite as high, the falls won’t break you apart. You’ll sit on the ground together draped in plastic, laughing, hands on bellies.
”Maybe you can try coffee tomorrow, okay?” says Mom, amused. “But right now, you’ve got to get going.” She glances at her watch. “And so do I.”
Mom squeezes her. Has packed her lunch already.
The girl feels loved, and even if it’s a different kind of love, it’s still nice. It’s reassuring.
“It’ll get easier,” Mom says soothingly. “You’ve only been there a few weeks.”
”I know.” And she does know. It’s not her first new school. Mom gets moves around a lot.
She leans over and kisses Mom’s cheek. Grabs her bag and heads to the door.
”Love you,” says Mom.
”Love you too.” | |
[WP] ”Todd was replaced by an alien body snatcher YEARS ago! Everyone knows that by now.” “Then, why has no one done anything about it?” “Because we all like the body snatcher WAY more than the original Todd.” | "You're not hearing me Jamie, it's not about whether you *like* him, I'm telling you they're taking over!"
"Yeah, *in twenty years*; we'll be old then, who cares? BS Todd is great! Check this out; hey BS Todd, what's cracking?"
'Todd' was still standing next to them, *almost* facing Jamie and Janet, but looking just ever so slightly off to the side with the same stupid, earnest grin he'd had for the past six months; "Ha ha, not much, Jamie! I've just been doing hobbies and participating in all that life has to offer here in Mondale, California, where I was born and currently live."
Jamie grinned back at Janet; "Look at him, he doesn't even care; you can call him BS Todd all day and he's totally cool."
Todd asked earnestly "What is a BS, anyway?"
Janet was beginning to think it would be easier to get through to Body-snatched Todd than to Jamie...
"See look, this Todd is better than Todd. And I know what you're thinking; I'm horrible, all that, where *is* Todd right now, but check this out... Hey Todd; if you had been body-snatched and Todd were actually somewhere else right now, where do you think he would be?"
Todd thought about that for a minute, and looked uncertain, then said "I probably wouldn't be allowed to tell you that, but I'm going to anyway, because I care about Todd, and Todd is me. Todd would probably be in a Simulation Center, living out a normal human life on a planet where resource usage is so efficient that it's actually possible to profitably exploit other planets' resources and displace their life while *simultaneously* giving those creatures a fantastic quality of life through the power of simulation. But that's all hypothetical, ha ha!"
"Great, so Todd is probably in a happyland simulation; that's still not ok, and you're missing the point. What if they come for-"
"Hey Todd, could I have five bucks?"
Todd reached into his pocket and pulled out a large silver wallet, "Ha ha, sure! What are friends for?"
Jamie pocketed the five, "I know the danger, but the thing is, if they haven't replaced us yet,-
Still grinning, Todd interrupted, "If someone could explain what friends are for, that would be great; I really don't know!"
"- then I don't really think they're going to. It's been 6 months; as far as I can tell nobody else has been body snatched, and-"
"I was raised in a small room with very bright lights."
Jamie looked at Todd finally, "And beside, look at this guy. He's not blending *at all*; do you really think *these people* are going to have any success replacing everyone else? There's no way anyone else has been replaced if this is how they're doing it; we would know."
"My favorite food is the Battle of Monte Cassino!"
Janet was already walking away though. This was clearly never going to sink in.
"But really, could someone please explain what friends are for?"
Jamie didn't see what the big deal was. This was obviously not Todd, but old Todd would have *never* lent him five bucks. Old Todd was *never* cheerful, and never responded positively to anyone's banter. In fact, when you got down to it, Old Todd was kind of a dick.
"It's hard to explain, but I think you're a better friend than old Todd."
"Is that because I gave you five dollarydoos?"
"No, it's because you say things like dollarydoos and you never get mad at me... But enough of that; let's head to the mall and see if we can find Janet. I'm sure she'll come around eventually."
"I throw javelins as a national hobby, so I'll drive!"
"That's super, Todd." | "Todd" had a funny way about him. He held forks and knives in his fists like a baby, laughed in a forced, weird manner only after other people laughed, and seemed to be a nervous, uptight guy. Still, he quietly and methodically dealed out poker hands at the small poker table.
It was Tuesday, and that meant Texas Hold 'Em in the Juneau Gamer's Club. Kimiko, Jeff, Watts, and Joanne all looked over their hands, though Jeff, one of the newcomers, seemed to try to catch eye contact with Todd. After a moment, Todd forced a smile. Too much teeth. "Try and take a photo, it will last longer."
Jeff sighed, putting his two cards down face-side. "You - I've had it. What's wrong with Todd? He's weird!"
"You are the one who is weird, I am a normal man," said Todd, who nervously shot a glance to Kimiko, who turned to Jeff.
"Jeff, Todd's ..from out of town. He's a little idiosyncratic."
"Yes. I am that thing."
"Well, where's he from?" Jeff asked, accusingly.
"Uh. Boise. Y- yeah-" Kim twisted her hair. Watts cleared her throat, standing up, her voice cracking as she spoke loudly.
"I'm from Boise and he's my cousin!" She said exuberantly, trading nervous glances between the three.
Joanne watched the group squabble, before taking a drink of her gin. "Todd's from the constellation Lyra. Well, somewhere there about."
Todd fidgeted with his cards.
"Todd's an alien?!" Jeff hollered. "What the fuck?!"
"Well, Todd's an alien refugee. He's - uh, he's a little bee-spider thing living in Human Todd's brain."
"Todd- wasn't he your friend? He's an alien body snatcher!" Jeff couldn't believe it, never letting his attention drop from the now visibly annoyed Todd.
"My host was only interested in Bitcoin and internet trolling. I mean no harm."
Kim gestured at Todd. "Look, Jeff. Todd's weird, but Old Todd isn't really missed, got us? Keep it a secret. He's a good guy."
Jeff sighed. "Okay."
The group returned to their game. | |
[WP] ”Todd was replaced by an alien body snatcher YEARS ago! Everyone knows that by now.” “Then, why has no one done anything about it?” “Because we all like the body snatcher WAY more than the original Todd.” | I still look back on that day. I think it's not normal for a person to change overnight, but I'm glad it happened anyway. It wasn't always easy living with Todd. The alcohol he took, the bruises he gave, his temper, all of it was suddenly gone one day. I thought that maybe God finally heard my silent prayers.
Years went by and he got a new job, we got ourselves a new apartment, and we were even considering adopting. I slowly saw a good future with him but even though all these changes were great, he would no longer write me poetry out of the blue, he would act puzzled whenever I ask him feedback about the articles I write, he finds reading books boring all of a sudden, and he suddenly has different preferences in music and food. Todd wasn't a good person overall but he still had traits that made me love him in the first place and they're not there anymore.
One day, there was an accident. Someone was speeding by and they hit Todd while he was on a crosswalk. I didn't realize it at the time because I was too shocked by what was happening but Todd was able to get up and walk to me even though one of his legs were dislocated. He comforted me while the driver took us to the nearest hospital but Todd suggested a different hospital, somewhere a bit more farther away, because his insurance covered bills from that specific hospital only. We thought he was crazy and I said I was willing to pay anyway but Todd insinsted calmly. He was acting like he wasn't in pain and the driver and I looked like we're panicking unnecessarily.
When we got to the hospital Todd suggested, all the doctors and nurses were acting calmy around us. Too calm. Like my husband's predicament was no big deal. A few hours had passed and Todd looked better than ever. He had no scratches, his leg was back to normal, and he did a big smile at me. The doctor said everything was fine. My mind couldn't make sense of everything because I expected the ordeal to go so much worse. I was mentally prepared for only the worst. But Todd was okay now and him and the driver had a talk for a bit before we went back home.
I'm not so sure about who I was living with anymore. That's when I finally realized that he didn't feel like Todd anymore, and he didn't even feel human anymore either after the accident. But whatever he was, he helped me build myself up again. The abusive relationship I was so used to was a thing of the past. I didn't have to anticipate a punch from him every time he got home from work, nor will I have to thoroughly think of what I have to say to him to avoid being criticized, and nor will I cry silently in the night just after he falls asleep. Whatever he was, human or not, I am willing to accept him. He's been a better husband to me than Todd ever was. I didn't have to convince myself anymore that I love Todd because I don't love him anymore. But I do love this stranger who has taken the appearance of Todd, and he loves me back.
This time I can genuinely say that I am one lucky man and I can finally get to introduce him to my parents. | "Todd" had a funny way about him. He held forks and knives in his fists like a baby, laughed in a forced, weird manner only after other people laughed, and seemed to be a nervous, uptight guy. Still, he quietly and methodically dealed out poker hands at the small poker table.
It was Tuesday, and that meant Texas Hold 'Em in the Juneau Gamer's Club. Kimiko, Jeff, Watts, and Joanne all looked over their hands, though Jeff, one of the newcomers, seemed to try to catch eye contact with Todd. After a moment, Todd forced a smile. Too much teeth. "Try and take a photo, it will last longer."
Jeff sighed, putting his two cards down face-side. "You - I've had it. What's wrong with Todd? He's weird!"
"You are the one who is weird, I am a normal man," said Todd, who nervously shot a glance to Kimiko, who turned to Jeff.
"Jeff, Todd's ..from out of town. He's a little idiosyncratic."
"Yes. I am that thing."
"Well, where's he from?" Jeff asked, accusingly.
"Uh. Boise. Y- yeah-" Kim twisted her hair. Watts cleared her throat, standing up, her voice cracking as she spoke loudly.
"I'm from Boise and he's my cousin!" She said exuberantly, trading nervous glances between the three.
Joanne watched the group squabble, before taking a drink of her gin. "Todd's from the constellation Lyra. Well, somewhere there about."
Todd fidgeted with his cards.
"Todd's an alien?!" Jeff hollered. "What the fuck?!"
"Well, Todd's an alien refugee. He's - uh, he's a little bee-spider thing living in Human Todd's brain."
"Todd- wasn't he your friend? He's an alien body snatcher!" Jeff couldn't believe it, never letting his attention drop from the now visibly annoyed Todd.
"My host was only interested in Bitcoin and internet trolling. I mean no harm."
Kim gestured at Todd. "Look, Jeff. Todd's weird, but Old Todd isn't really missed, got us? Keep it a secret. He's a good guy."
Jeff sighed. "Okay."
The group returned to their game. | |
[WP] ”Todd was replaced by an alien body snatcher YEARS ago! Everyone knows that by now.” “Then, why has no one done anything about it?” “Because we all like the body snatcher WAY more than the original Todd.” | "It's nice watching the boats pass by, isn't it?"
Todd sat besides Eleanor, his brows gently furrowed, and he took a sip from his glass of pickle juice while nodding his head. Eleanor hadn't complained when he tugged at her sleeve, asking if it was fine that he brought along the pickle jar for their walk. She was so surprised he'd agreed to come along that it didn't even occur to her that Todd had always hated pickles. When she spotted a newspaper headline reading, "PHLAMPTOWN BODY SNATCHER ON THE LOOSE," she put two and two together and weighed her options in her head. Sure, having a body snatcher as your boyfriend might not be ideal. It doesn't adhere to typical standards. But in this crazy world, what sort of couples did? Doesn't a duo of normal people acting all normal in an absurd world bring to mind images of robots and automatons and 60s Hollywood stereotypical communists? It's dystopian. Crazy people in a crazy world aren't the ones going against the grain, so why judge them? Why not accept the fact that Eleanor now had a body snatcher for a boyfriend and get over it already?
"You sure like your pickles," said Eleanor. A seagull flew overhead. It attracted Todd's attention. He dropped his pickle jar and it shattered on ground, its contents rolling and dripping, and passersby turned their heads towards the strange couple seated on a dock bench. As Todd stretching his arms out, trying to catch the seagull mid-flight, Eleanor wondered whether this situation was really all above board.
"It's flying," said Todd, with a look of scornful anger. He hissed and jumped, but the seagull seemed to find it amusing to tease him by diving just close enough that he thought he could reach it before soaring back up into the skies.
"Maybe it's time to head home. I'll pick up the broken pieces," said Eleanor. As she said it, a strange feeling twisted inside her. That was what she had told herself when she and Todd first met: she'd pick up the broken pieces. She'd put them together. She'd treat him like a renovation project, a fixer-upper, and everything would work out just fine. Like most renovation project you don't see on TV, it had been a humbling disaster. Todd was fine, she was horrified to learn, being Todd. He was fine with flying into a rage when she asked him to spend some time with her. He was fine with giving her the silence treatment for no discernible reason. He was fine with being rude to her friends, flirting with waitresses, and he was fine with her being miserable. She had gone into the relationship thinking she would pick up Todd's broken pieces, sure, but in the end she only found herself holding more shards than she could carry. Some of them were even her own.
"I'm going to eat it," said Todd. His eyes glimmered with determination and as he displayed an extraterrestrial level of athleticism, leaping much higher than a poor seagull might expect from what it assumed to be a human, he locked his jaws around the poor bird. It let out a meek squawk of defeat.
"Don't eat it!" Eleanor begged. Instinctively, her body tightened. Years of experience had taught her that if you give Todd an order, you will soon come to regret it. But to her surprise, Todd unclenched his jaws and let the seagull fly off as feathers rained in front of them.
"Okay," said Todd.
An old woman held her husband tight as they walked past. The old man balled his fists and squinted at them with more than a trace of menace. To her surprise, Todd seemed frightened by the man's aggressive stance. He hid behind her and stared at the old couple with wide eyes. Eleanor rose to the challenge. "I'm the body snatcher!" she shrieked. "I love taking the bodies of senior citizens and turning them into TikTok dance sensations." The old couple walked faster and they both let out timid cries as she raced after them for a few moments.
"It's nice," said Todd.
"What?" Eleanor turned back to her body-snatching boyfriend who stared out at the sea with a look of awe.
"Watching the boats pass by. It's nice."
As they sat, head to head, on the dock bench, people passed them by without knowing what a strange pair they were. A man reading a newspaper stopped in front of them and said, "You kids better be careful. The body snatcher is on the loose."
"Okay," said Todd, and a feather flew out from his mouth. The man hesitated for a moment before he moved on, holding his newspaper tight.
"Let's head home. We'll pick up some pickles on the way."
Todd pumped his fists to celebrate. Eleanor followed suit.
They walked off hand in hand, two crazy people in a crazy world, as a seagull squealed at them from above. | "Todd" had a funny way about him. He held forks and knives in his fists like a baby, laughed in a forced, weird manner only after other people laughed, and seemed to be a nervous, uptight guy. Still, he quietly and methodically dealed out poker hands at the small poker table.
It was Tuesday, and that meant Texas Hold 'Em in the Juneau Gamer's Club. Kimiko, Jeff, Watts, and Joanne all looked over their hands, though Jeff, one of the newcomers, seemed to try to catch eye contact with Todd. After a moment, Todd forced a smile. Too much teeth. "Try and take a photo, it will last longer."
Jeff sighed, putting his two cards down face-side. "You - I've had it. What's wrong with Todd? He's weird!"
"You are the one who is weird, I am a normal man," said Todd, who nervously shot a glance to Kimiko, who turned to Jeff.
"Jeff, Todd's ..from out of town. He's a little idiosyncratic."
"Yes. I am that thing."
"Well, where's he from?" Jeff asked, accusingly.
"Uh. Boise. Y- yeah-" Kim twisted her hair. Watts cleared her throat, standing up, her voice cracking as she spoke loudly.
"I'm from Boise and he's my cousin!" She said exuberantly, trading nervous glances between the three.
Joanne watched the group squabble, before taking a drink of her gin. "Todd's from the constellation Lyra. Well, somewhere there about."
Todd fidgeted with his cards.
"Todd's an alien?!" Jeff hollered. "What the fuck?!"
"Well, Todd's an alien refugee. He's - uh, he's a little bee-spider thing living in Human Todd's brain."
"Todd- wasn't he your friend? He's an alien body snatcher!" Jeff couldn't believe it, never letting his attention drop from the now visibly annoyed Todd.
"My host was only interested in Bitcoin and internet trolling. I mean no harm."
Kim gestured at Todd. "Look, Jeff. Todd's weird, but Old Todd isn't really missed, got us? Keep it a secret. He's a good guy."
Jeff sighed. "Okay."
The group returned to their game. | |
[WP] ”Todd was replaced by an alien body snatcher YEARS ago! Everyone knows that by now.” “Then, why has no one done anything about it?” “Because we all like the body snatcher WAY more than the original Todd.” | "It's nice watching the boats pass by, isn't it?"
Todd sat besides Eleanor, his brows gently furrowed, and he took a sip from his glass of pickle juice while nodding his head. Eleanor hadn't complained when he tugged at her sleeve, asking if it was fine that he brought along the pickle jar for their walk. She was so surprised he'd agreed to come along that it didn't even occur to her that Todd had always hated pickles. When she spotted a newspaper headline reading, "PHLAMPTOWN BODY SNATCHER ON THE LOOSE," she put two and two together and weighed her options in her head. Sure, having a body snatcher as your boyfriend might not be ideal. It doesn't adhere to typical standards. But in this crazy world, what sort of couples did? Doesn't a duo of normal people acting all normal in an absurd world bring to mind images of robots and automatons and 60s Hollywood stereotypical communists? It's dystopian. Crazy people in a crazy world aren't the ones going against the grain, so why judge them? Why not accept the fact that Eleanor now had a body snatcher for a boyfriend and get over it already?
"You sure like your pickles," said Eleanor. A seagull flew overhead. It attracted Todd's attention. He dropped his pickle jar and it shattered on ground, its contents rolling and dripping, and passersby turned their heads towards the strange couple seated on a dock bench. As Todd stretching his arms out, trying to catch the seagull mid-flight, Eleanor wondered whether this situation was really all above board.
"It's flying," said Todd, with a look of scornful anger. He hissed and jumped, but the seagull seemed to find it amusing to tease him by diving just close enough that he thought he could reach it before soaring back up into the skies.
"Maybe it's time to head home. I'll pick up the broken pieces," said Eleanor. As she said it, a strange feeling twisted inside her. That was what she had told herself when she and Todd first met: she'd pick up the broken pieces. She'd put them together. She'd treat him like a renovation project, a fixer-upper, and everything would work out just fine. Like most renovation project you don't see on TV, it had been a humbling disaster. Todd was fine, she was horrified to learn, being Todd. He was fine with flying into a rage when she asked him to spend some time with her. He was fine with giving her the silence treatment for no discernible reason. He was fine with being rude to her friends, flirting with waitresses, and he was fine with her being miserable. She had gone into the relationship thinking she would pick up Todd's broken pieces, sure, but in the end she only found herself holding more shards than she could carry. Some of them were even her own.
"I'm going to eat it," said Todd. His eyes glimmered with determination and as he displayed an extraterrestrial level of athleticism, leaping much higher than a poor seagull might expect from what it assumed to be a human, he locked his jaws around the poor bird. It let out a meek squawk of defeat.
"Don't eat it!" Eleanor begged. Instinctively, her body tightened. Years of experience had taught her that if you give Todd an order, you will soon come to regret it. But to her surprise, Todd unclenched his jaws and let the seagull fly off as feathers rained in front of them.
"Okay," said Todd.
An old woman held her husband tight as they walked past. The old man balled his fists and squinted at them with more than a trace of menace. To her surprise, Todd seemed frightened by the man's aggressive stance. He hid behind her and stared at the old couple with wide eyes. Eleanor rose to the challenge. "I'm the body snatcher!" she shrieked. "I love taking the bodies of senior citizens and turning them into TikTok dance sensations." The old couple walked faster and they both let out timid cries as she raced after them for a few moments.
"It's nice," said Todd.
"What?" Eleanor turned back to her body-snatching boyfriend who stared out at the sea with a look of awe.
"Watching the boats pass by. It's nice."
As they sat, head to head, on the dock bench, people passed them by without knowing what a strange pair they were. A man reading a newspaper stopped in front of them and said, "You kids better be careful. The body snatcher is on the loose."
"Okay," said Todd, and a feather flew out from his mouth. The man hesitated for a moment before he moved on, holding his newspaper tight.
"Let's head home. We'll pick up some pickles on the way."
Todd pumped his fists to celebrate. Eleanor followed suit.
They walked off hand in hand, two crazy people in a crazy world, as a seagull squealed at them from above. | "You're not hearing me Jamie, it's not about whether you *like* him, I'm telling you they're taking over!"
"Yeah, *in twenty years*; we'll be old then, who cares? BS Todd is great! Check this out; hey BS Todd, what's cracking?"
'Todd' was still standing next to them, *almost* facing Jamie and Janet, but looking just ever so slightly off to the side with the same stupid, earnest grin he'd had for the past six months; "Ha ha, not much, Jamie! I've just been doing hobbies and participating in all that life has to offer here in Mondale, California, where I was born and currently live."
Jamie grinned back at Janet; "Look at him, he doesn't even care; you can call him BS Todd all day and he's totally cool."
Todd asked earnestly "What is a BS, anyway?"
Janet was beginning to think it would be easier to get through to Body-snatched Todd than to Jamie...
"See look, this Todd is better than Todd. And I know what you're thinking; I'm horrible, all that, where *is* Todd right now, but check this out... Hey Todd; if you had been body-snatched and Todd were actually somewhere else right now, where do you think he would be?"
Todd thought about that for a minute, and looked uncertain, then said "I probably wouldn't be allowed to tell you that, but I'm going to anyway, because I care about Todd, and Todd is me. Todd would probably be in a Simulation Center, living out a normal human life on a planet where resource usage is so efficient that it's actually possible to profitably exploit other planets' resources and displace their life while *simultaneously* giving those creatures a fantastic quality of life through the power of simulation. But that's all hypothetical, ha ha!"
"Great, so Todd is probably in a happyland simulation; that's still not ok, and you're missing the point. What if they come for-"
"Hey Todd, could I have five bucks?"
Todd reached into his pocket and pulled out a large silver wallet, "Ha ha, sure! What are friends for?"
Jamie pocketed the five, "I know the danger, but the thing is, if they haven't replaced us yet,-
Still grinning, Todd interrupted, "If someone could explain what friends are for, that would be great; I really don't know!"
"- then I don't really think they're going to. It's been 6 months; as far as I can tell nobody else has been body snatched, and-"
"I was raised in a small room with very bright lights."
Jamie looked at Todd finally, "And beside, look at this guy. He's not blending *at all*; do you really think *these people* are going to have any success replacing everyone else? There's no way anyone else has been replaced if this is how they're doing it; we would know."
"My favorite food is the Battle of Monte Cassino!"
Janet was already walking away though. This was clearly never going to sink in.
"But really, could someone please explain what friends are for?"
Jamie didn't see what the big deal was. This was obviously not Todd, but old Todd would have *never* lent him five bucks. Old Todd was *never* cheerful, and never responded positively to anyone's banter. In fact, when you got down to it, Old Todd was kind of a dick.
"It's hard to explain, but I think you're a better friend than old Todd."
"Is that because I gave you five dollarydoos?"
"No, it's because you say things like dollarydoos and you never get mad at me... But enough of that; let's head to the mall and see if we can find Janet. I'm sure she'll come around eventually."
"I throw javelins as a national hobby, so I'll drive!"
"That's super, Todd." | |
[WP] ”Todd was replaced by an alien body snatcher YEARS ago! Everyone knows that by now.” “Then, why has no one done anything about it?” “Because we all like the body snatcher WAY more than the original Todd.” | "It's nice watching the boats pass by, isn't it?"
Todd sat besides Eleanor, his brows gently furrowed, and he took a sip from his glass of pickle juice while nodding his head. Eleanor hadn't complained when he tugged at her sleeve, asking if it was fine that he brought along the pickle jar for their walk. She was so surprised he'd agreed to come along that it didn't even occur to her that Todd had always hated pickles. When she spotted a newspaper headline reading, "PHLAMPTOWN BODY SNATCHER ON THE LOOSE," she put two and two together and weighed her options in her head. Sure, having a body snatcher as your boyfriend might not be ideal. It doesn't adhere to typical standards. But in this crazy world, what sort of couples did? Doesn't a duo of normal people acting all normal in an absurd world bring to mind images of robots and automatons and 60s Hollywood stereotypical communists? It's dystopian. Crazy people in a crazy world aren't the ones going against the grain, so why judge them? Why not accept the fact that Eleanor now had a body snatcher for a boyfriend and get over it already?
"You sure like your pickles," said Eleanor. A seagull flew overhead. It attracted Todd's attention. He dropped his pickle jar and it shattered on ground, its contents rolling and dripping, and passersby turned their heads towards the strange couple seated on a dock bench. As Todd stretching his arms out, trying to catch the seagull mid-flight, Eleanor wondered whether this situation was really all above board.
"It's flying," said Todd, with a look of scornful anger. He hissed and jumped, but the seagull seemed to find it amusing to tease him by diving just close enough that he thought he could reach it before soaring back up into the skies.
"Maybe it's time to head home. I'll pick up the broken pieces," said Eleanor. As she said it, a strange feeling twisted inside her. That was what she had told herself when she and Todd first met: she'd pick up the broken pieces. She'd put them together. She'd treat him like a renovation project, a fixer-upper, and everything would work out just fine. Like most renovation project you don't see on TV, it had been a humbling disaster. Todd was fine, she was horrified to learn, being Todd. He was fine with flying into a rage when she asked him to spend some time with her. He was fine with giving her the silence treatment for no discernible reason. He was fine with being rude to her friends, flirting with waitresses, and he was fine with her being miserable. She had gone into the relationship thinking she would pick up Todd's broken pieces, sure, but in the end she only found herself holding more shards than she could carry. Some of them were even her own.
"I'm going to eat it," said Todd. His eyes glimmered with determination and as he displayed an extraterrestrial level of athleticism, leaping much higher than a poor seagull might expect from what it assumed to be a human, he locked his jaws around the poor bird. It let out a meek squawk of defeat.
"Don't eat it!" Eleanor begged. Instinctively, her body tightened. Years of experience had taught her that if you give Todd an order, you will soon come to regret it. But to her surprise, Todd unclenched his jaws and let the seagull fly off as feathers rained in front of them.
"Okay," said Todd.
An old woman held her husband tight as they walked past. The old man balled his fists and squinted at them with more than a trace of menace. To her surprise, Todd seemed frightened by the man's aggressive stance. He hid behind her and stared at the old couple with wide eyes. Eleanor rose to the challenge. "I'm the body snatcher!" she shrieked. "I love taking the bodies of senior citizens and turning them into TikTok dance sensations." The old couple walked faster and they both let out timid cries as she raced after them for a few moments.
"It's nice," said Todd.
"What?" Eleanor turned back to her body-snatching boyfriend who stared out at the sea with a look of awe.
"Watching the boats pass by. It's nice."
As they sat, head to head, on the dock bench, people passed them by without knowing what a strange pair they were. A man reading a newspaper stopped in front of them and said, "You kids better be careful. The body snatcher is on the loose."
"Okay," said Todd, and a feather flew out from his mouth. The man hesitated for a moment before he moved on, holding his newspaper tight.
"Let's head home. We'll pick up some pickles on the way."
Todd pumped his fists to celebrate. Eleanor followed suit.
They walked off hand in hand, two crazy people in a crazy world, as a seagull squealed at them from above. | I still look back on that day. I think it's not normal for a person to change overnight, but I'm glad it happened anyway. It wasn't always easy living with Todd. The alcohol he took, the bruises he gave, his temper, all of it was suddenly gone one day. I thought that maybe God finally heard my silent prayers.
Years went by and he got a new job, we got ourselves a new apartment, and we were even considering adopting. I slowly saw a good future with him but even though all these changes were great, he would no longer write me poetry out of the blue, he would act puzzled whenever I ask him feedback about the articles I write, he finds reading books boring all of a sudden, and he suddenly has different preferences in music and food. Todd wasn't a good person overall but he still had traits that made me love him in the first place and they're not there anymore.
One day, there was an accident. Someone was speeding by and they hit Todd while he was on a crosswalk. I didn't realize it at the time because I was too shocked by what was happening but Todd was able to get up and walk to me even though one of his legs were dislocated. He comforted me while the driver took us to the nearest hospital but Todd suggested a different hospital, somewhere a bit more farther away, because his insurance covered bills from that specific hospital only. We thought he was crazy and I said I was willing to pay anyway but Todd insinsted calmly. He was acting like he wasn't in pain and the driver and I looked like we're panicking unnecessarily.
When we got to the hospital Todd suggested, all the doctors and nurses were acting calmy around us. Too calm. Like my husband's predicament was no big deal. A few hours had passed and Todd looked better than ever. He had no scratches, his leg was back to normal, and he did a big smile at me. The doctor said everything was fine. My mind couldn't make sense of everything because I expected the ordeal to go so much worse. I was mentally prepared for only the worst. But Todd was okay now and him and the driver had a talk for a bit before we went back home.
I'm not so sure about who I was living with anymore. That's when I finally realized that he didn't feel like Todd anymore, and he didn't even feel human anymore either after the accident. But whatever he was, he helped me build myself up again. The abusive relationship I was so used to was a thing of the past. I didn't have to anticipate a punch from him every time he got home from work, nor will I have to thoroughly think of what I have to say to him to avoid being criticized, and nor will I cry silently in the night just after he falls asleep. Whatever he was, human or not, I am willing to accept him. He's been a better husband to me than Todd ever was. I didn't have to convince myself anymore that I love Todd because I don't love him anymore. But I do love this stranger who has taken the appearance of Todd, and he loves me back.
This time I can genuinely say that I am one lucky man and I can finally get to introduce him to my parents. | |
[WP] After 200,000 years, the alien generation ship arrived to our solar system. She has the fire power to vaporize a few planets, but the handful of survivors only ask for some hot soup and a few other surprisingly reasonable demands. | "There's an alien in the middle booth."
"I know Babs. "
"An Alien." Bab's stressed and did her best not to panic.
When the ship has first appeared in the Solar system, hidden until then, they had been prepared for trouble. The military had scrambled, the Churches, Synagogues and Mosques, along with every other religious place on the planet, was suddenly full. People tried to evacuate the cities, but that proved to be impossible as within an hour the roads were blocked solid. A lot of countries had proved they couldn't handle a mass evacuation.
And then contact had been made.
And they they wanted a hot meal. A thousands years worth of knowledge, advancements that could save the earth, all for the cost of a good meal and warm clothes. Some time spent on the planets surface so their kids could feel some real sun and swim in a real lake or ocean.
Everyone said yes. Obviously protections were put in place, but over all, it went well. Towns and cites volunteered for the first few visitors to visit them, and Babs was still in shock that their tiny hamlet had been chosen.
She looked at him, and took in the face of a man from another world. They were amphibious, pale Breen tinted skin mostly covered by a Mets T-Shirt and a pair of cycling shorts. There were sealed 'gills' on his next and, hidden under the shirt, his chest that allowed him to breath beneath the water, but a set of working lungs let him live above the water line. Huge wide eyes were dark and his nose was small and thin.
He'd ordered a sandwich and soup. The people who had been here when he arrived were very consciously trying not to stare, and failing miserably.
One boy, the middle Marter's son, stood and went over to the aliens Table. Two men who were agents pretending to be truckers seemed about to do something but didn't move.
The Alien looked up and his mouth curved into a smile, head tilting and he said, "Hello."
His voice was oddly deep, and the English had a soft, slightly lilted accent to it.
The Boy, Tommy, Babs remembered, took a deep breath and, ion one rushed sentenced said. "HiI'mTommyI'mgladyoucametovisitcanItalkwithyou."
There was silence for a second, and the the alien giggled. An actual, real giggle. He gestured to the seat across form him and nodded. "Hello Tommy, I am Gryn. That would be nice."
Babs moved closer so she could here, picking up the conversation easily after years of eaves dropping.
The alien answered Tommy question, and Tommy Answered him. They spoke about the food on his ship, which was mass produced and though filling a palatable, it wasn't the same as something you cooked yourself.
He spoke of other planets they had seen. The last world they had stopped at had been when Gryn was a baby, and though he couldn't remember it it his parents could.
"I have an Uncle that petitioned to stay there. Couldn't handle the idea of traveling one for another who knows how many years. So him and a few hundred others left. We are still in contact, though the further we travel the longer the messages take. "
"Do...do you think anyone will ask to stay here?"
"I don't know. We were told to be polite, but your oceans are a mess. I mean, we could handle it, and clean it up, but it could take a good 50 years before it could be made clean, really clean again."
Babs felt bad hearing that. A species that spent some of their lives in the water would be concerned about the oceans. An she knew that there planets system was not the best. | And that's where they messed up. Human's can't have nice things. They just can't. It's not in their nature. They have this overwhelmingly tendency to dominate weaker things. And, unfortunately for the aliens who were just trying to be kind, they should have done their research a little more. Then they would have seen that 'kindness' in the human almanac is synonymous to the word 'weakness'.
Oh, and did I mention that humans are vindictive as hell? You thought you could just kill their family members, give them some hot soup and turn your back on them like everything was just fun and dandy? Humans are always looking for opportunities to kill and destroy, and you just gave them a *reason*. Turning your back only saved you from getting a scalding hot splash of soup thrown in your face. But it didn't stop them from breaking the bowl on the ground and cutting your comrades necks from behind, did it?
Now you're one of the only survivors left on your ship. You may be relieved that you're still alive. *Maybe they'll have mercy on me* you think. Nope, think again. They're only keeping you alive so you can help them navigate the controls as they go off to explore and conquer the rest of the galaxy. But it's only going to get worse from here. You were dumb enough to bring your family on the ship. You thought it would be a fun outing: *Hey honey! Hey kids! Wanna watch us vaporize Earth?!* You don't want to know what they're doing to your wife and daughters in the other room right now. Soon, the humans are going to want some info. You might have it in your head to refuse...until you see that they're dragging in your son behind them. If you don't give them the info, your son pays.
On the bright side, once the humans figure out everything they need to know about the ship, the weapon capabilities and what other alien species are out there, they're going to quickly start conquering and waging war on the other planets. They'll take other hostages and by then you'll be expendable. The good news is that the humans will kill you relatively quickly compared to the torture that the other aliens would have put you through if they found out that you were one of the one's responsible for attacking Earth.
Because as all alien species know, you leave Earth and all it's humans inhabitants the f@#% alone. | |
[WP] A wizard watches a stage magician perform, trying like hell to figure out how he's doing what he's doing while clearly not possessing any magic. | “Ladies and Gentlemen, please put your hands together for our next act. Let his magic astound you! His powers of illusion mystify you! Pleeeeaaassseee welcome Malcon the Magnificent!!” the voice coming out the speakers rang out.
There was a smattering of applause around the venue. Harold though, was unimpressed by the man stepping out on stage. He had apprenticed under some of the most powerful mages of all time. Even serving directly under the Empress Prelate herself as her Arch Mage. This pitiful human could never match his prowess.
“Thank you, thank you,” Malcolm said, gesturing for the applause to fade.
“Now you, sir, in the pointy hat,” he said, gesturing to Harold as he walked towards him.
“Can you first check this deck of cards? Make sure there's no funny business,” he said, handing Harold the deck. Playing along, he checked the deck, and it was just a standard deck of playing cards.
“Now pick a card any card. Be sure to not let me see it,” he said as he fanned out a deck of playing cards.
Harold felt he should at least humour the poor deluded fool. By taking a card he kept it closely hidden.
“Now glance at the card but be sure not to tell me what it is,” he said. Harold obeyed and saw it was a Jack of Diamonds.
“Thank you, can he get a round of applause,” Malcolm said, offering his hand to shake Harolds. The crowd gave a small applause.
“Now keep ahold of that card as my final trick shall need it,” he said with a playful wink before returning to the stage.
Standing by the microphone, he paused for a moment, looking confused.
“I’m sorry sir, do you have the time?” he asked. Harold felt only pity.
“Why it’s…” Harold felt his voice fade as when he checked his wrist; his watch was gone.
“Ah, never mind, I got a nice watch right here,” Malcolm said with a cheesy grin holding up Harold’s watch itself.
Harold felt his stomach drop at the sight of his timepiece in Malcolm’s hand. Such mastery of magic and sorcery. Truly even his spells could not achieve what he had done. He didn’t even feel any mana be manipulated.
Malcolm returned to Harold's table and handed the watch back while the crowd gave much more enthusiastic applause to this trick.
“My next trick is a classic,” he said, taking out a flat black circle of cloth. With a tap, it took the shape of a tophat. Harold felt his blood start to run cold. Controlling fabric was difficult as you needed to manipulate each fibre individually. To make a silent spell seem so effortless was amazing.
Placing the hat on a small table on the stage, Malcolm began reaching into the hat. Slowly his arm sank deeper and deeper. Far deeper than the hat should allow.
“Spacial magic…” Harold could only whisper in shock. You could count the mages who achieved such a feat on one hand. This stage performer was doing the most sublime magic for fun.
“Ah, there you are, Mr Fluffles,” he announced, taking out a fluffy white rabbit. Harold was beyond shocked now. While the crowd around him clapped, he had witnessed something even his master struggled with. Spacial magic allowing living beings to inhabit it.
Malcolm handed the rabbit off to a stagehand, who quickly retreated.
“Now my next trick is simple, I am going to search through this deck and find the card that gentleman picked earlier,” he said with a smile.
Gesturing to a couple of audience members, he invited them to inspect the deck. They checked it and confirmed there was nothing wrong. Malcolm then shuffled the deck and held it aloft.
“Good sir was your card the…” he held off to allow the anticipation to build. Harold felt smug, knowing he still had the card in his hand.
“Four of clubs,” he finished.
“No, it wasn’t,” Harold announced, finally getting one over on the false mage.
“Ah, no, it wouldn’t be as this deck is entirely made up of the Jack of Diamonds,” he revealed the deck that had once been normal was now entirely all the card he had picked.
The crowd gave a thunderous applause to this reveal, and Harold was stunned. He had been fooled, and this man was a mage without equal. He must be some secret grandmaster on par with the masters who had taught him.
Harold was now determined to become this man's apprentice. Watching as Malcolm took a final bow and left the stage to let the next act perform, Harold approached him.
“That spell was truly magnificent. May I ask how it was done?” He asked.
“Ah, a magician never reveals his tricks first rule of the magic circle,” Malcolm replied, tapping his nose.
Harold had never heard of this magic circle but was certain they must be a coven of mages on par with his teachers.
“However, I got a few of my magic trick books you can buy. The publisher printed a few too many, so I got a few spares in my van,” he said with a warm smile.
Harold was feeling beyond giddy now. This master mage was willing to sell him a grimoire of magic.
“How much may it be?” he asked.
“As you were such a good sport, I’ll discount it to say thirty bucks,” he offered.
Harold shook the man's hand, accepting the deal. A mere thirty dollars for magical grimoires that gave this mage such power was a bargain. Though, he made sure to check his watch was still on his wrist, which elicited a chuckle from Malcolm.
for more of my nonsense go to r/Random3X | "He must be extremely powerful, to harness and be in control of his powers at such a young age," Barzle remarked, nodding at the stage as a nine-year-old boy walked on stage, his face shining and bright red as he took in the audience before him.
Aurelius nodded in agreement. "I wonder what he's discovered on his own so far."
The two sat near the back on the auditorium. They had been informed of the young wizard weeks ago, a flyer gracing Barzle's desk without any additional note. A talent show, taking place in a small town in Ohio, with the closing act of Timmy the Wizard.
"The last girl - the one who danced to the hip hop song? - she was rather good," Aurelius muttered as Timmy the Wizard began setting his props on a table. "I'd like to find out what the song is called."
Barzle opened his mouth to agree, but Timmy the Wizard had stepped up to the microphone.
"Welcome!" Timmy the Wizard bellowed, silencing the crowd before him.
"Commanding," Aurelius mused.
"Worrying," Barzle murmured back. The child could be dangerous, instead of a novel and youthful learner, if he had already practiced Dictation magic.
Timmy the Wizard was waving his arms in the air, and suddenly, a pencil appeared in his hand.
*Summoning magic,* Aurelius jotted into his notebook. The crowd clapped politely.
"Behold!" Timmy cried, voice echoing. He grasped the end of the pencil, near the eraser, pinching it between his thumb and pointer finger.
"What's this?" Barzle asked quietly.
Timmy paused, allowing the suspense and drama to soak in. "Behold," he repeated, "as I turn this solid pencil... to rubber!" Suddenly, he began rapidly moving it up and down, and the pencil appeared to be bending and flopping as Timmy continued shaking the pencil, tongue poking out of his mouth in a laser-sharp focus.
Aurelius looked over at Barzle, who had a perplexed, almost disgusted expression. "What, uh," he said, without looking away from the child and the wobbling pencil. "Really, what the fuck is this?" | |
[WP] The world we know was created by three divine beings: the mother of the land, the mother of the sea, and the mother of the sky. The three isolate themselves on an immortal island paradise, fiercely guarded by the only thing older than them: death. | Every one of us hears this story when we're young, when we first learn to talk and shortly after learn to start asking questions. We all inevitably ask how our world came to be.
Before time, there was only the void, the endless nothingness. All the universe contained only one being; Melath, the lord of the void. He thought no thoughts and felt no feelings, until the arrival of the Mothers.
The Mothers saw the emptiness and said, "This will not do." And so the Mother of Land, Perressa, created a ball of earth to become a planet for her sisters to build on. The Mother of Sea, Toria, covered the earth with water, though out of respect for her sister she did not cover it all the way. The Mother of Sky, Deniun, coated the planet in air, which she made clear so that her sisters' work could be easily seen. Finally, the Mother of Light, Fios, created an ever-burning ball of fire to orbit the planet and light up her sisters' work.
Melath saw this new creation, but did not understand what it was. After all, he had never seen existence before, he had only known the void. He watched, puzzled, as the Mothers walked on their new world and took in its beauty.
Beautiful as it was, though, the Mothers knew that their world was missing something. And so the four of them worked together to create something composed partly of land, partly of sea, partly of sky, and partly of light. They called this creation Life.
The released the Life into the world, where it grew, and changed, and divided, and became many creatures of endless forms, filling up the entire world. The Mothers wept for the beauty that life had brought to their world, greater than any beauty they could have imagined before it. Who knew that Perressa's land would look so much more glorious with green trees covering it? That Toria's seas could play home to wondrous things like crabs, whales, octopi, and other crabs? That Deniun's Sky could host birds, and insects, and dragons? That all of it would take nourishment, handed down in a chain, from Fios' light?
However, as unbelievably proud as they were of their creation, the Mothers discovered something that broke their hearts: all life, in all of the many forms it takes, must eventually cease to be. They wondered between themselves at why this was, for death was not something they had brought to their world.
It was then that Melath, who had begun to understand and share the love the Mothers felt for what they had made in the midst of his void, at last made himself known. He told the Mothers that because this world resided in the void, a place of eternal nothingness, then although it was not his will, the creatures who lived in this world would all eventually return to nothingness.
He shared in their grief of the inevitability of death, and offered that if death was the price, then perhaps life would prefer to never have been. The Mothers asked this of their creation, and they resoundingly replied that they would rather have a short life, with its mix of joy and tragedy, than no life at all.
And so the Mothers and the Void Lord agreed that greatest thing would be to fill the void as much as possible with bright planets full of life. After making a few dozen or so worlds, the Mothers decided to make gods who could help them in their work and watch over the worlds they had made. Soon enough they made the Island, a stretch of land floating in the void that served as a workshop of worlds. The Mothers carefully crafted each world, then dispatched a few of their gods to carry it to a distant corner of the void. They made countless worlds in this way, and the Mothers and Melath--who had become like a brother to them at this point--adored each and every one of them.
Unfortunately, as the five siblings discovered, life oftentimes brings conflict. It was about a billion years ago by our reckoning of time that the strongest god of a distant world, Verodyste, slew her fellow gods and turned her world into a machine of war. In time she created an army and led them in an assault on the Island, intending to enslave the Mothers and turn the power of creation to their own ends.
As the army approached, the Mothers felt fear for the first time ever, and Melath felt it with them. Again and again the five of them tried to reason with Verodyste, to turn her resolve, to weaken her hold on her army, but nothing worked. Finally, as she reached the Island, Verodyste raised her spear to strike at its foundation--
And in that instant, Melath reached out with his will. Verodyste had been created from nothing, her army had once been nothing, and with a single thought, Melath returned them to nothing.
Melath had always been the source of death, but this was the first time he had ever deliberately killed. He begged the Mothers' forgiveness for destroying their work, and they embraced him and thanked him for saving them and all the future worlds they would make.
And so, a few million years later, when another force came to conquer the Island--this time an army of mortals who had killed or enslaved their gods long before--Melath once again reached out with his will and returned them to nothing.
Our world is old--some five billion years or so, compared to the eight billion since the Mothers first came into Melath's domain. We've done and learned many extraordinary things in that time, and soon we may join the interplanetary community. Our gods, who once ruled over us as titans, are now our friends and equals. We may begin to believe that we are unchallengable, a match even for death itself.
But we must remember that death always wins. That every time someone has come to attack the Island, they are always struck down.
Because Melath will do anything to protect his sisters. | today was weird. it started like the past month, i woke up threw on my uniform and went to the armory so that i could get to work. after an hour the captain said we had encountered an unexpected island so we would be stopping to course correct. all was normal until i heard people struggling past the armory to the medbay next door. a lot if people were going to medbay and i assumed that one of the cooks screwed up abd a bunch of people got foid poisoning. that was until i heard someone yell “the captain is having a heart attack,” while a stretcher rushed by the armory with the captain inside.
this was where the weirdness started. i left the armory to try and help people and saw all varieties of issues but one thing was certain. everyone was dying. i raced around the ship and it was true in every room across the ship that i seemed to be the only person that was okay. by the time i reached the last room i had inly found one person who wasnt dying and they got killed by a falling beam in an area under repair we decided to take a shortcut through.
i decided to abandon ship and take shelter on the island. i went to the deck and found a life boat which i deployed and started rowing to the island. after an hour i hit the island finalyy took the ti
e to calm down. i looked at the ship which was now sinking all i could see was black smoke and a grey bow descending beneath the waves. i took a moment to sit and remember the people who died before i turned and decided to explore the island.
the island was beautiful and civered in greenery. i had landed by a small inlet which seemed to have something growing in the tiver delta near a shed. that must gave been a good sign so ran to the shed hoping to find some sign of life.
i knocked on the shed door three times before trying to open it. the whole shed was full of seeds and harvested crop. it seemed to be the same reed that was growing on the delta. there was also a log book not of crops but of names. some of the names were people on the ship who died. could this island be what caused them all to die?
as I continued i found multiple plots of land with sheds of crop and logbooks of names.
after three hours i found an orchard full of fruit trees. one if the fruits was hanging low so i picked it ate it because it looked to be percectly safe. it was some variety of apple that I had never tasted before. there was anither shed nearby full of fruit and another logbook. this one gad cuvilizations listed but some were crossed out. every civilization that had been crossed out had fallen in the past.
after 10 more minutes if walking I saw a clearing which had two figures arguing in front of two freshly harvested plots of land. one was once wheat while the other i think was flax. but they seemed to be arguing about a wheat stalk growing in the flax plot. both were wearing long robes one wearing black the other white. the figure in black held a two handed scythe while the one in white held a sickle.
the the figure in black looked at me to reveal that their face was a skull. | |
[WP] Being a vampire was so easy just a century ago when all I had to worry about was the occasional tin mirror. Nowadays everywhere I turn it's buildings made of glass, cell phone cameras, motion-activated doors and soap dispensers, biometric scanners, security cameras, and NONE of it works on me. | The secret to being a vampire is makeup.
Okay, there are alternatives. You can just go and live in the woods. That's a valid approach, and I don't begrudge those who want to try and maintain things the old fashioned way, as well as they can.
Here's the thing, though- there's only so many people out there. That's sort of the *point*. But that also means that there isn't much food.
If you point out that there are *animals* to eat, then *I* will point out that humans are perfectly capable of just chowing down on bugs and mice and all sorts of other creepy-crawlies. Don't call an exterminator- call the family for dinner!
Doesn't sound very nice, does it? No, no it does not.
Besides, there's just something *about* human blood. Vampires who try substituting animals don't *die*, but...I dunno. They turn all funny. Something about sparkly skin and falling for teenage girls.
As every man over the age of 25 or so knows, teenage girls are *not* worth the trouble. To fall for one as a centuries-old immortal is just...
Well. Suffice it to say that we prefer not to live on animal blood if we can possibly avoid it.
But that means interacting with humans, which is...just the *worst*. People suck, you can take it from a professional. Gotta blend in, gotta be polite, gotta pretend to be interested in whatever drivel they're spouting while you get them alone so you can eat.
Do humans have to pretend to be interested in the cows inane ramblings while they fire up the grill? No. No they do not. Don't ever pretend that you don't have it easy. We still have to *work* for our food.
And it's a *lot* of work, and it takes a *lot* of practice to get it even *close* to right.
So, okay, your clothes show up in mirrors, that's good. That's a start. You can go all Invisible Man, wrapped up in stuff, but...I mean, everyone knows that trope. It's enough to make even the huge guys want to give us some space.
(Also, contrary to popular perception, we usually go for men, and the bigger ones at that. Women are usually pretty aware of the possibility that whoever they're talking to might be a threat if they end up without anyone else around, and they've got less blood to boot. Men, you just get them somewhere secluded, hypnotize them a little so they don't remember, and have yourself a meal. Half the time they don't even *notice* the blood loss.)
So you've gotta do makeup. That's not too bad, though, right? Sure, you've gotta learn, but teenage girls all over manage to figure this out- how hard can it be?
The thing about teenage girls, though, is that *they* can actually *see* themselves in the mirror.
So you practice. You start out really, really bad at it, but with careful practice, diligent observation, and really *listening* to what *exactly* people scream as they run away in terror, you can get to the point where you're merely really bad at it.
The end result is that most vampires show up in public looking like overdressed cheap hookers.
Undignified, but, and there's a lot to be said for this, it *works*. And people are wildly unlikely to suspect a cheap hooker of secretly being a supernaturally strong centuries-old immortal. The perception of probably drug addiction also helps out if you slip up and forget what century it is. People don't really listen to what you say.
So let this be a lesson to all you humans out there. Technology has unintended consequences. Do you think that the inventor of the camera set out to unleash cheap vampire hookers upon the world? He did not. But, as his work was adopted and adapted and advanced, that is what he has wrought.
So next time you have a brilliant idea, take a moment and ask yourself: Is it really worth it, if this also means that bigfoot has to go around dressed in drag?
Humans don't have to put up with *their* sandwiches inventing caged lightning or whatever, I'll tell you that much. It's enough to make me think seriously about the animal approach. | Rex twisted and felt the seat flex under him. His bowels surged and the pain in his stomach finally began to ease. He didn’t feed often, which was good thing he realized, because it always affected him this way. He supposed it made some sense, a strictly liquid diet was bound to have some unpleasant repercussions.
Sitting there in his own stench, he pulled up the Tinder app on his smart phone and began to scroll through his options. The way he had built his profile had been rather clever, he thought, using an old painting of himself rather than a photo in which he would never appear. He supposed it was a good likeness. Unable to see his own reflection it was hard to tell but the image the artist had captured was of a rather dapper man in is early fifties. Of course there was no hiding the fact he was a vampire, but for whatever reason the chicks seemed to dig it.
His stomach surged again and as it abated he reached around to press the button that would flush the toilet. He hated doing that while he was still seated and dreaded the splash of cold water on the balls it was sure to bring. The button depressed beneath his finger but failed to engage the mechanism. He pressed it again to no avail. So much for a courtesy flush, he thought.
Sighing, he closed the app, put his phone away and folded a handful of paper from the roll. After cleaning himself, he rose, adjusted his trousers and turned again to flush the toilet. The button failed yet again while the lifeless, single red eye of the automatic flush unit stared blankly ahead. He shrugged, removed his cape from the hook on the door and moved to leave.
At the sink, water failed to flow at the wave of his hand but no matter, he realized, the towels would not have dispensed either. The reek of death and rotten blood caused him to turn and he caught sight of the mess he had left behind. Some poor bastard, he thought, was really going to earn their paycheck come sunrise.
The price of technology he mused as he exited the facility. | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | As the king of games, many people had tried to best me, and with almost any combination of games.
Some challenged me to chess, others to sparring, and some even invaded my kingdom on the technicality that war is just a game. How cruel yet truthful.
But none of those games cruelly challenged me. All those games had a strategy to them. I might spend days, weeks, or even years replaying the same game, but I would always eventually master the strategies required to win the game. Every time I won a game, I would gain mastery over that game, and it would become easier over time. It all felt quite meaningless to know that one day I would eventually win.
But this game was so incredibly simple that none had ever thought to challenge me with it.
I watched my opponent carve out the grid on the bark of a tree, for the 87th time. A game of Tic-Tac-Toe.
I had foolishly agreed to the game under the condition that my opponent would move first. And damn my own ego and foolishness, the peasant that had challenged me must have memorised every possible combination of moves.
So far, every game had ended in stalemate.
"I go first, like you agreed." The peasant said. I nodded grimly, almost entirely sure the result of the game would be yet another stalemate. "Very well."
He started by placing his X in the middle of the grid, nullifying exactly half the possible lines in the game.
I then placed my O down in the bottom left corner, a comfort move I developed the past few games, seeing as it wouldn't matter strategeically, as all the spaces were identical. What really mattered was where he placed his.
"That's interesting!" The peasant said as he placed his X in the bottom-middle space.
I was then forced to place my O in the top-middle. "Do you reckon this game will turn out like the rest?" Asked the peasant.
"I believe that assumption would be right, which is surprising for a fellow below me in intellect." I said it in an attempt to have him choose the bottom right corner, with no hatred for him in mind.
"Well we've stalemated so far? Wouldn't you claim us equal?" Asked the peasant, to the confusion of the crowd around us. It was then that I realised that his words made no sense, as this would've been his first game.
He must have the same power as I did.
"Are you catching on you foolish king?" The peasant smirked and placed his X in the bottom right. I almost didn't notice that my manipulation had worked, due to the absurdity of the conversation.
I wanted him to make that move, because now I would have to place my O in the top right, leading to 2 possible ways that I could win. The victory was finally mine.
But did I want to win? As the peasant sat there with a pale expression on his face, his smug smirk gone in an instant, I wondered what would happen if I claimed victory.
Would his power start us again at the beginning? What if he won? Would my power do the same? I finally started to realise the inevitability of the situation. That we would continue to play forever. Despite the clear victory I had, I hesitated.
"I forfeit." I finally decided.
"WHAT?!" Exclaimed the peasant. "You finally win against another person with your power, and you don't even want to see what would happen?!"
"No" I said, at peace with my decision. "Because I'm done. No more shall I play these foolish games."
As I felt some strange presence leave me, I knew that my power was gone.
"Finally. I can live a life with consequence. I can't wait to feel what it's like to lose a game of chess."
And as the peasant stood there stunned along with an equally stunned and confused crowd, I started the treck back up to my castle. | At an old antique store I came across a dusty old persevered animal paw. When I asked the store clerk about it they didn’t seem to know what it was. It had three fingers with two already curled. Being gross and creepy I put it back and walked away.
But for some reason I couldn’t get it out of my mind. It kept pulling me in. I had an urge to take it. Before I left the store I came back to the paw and put it in my coat pocket.
No one would care about an old dusty paw missing right? Who would want such a gross stupid thing? But here I was with my stowaway.
As I got home I put the claw on my desk and began to play Elden Ring. “You Died”. “God damn it it lost all my runes again!”
“I wish I would never lose at a video game again!” I shouted loudly.
The last finger of the monkey paw began to curl. And it turned to dust.
“Jesus wtf was that”. After cleaning up the dust I thought we’ll might as well give the game another shot.
I was doing well dodging with near perfect timing. Then the boss hit me telling me with one strike! “You died” but this time my inventory wasn’t lost all my times and even potions were there. I didn’t know what happened thought it was a bug.
Frustrated with shitty game development I went to bed. Feeling bad about stealing that dusty paw I went back to the store the next day.
I told the clerk what happened and apologized for taking the paw. They gave me a grave look. They told me after I asked about the paw they asked other employees about it.
I was told two stories about the paw the first one of a former employee who wish he didn’t have to work anymore. They saw the first finger curl and that night was struck by a car on their walk home rendering them paralyzed neck down. But a week later died.
The second employee who made a wish around the paw wished he had the courage to ask the girl he liked on a date.
He proceeded to go on the most wonderful date! They met up a few times until a week later when he learned she died in a car accident.
Hearing these stories I just ignored it. But every video game I played it felt like when I lost I really just went back to the start. Game timers were all weird. My win rates weren’t accurate. People in esports wanted me to stream or join their teams!
My typical 8 hour weekend binge playing only seemed to be an hour of play. Days felt longer and I didn’t know what was going on.
At the end of the week a car hit me. And I knew this was the end all s the stories had the same ending…. But as my vision faded black I saw “You Died” and my week played over again right as the paw turned to dust.
It’s now been 50 weeks playing the same week of my life without any way out… | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | Never. Play. TicTacToe.
It was one of my most important rules. One I'd never break, I knew what could happen if I did. As the Queen of Games many had come to challenge me. A game I had never played, how curious. But I declined every single time, with a smirk on my face. Knowing what would happen, unlike them.
In the end though, it hadn't mattered. I got stuck in a game of TicTacToe playing my six year old niece. At first she didn't know she was playing TicTacToe with me, and neither did I. She had invented a game and said that she was so good at it, I would never beat her. And foolish as I was I accepted her challenge. Unknowingly, she had invented TicTacToe, my weakness. Indeed she knew what she was doing. She could never loose.
I played chess against a grandmaster. And came out on top after two decades.
I played Go against one of the most advanced game AIs AlphaGo. And after 25 years I showed myself to be superior.
I even played the lottery once. Just to beat the 1 in 142.000.000 odds after multiple tens of thousands of years (yes, that one was a mistake, I didn't do the maths beforehand).
&#x200B;
But now, I'd be forever stuck playing TicTacToe against my niece. At least I'd be in good company. | At an old antique store I came across a dusty old persevered animal paw. When I asked the store clerk about it they didn’t seem to know what it was. It had three fingers with two already curled. Being gross and creepy I put it back and walked away.
But for some reason I couldn’t get it out of my mind. It kept pulling me in. I had an urge to take it. Before I left the store I came back to the paw and put it in my coat pocket.
No one would care about an old dusty paw missing right? Who would want such a gross stupid thing? But here I was with my stowaway.
As I got home I put the claw on my desk and began to play Elden Ring. “You Died”. “God damn it it lost all my runes again!”
“I wish I would never lose at a video game again!” I shouted loudly.
The last finger of the monkey paw began to curl. And it turned to dust.
“Jesus wtf was that”. After cleaning up the dust I thought we’ll might as well give the game another shot.
I was doing well dodging with near perfect timing. Then the boss hit me telling me with one strike! “You died” but this time my inventory wasn’t lost all my times and even potions were there. I didn’t know what happened thought it was a bug.
Frustrated with shitty game development I went to bed. Feeling bad about stealing that dusty paw I went back to the store the next day.
I told the clerk what happened and apologized for taking the paw. They gave me a grave look. They told me after I asked about the paw they asked other employees about it.
I was told two stories about the paw the first one of a former employee who wish he didn’t have to work anymore. They saw the first finger curl and that night was struck by a car on their walk home rendering them paralyzed neck down. But a week later died.
The second employee who made a wish around the paw wished he had the courage to ask the girl he liked on a date.
He proceeded to go on the most wonderful date! They met up a few times until a week later when he learned she died in a car accident.
Hearing these stories I just ignored it. But every video game I played it felt like when I lost I really just went back to the start. Game timers were all weird. My win rates weren’t accurate. People in esports wanted me to stream or join their teams!
My typical 8 hour weekend binge playing only seemed to be an hour of play. Days felt longer and I didn’t know what was going on.
At the end of the week a car hit me. And I knew this was the end all s the stories had the same ending…. But as my vision faded black I saw “You Died” and my week played over again right as the paw turned to dust.
It’s now been 50 weeks playing the same week of my life without any way out… | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | It’s been twenty years, but I’m still known as the king. I’d spent years beating every champion I could find in every game across the globe. I loved the challenge, no matter how many attempts it took me, I was determined to win, to remain the undisputed King of Games. One of my most gruelling challenges took me almost an entire month to win, I played the worlds top ten chess players simultaneously, my memory wasn’t what I’d thought it was and I kept losing track of the sequence of moves, that game almost broke me. After three solid weeks, I was convinced I’d never win, that I’d be stuck in this infinite loop, but of course I eventually won and nothing could ever beat that feeling, the relief, the freedom, the feeling of yet another victory.
I took a long break after that game, I travelled America, met Miranda, travelled some more and then we bought a farm house in New Zealand and we got married. For our honeymoon we took a trip to China, while there I saw a group of young boys playing a game I’d never seen before. I asked a man nearby what they were playing and he told me it was called Weiqi or Go, while my wife enjoyed a day in a spa I continued to watch the boys play, I started to understand how the game was played, it was fascinating, I hadn’t seen a game quite like it before. I couldn’t help myself, I had to play. They were just children and I was the king, this wouldn’t take long, a few days of my time at the most.
I quickly realised I hadn’t understood the game quite as well as I’d thought I had and I’d learn far too late that the game had more permutations than there are atoms in the universe. This wouldn’t usually have been a problem though, chess is no different, there are only so many moves in a single game, I just had to memorise the kids moves and each time we reset I’d add the next move to the list. After my first loss and everything reset I was shocked when he didn’t make the same first move. I’d obviously made a mistake, I was out of practice. I began to memorise every move again, and again I lost. It wasn’t until we began the third game that I realised something was horribly wrong, every move was different yet again. That’s when I caught the look, that momentary smirk as he noticed me falter and I knew this was no ordinary child, not a child at all. I don’t know how long that game lasted, I stopped keeping track after the first two months, I’d already begun to lose my mind long before that, this wasn’t like my usual games. The problem was I’m really not any good at playing games, never have been, I relied on memory, not tactics. Now I was playing for real and this kid or demon or whatever it was, wasn’t going to let me win unless it was a fair game. I’d learned years ago when this all began that leaving a game meant conceding defeat, which counted as a loss and everything would reset. Attacking your opponent seemed to be frowned upon too, it might have looked like a child, but after nearly a year had past and it had refused to utter even a single word, I had no issues punching that smirking face over and over again. Of course the game would always reset. That took a toll on me though, the memory still haunts me, that I was that far gone, that I could do that. There was no escape though and I couldn’t win. It had to have been years, possibly decades, I don’t know. All I know is that for some inexplicable reason, after all that time, it stood up, smiled and bowed, conceding defeat and it walked away. I felt no joy, no relief, no feeling of victory, I was broken and I curled up right there and cried until Miranda found me later that day. It took years of therapy, years to get back to living anything remotely resembling a normal life. As I said, it’s been twenty years, I’m still known as the king, but I no longer play games. | At an old antique store I came across a dusty old persevered animal paw. When I asked the store clerk about it they didn’t seem to know what it was. It had three fingers with two already curled. Being gross and creepy I put it back and walked away.
But for some reason I couldn’t get it out of my mind. It kept pulling me in. I had an urge to take it. Before I left the store I came back to the paw and put it in my coat pocket.
No one would care about an old dusty paw missing right? Who would want such a gross stupid thing? But here I was with my stowaway.
As I got home I put the claw on my desk and began to play Elden Ring. “You Died”. “God damn it it lost all my runes again!”
“I wish I would never lose at a video game again!” I shouted loudly.
The last finger of the monkey paw began to curl. And it turned to dust.
“Jesus wtf was that”. After cleaning up the dust I thought we’ll might as well give the game another shot.
I was doing well dodging with near perfect timing. Then the boss hit me telling me with one strike! “You died” but this time my inventory wasn’t lost all my times and even potions were there. I didn’t know what happened thought it was a bug.
Frustrated with shitty game development I went to bed. Feeling bad about stealing that dusty paw I went back to the store the next day.
I told the clerk what happened and apologized for taking the paw. They gave me a grave look. They told me after I asked about the paw they asked other employees about it.
I was told two stories about the paw the first one of a former employee who wish he didn’t have to work anymore. They saw the first finger curl and that night was struck by a car on their walk home rendering them paralyzed neck down. But a week later died.
The second employee who made a wish around the paw wished he had the courage to ask the girl he liked on a date.
He proceeded to go on the most wonderful date! They met up a few times until a week later when he learned she died in a car accident.
Hearing these stories I just ignored it. But every video game I played it felt like when I lost I really just went back to the start. Game timers were all weird. My win rates weren’t accurate. People in esports wanted me to stream or join their teams!
My typical 8 hour weekend binge playing only seemed to be an hour of play. Days felt longer and I didn’t know what was going on.
At the end of the week a car hit me. And I knew this was the end all s the stories had the same ending…. But as my vision faded black I saw “You Died” and my week played over again right as the paw turned to dust.
It’s now been 50 weeks playing the same week of my life without any way out… | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | "Protect against Rook D1. Protect against Rook D1. Protect against Rook D1" He continues to mutter into the mirror as he stands there and ties his tie. His eyes stare ahead, burning into the mirror as he goes through the motions. His eyes look tired. Far more tired than a man at his age should be. His mind is furiously trying to think as he finishes getting ready, desperately trying to figure out the next moves. He checks his watch, looking at the door to his room just a moment before there's a polite knock. He waits a few moments before opening, 'They're ready for you, Sir', he thinks to himself before opening the door. "Yes?"
"They're ready for you sir."
He forces a smile on his lips and nods. "Excellent. Thank you." He waits a moment and checks his watch before walking out into the hallway of the hotel hosting this little exhibition match, the concierge following close by. Approaching the bank of elevators, he hits one of the buttons and the down arrow lights up immediately after, letting them walk on right away. His hand in his pocket fiddles with a pen as he keeps going through the moves in his head.
The concierge is quiet, until partway through the ride he turns to the man and clears his throat. "Uhm...I'm sorry...I never do this...but...can I get an autograph? We don't get a lot of guests like you, and I love watching your videos." The young man says, holding out one of those hideous Blu-Rays of his, one hand patting at his pockets with increasing desperation. "I thought I ha..."
"I have a pen here." He says, pulling out a pen and signing it for the man. "And don't mention it. I love to meet my fans" He adds as the elevator stops and he steps out. He puts on the show people want from him, being the 'King of Games' and acting it up for the crowd that's been fit into the small conference room. There are cameras set up here and there, all around a chess table and two chairs. He gives the usual speech, explains the rules of the exhibition match, introduces a chess grandmaster and challenges him to a match.
The crowd is silent, and the grandmaster is shocked as the game progresses. Each move the chess pro makes, he hits back perfectly. Every attack deflected, every moment seized, every weakness exploited. The minutes tick on in silence, and he sees it. The grandmaster positions the rook with a guard, clears a path, attacks...
And it's immediately taken by a bishop he pushed up earlier in the game. The grandmaster looks up at him in surprise, and for a moment he might see the age in them, an old soul burning through those old eyes. But the grandmaster wasn't done. He pushes up a pawn, trades rooks, and when he brings the queen in there's an audible gasp in the room as the grandmaster smiles up at him again. "Checkmate."
That gasp turns into muttering, confusion, some laughter, and some annoyance as they watched the King of Games lose! The camera crew is scrambling, people are talking over headsets and phones as the king sighs and buries his head in his hands, tears welling up. It all goes quiet, his arms shift, and he lowers his hands.
"Protect against Queen B2. Protect against Queen B2. Protect against Queen B2" He mutters into the mirror as his hands tie his tie; his eyes burning into the mirror.
(First one ever!) | At an old antique store I came across a dusty old persevered animal paw. When I asked the store clerk about it they didn’t seem to know what it was. It had three fingers with two already curled. Being gross and creepy I put it back and walked away.
But for some reason I couldn’t get it out of my mind. It kept pulling me in. I had an urge to take it. Before I left the store I came back to the paw and put it in my coat pocket.
No one would care about an old dusty paw missing right? Who would want such a gross stupid thing? But here I was with my stowaway.
As I got home I put the claw on my desk and began to play Elden Ring. “You Died”. “God damn it it lost all my runes again!”
“I wish I would never lose at a video game again!” I shouted loudly.
The last finger of the monkey paw began to curl. And it turned to dust.
“Jesus wtf was that”. After cleaning up the dust I thought we’ll might as well give the game another shot.
I was doing well dodging with near perfect timing. Then the boss hit me telling me with one strike! “You died” but this time my inventory wasn’t lost all my times and even potions were there. I didn’t know what happened thought it was a bug.
Frustrated with shitty game development I went to bed. Feeling bad about stealing that dusty paw I went back to the store the next day.
I told the clerk what happened and apologized for taking the paw. They gave me a grave look. They told me after I asked about the paw they asked other employees about it.
I was told two stories about the paw the first one of a former employee who wish he didn’t have to work anymore. They saw the first finger curl and that night was struck by a car on their walk home rendering them paralyzed neck down. But a week later died.
The second employee who made a wish around the paw wished he had the courage to ask the girl he liked on a date.
He proceeded to go on the most wonderful date! They met up a few times until a week later when he learned she died in a car accident.
Hearing these stories I just ignored it. But every video game I played it felt like when I lost I really just went back to the start. Game timers were all weird. My win rates weren’t accurate. People in esports wanted me to stream or join their teams!
My typical 8 hour weekend binge playing only seemed to be an hour of play. Days felt longer and I didn’t know what was going on.
At the end of the week a car hit me. And I knew this was the end all s the stories had the same ending…. But as my vision faded black I saw “You Died” and my week played over again right as the paw turned to dust.
It’s now been 50 weeks playing the same week of my life without any way out… | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | It’s been twenty years, but I’m still known as the king. I’d spent years beating every champion I could find in every game across the globe. I loved the challenge, no matter how many attempts it took me, I was determined to win, to remain the undisputed King of Games. One of my most gruelling challenges took me almost an entire month to win, I played the worlds top ten chess players simultaneously, my memory wasn’t what I’d thought it was and I kept losing track of the sequence of moves, that game almost broke me. After three solid weeks, I was convinced I’d never win, that I’d be stuck in this infinite loop, but of course I eventually won and nothing could ever beat that feeling, the relief, the freedom, the feeling of yet another victory.
I took a long break after that game, I travelled America, met Miranda, travelled some more and then we bought a farm house in New Zealand and we got married. For our honeymoon we took a trip to China, while there I saw a group of young boys playing a game I’d never seen before. I asked a man nearby what they were playing and he told me it was called Weiqi or Go, while my wife enjoyed a day in a spa I continued to watch the boys play, I started to understand how the game was played, it was fascinating, I hadn’t seen a game quite like it before. I couldn’t help myself, I had to play. They were just children and I was the king, this wouldn’t take long, a few days of my time at the most.
I quickly realised I hadn’t understood the game quite as well as I’d thought I had and I’d learn far too late that the game had more permutations than there are atoms in the universe. This wouldn’t usually have been a problem though, chess is no different, there are only so many moves in a single game, I just had to memorise the kids moves and each time we reset I’d add the next move to the list. After my first loss and everything reset I was shocked when he didn’t make the same first move. I’d obviously made a mistake, I was out of practice. I began to memorise every move again, and again I lost. It wasn’t until we began the third game that I realised something was horribly wrong, every move was different yet again. That’s when I caught the look, that momentary smirk as he noticed me falter and I knew this was no ordinary child, not a child at all. I don’t know how long that game lasted, I stopped keeping track after the first two months, I’d already begun to lose my mind long before that, this wasn’t like my usual games. The problem was I’m really not any good at playing games, never have been, I relied on memory, not tactics. Now I was playing for real and this kid or demon or whatever it was, wasn’t going to let me win unless it was a fair game. I’d learned years ago when this all began that leaving a game meant conceding defeat, which counted as a loss and everything would reset. Attacking your opponent seemed to be frowned upon too, it might have looked like a child, but after nearly a year had past and it had refused to utter even a single word, I had no issues punching that smirking face over and over again. Of course the game would always reset. That took a toll on me though, the memory still haunts me, that I was that far gone, that I could do that. There was no escape though and I couldn’t win. It had to have been years, possibly decades, I don’t know. All I know is that for some inexplicable reason, after all that time, it stood up, smiled and bowed, conceding defeat and it walked away. I felt no joy, no relief, no feeling of victory, I was broken and I curled up right there and cried until Miranda found me later that day. It took years of therapy, years to get back to living anything remotely resembling a normal life. As I said, it’s been twenty years, I’m still known as the king, but I no longer play games. | As the king of games, many people had tried to best me, and with almost any combination of games.
Some challenged me to chess, others to sparring, and some even invaded my kingdom on the technicality that war is just a game. How cruel yet truthful.
But none of those games cruelly challenged me. All those games had a strategy to them. I might spend days, weeks, or even years replaying the same game, but I would always eventually master the strategies required to win the game. Every time I won a game, I would gain mastery over that game, and it would become easier over time. It all felt quite meaningless to know that one day I would eventually win.
But this game was so incredibly simple that none had ever thought to challenge me with it.
I watched my opponent carve out the grid on the bark of a tree, for the 87th time. A game of Tic-Tac-Toe.
I had foolishly agreed to the game under the condition that my opponent would move first. And damn my own ego and foolishness, the peasant that had challenged me must have memorised every possible combination of moves.
So far, every game had ended in stalemate.
"I go first, like you agreed." The peasant said. I nodded grimly, almost entirely sure the result of the game would be yet another stalemate. "Very well."
He started by placing his X in the middle of the grid, nullifying exactly half the possible lines in the game.
I then placed my O down in the bottom left corner, a comfort move I developed the past few games, seeing as it wouldn't matter strategeically, as all the spaces were identical. What really mattered was where he placed his.
"That's interesting!" The peasant said as he placed his X in the bottom-middle space.
I was then forced to place my O in the top-middle. "Do you reckon this game will turn out like the rest?" Asked the peasant.
"I believe that assumption would be right, which is surprising for a fellow below me in intellect." I said it in an attempt to have him choose the bottom right corner, with no hatred for him in mind.
"Well we've stalemated so far? Wouldn't you claim us equal?" Asked the peasant, to the confusion of the crowd around us. It was then that I realised that his words made no sense, as this would've been his first game.
He must have the same power as I did.
"Are you catching on you foolish king?" The peasant smirked and placed his X in the bottom right. I almost didn't notice that my manipulation had worked, due to the absurdity of the conversation.
I wanted him to make that move, because now I would have to place my O in the top right, leading to 2 possible ways that I could win. The victory was finally mine.
But did I want to win? As the peasant sat there with a pale expression on his face, his smug smirk gone in an instant, I wondered what would happen if I claimed victory.
Would his power start us again at the beginning? What if he won? Would my power do the same? I finally started to realise the inevitability of the situation. That we would continue to play forever. Despite the clear victory I had, I hesitated.
"I forfeit." I finally decided.
"WHAT?!" Exclaimed the peasant. "You finally win against another person with your power, and you don't even want to see what would happen?!"
"No" I said, at peace with my decision. "Because I'm done. No more shall I play these foolish games."
As I felt some strange presence leave me, I knew that my power was gone.
"Finally. I can live a life with consequence. I can't wait to feel what it's like to lose a game of chess."
And as the peasant stood there stunned along with an equally stunned and confused crowd, I started the treck back up to my castle. | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | "Protect against Rook D1. Protect against Rook D1. Protect against Rook D1" He continues to mutter into the mirror as he stands there and ties his tie. His eyes stare ahead, burning into the mirror as he goes through the motions. His eyes look tired. Far more tired than a man at his age should be. His mind is furiously trying to think as he finishes getting ready, desperately trying to figure out the next moves. He checks his watch, looking at the door to his room just a moment before there's a polite knock. He waits a few moments before opening, 'They're ready for you, Sir', he thinks to himself before opening the door. "Yes?"
"They're ready for you sir."
He forces a smile on his lips and nods. "Excellent. Thank you." He waits a moment and checks his watch before walking out into the hallway of the hotel hosting this little exhibition match, the concierge following close by. Approaching the bank of elevators, he hits one of the buttons and the down arrow lights up immediately after, letting them walk on right away. His hand in his pocket fiddles with a pen as he keeps going through the moves in his head.
The concierge is quiet, until partway through the ride he turns to the man and clears his throat. "Uhm...I'm sorry...I never do this...but...can I get an autograph? We don't get a lot of guests like you, and I love watching your videos." The young man says, holding out one of those hideous Blu-Rays of his, one hand patting at his pockets with increasing desperation. "I thought I ha..."
"I have a pen here." He says, pulling out a pen and signing it for the man. "And don't mention it. I love to meet my fans" He adds as the elevator stops and he steps out. He puts on the show people want from him, being the 'King of Games' and acting it up for the crowd that's been fit into the small conference room. There are cameras set up here and there, all around a chess table and two chairs. He gives the usual speech, explains the rules of the exhibition match, introduces a chess grandmaster and challenges him to a match.
The crowd is silent, and the grandmaster is shocked as the game progresses. Each move the chess pro makes, he hits back perfectly. Every attack deflected, every moment seized, every weakness exploited. The minutes tick on in silence, and he sees it. The grandmaster positions the rook with a guard, clears a path, attacks...
And it's immediately taken by a bishop he pushed up earlier in the game. The grandmaster looks up at him in surprise, and for a moment he might see the age in them, an old soul burning through those old eyes. But the grandmaster wasn't done. He pushes up a pawn, trades rooks, and when he brings the queen in there's an audible gasp in the room as the grandmaster smiles up at him again. "Checkmate."
That gasp turns into muttering, confusion, some laughter, and some annoyance as they watched the King of Games lose! The camera crew is scrambling, people are talking over headsets and phones as the king sighs and buries his head in his hands, tears welling up. It all goes quiet, his arms shift, and he lowers his hands.
"Protect against Queen B2. Protect against Queen B2. Protect against Queen B2" He mutters into the mirror as his hands tie his tie; his eyes burning into the mirror.
(First one ever!) | Never. Play. TicTacToe.
It was one of my most important rules. One I'd never break, I knew what could happen if I did. As the Queen of Games many had come to challenge me. A game I had never played, how curious. But I declined every single time, with a smirk on my face. Knowing what would happen, unlike them.
In the end though, it hadn't mattered. I got stuck in a game of TicTacToe playing my six year old niece. At first she didn't know she was playing TicTacToe with me, and neither did I. She had invented a game and said that she was so good at it, I would never beat her. And foolish as I was I accepted her challenge. Unknowingly, she had invented TicTacToe, my weakness. Indeed she knew what she was doing. She could never loose.
I played chess against a grandmaster. And came out on top after two decades.
I played Go against one of the most advanced game AIs AlphaGo. And after 25 years I showed myself to be superior.
I even played the lottery once. Just to beat the 1 in 142.000.000 odds after multiple tens of thousands of years (yes, that one was a mistake, I didn't do the maths beforehand).
&#x200B;
But now, I'd be forever stuck playing TicTacToe against my niece. At least I'd be in good company. | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | In the past, Harry was said to be an amazing player - and he considered to be one as well - for winning and not looping so much. Those guess work games? Neat, went decent by the third loop. The ones where you needed to play cricket as a batsman? Get the timings correct and see if James was going for a leg spin or off spin.
It was all well and good, unless it was the game of never ending life or death, where he already died and is just pulling through with 615 loops as of now, the exact same ending, and is close to another--not sure where he is going wrong.
"I didn't save my buddy, in turn I just die sooner."
"I didn't help her against her demons, she just died and he kills me."
"I interfered with the fight, but I get blind and got killed by that smaller monster with a stick."
"I try not to get scared of the demon I partially helped in being created, but the Angel kills me in a few."
"I tried to let myself grabbed by the hands in hopes of leaving somehow, turns out they were just...hallucinations..."
"I tried to fight James, but he guilt trips me out of it all the time and..."
He trailed off from there, speaking his thoughts out loud. There was so much more--hell, he'd be happy if he just died and got out of here, but no. He didn't.
He's even permanently - probably - became immortal - looking like the perfect male Angel he worked for.
With a heavy sigh and being on the verge of crying after so long, he kind of gave up. He was near James, it was the same room, and he'll be there. Up and running.
For another loop.
But he remembered the one thing he did not do - that could probably end up either killing him again, which is unlikely - or setting all the souls in here free of memories and a body.
Free of being tied to this wretched place, and finally ascending - but to a very real Hell, or a very real Heaven. Where they are no longer a puppet of a madman, but judged by their own actions.
Or maybe they'd be special cases and have another chances of living? And being free, while at it?
It'd be lovely to see the sunlight and feel it's heat, more than just staring at it out of a window.
It'd be lovely to reunite with wife, if she even is around, and have his friends and him being the friends they really were. Before being the people they were.
Before being the victims - ranging from greed to simply being acknowledged.
"This was once a place where happiness was around..now this is a place for the insecure to thrive on."
With a pause and laying down the floor to probably sleep forever at this point, or at least rest, he sighed and looked up at the ceiling with an axe on his hand and marking the 616th loop on the wall near him.
That was also when he realised it was the the number 616, and it's relevance.
"Ah, the 616th loop. Let's get the demons, the lost souls and angels outta here...forever." | The day began over an hour ago, and the disorganization doesn’t show any promise. I was locked down in an abandoned room for hours because I didn’t want to become noticed. Sometimes it is hard to find a place like this, but as I get closer to the end people are fewer and farther between. There is some great scripture about war, but I am too tired to think about it honestly.
It has been two days without a scrap of food, longer than that if you knew how many deaths I’ve had up until now. There must be some cosmic force driving me on this quest. Without it at my back I would have met my true death weeks ago. The war has gotten to be so gruesome. The effortless killing has made my stomach weak, but it has filled me with desperation. This epic saga of inhumane killings cannot be tolerated and must come to an end; for all that have contributed to its efforts.
I have always been a Godly man, but a religious one I have not. I always have had my own vision of justice in my mind and have witnessed the signs that have driven me throughout my life. I have been blessed in the sense that I haven’t lost my life yet, and I had remained with food in my belly and a home over my head. It was all hard work to be said least, but it was the drive to succeed that kept me going.
I have lived many years. Over 400 of them to be fact. And, every year I prayed we wouldn’t get back to the history that created the society we live in today. But we are here once again, and I have the knowledge of the past presently fixated in my mind. The same evil that committed those atrocities long ago still live today, and they are the same ones destroying this society as we speak of now.
The lord spoke about enemies:
“17 Because of their wicked avarice I grew angry; I struck them, hiding myself from them in wrath. But they turned back, following the way of their own heart. 18 I saw their ways, but I will heal them. I will lead them and restore full comfort to them and to those who mourn for them, 19 creating words of comfort. Peace! Peace to those who are far and near, says the Lord; and I will heal them.” Isaiah 57
Two days ago I for the last time saw the most important people to me be killed. To say there was noting I could do is to be modest. I fought for every one of them till my last breath. Over and over again. I had been beaten, and stabbed, shot, strangled, mutilated, blown up. Each time waking up moments before it would happen again. And again. And AGAIN. With the decision to leave and save myself after all those instances playing on loop in my head, I made my way out the back door with my girlfriend. Secretly. Quietly. Like a ghost.
I set her on foot to the safest place I could get her. We could hear the destruction and death right as we left. But in all the attempts to save them I couldn’t. I tried a hundred time. We all died, over and over. But the day finally grew older. I just escaped the time loop I had been caught in. The love of my life is safe, and I am more angry than I have ever been in my life. The rage and pain makes me still. I am deader than a corpse as I make my way back to the place this day began, with the hope to bring death to all that have enslaved me to this nightmare.
I am all alone now, nobody to hold me back. Nobody to worry about. Nothing but pure chaos and ravaged rage caged up inside me. I survived this first war almost 400 years ago when they first tried to take my life and banish me from their immortal community. I have survived then and decided to blend into their murderous culture which wiped the globe of the younger generation, so that they could start over and breed a new generation of more subordinate peoples. But I can see though it all together now. I will not let this happen again. I know who needs to die first! And, believe me God is on my side. He just kept me alive through my darkest night.
“20 But the wicked are like the tossing sea which cannot be still, its waters cast up mire and mud. 21 There is no peace for the wicked! Says my God.” Isaiah 57 | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | Josh had known victory his entire life. Too bad the witch had cursed him when he opened her door letting sunlight in, but to Josh this was never a curse. Every game he played, he won. He was doomed to repeat the game each time he lost, but he felt a sense of peace in doing so. A feeling similar to invincibility.
Although Josh could win any game, with his patience, memory power and his... gift, he always tried to use it sparingly. What if people noticed that he could not lose at anything? That can't develop into anyway good.
But today was different. Joe here, whom Josh had met for the first time today at May's party, wanted the last slice of the pizza, just like Josh. When the verbal negotiations broke down, May suggested they duel it out in a chess match, and the loser could order a brand new pizza for everyone. This duel was just begging Josh to use his powers, and he couldn't help but agree and participate.
Although Josh wasn't really good at chess, it couldn't take more than a month to beat Joe, who didn't even want to play claiming he had a bad experience with chess in the past, and had sworn to never play it again. He only agreed to play once May told the slice would be Josh's if he backed down. Seemed like pizza was more important than an oath.
As the game started, Josh realised Joe was far better than him. He lost in no time. They shook hands and Josh felt the world fall around him. He saw the old witch who said "Ye wanted to win that bet of entering my house right?! Enjoy experiencing loss over and over again!!" As he had heard countless times already. And there he was back in the game.
But something...seemed off. Joe's moves changed. Huh.... That was odd. Maybe Josh had remembered wrong. No biggie, he gave up and reset the loop. His moves changed again!!! What was happening??
The last time Josh had played chess, it was against his arrogant co-worker Shawn who wouldn't shut up about his chess skills. Although the game had taken him a few years, and had made his opinion of chess sour, it was over 8 years ago now and he had never played chess again in that time. But no matter what, Shawn's moves never changed. He could've cheesed him by memorising 1 move at a time and replaying Shawn's moves back to him, but he felt like that wasn't a challenge. Why were Joe's moves changing?
As he kept resetting the loop, he noticed another thing. Joe's expressions were changing. They went from carefree to worry. It was growing more and more worried. Then it hit him.
"Joe?"
"Thinking, give me a sec."
"Were you cursed by a witch to repeat a game every time you lose?"
He took off his glasses and stared at him. Did Josh accidentally reveal his secret for no reason? Was he just very confused? Then Joe smiled.
"dude! No way! You too??"
"Bro haha no wonder!"
"Yeah no I was so confused!"
"Yeah me too haha. You're really good at chess..."
"Wait! No! no! NO!! How are we gonna end this game???"
"..." | The day began over an hour ago, and the disorganization doesn’t show any promise. I was locked down in an abandoned room for hours because I didn’t want to become noticed. Sometimes it is hard to find a place like this, but as I get closer to the end people are fewer and farther between. There is some great scripture about war, but I am too tired to think about it honestly.
It has been two days without a scrap of food, longer than that if you knew how many deaths I’ve had up until now. There must be some cosmic force driving me on this quest. Without it at my back I would have met my true death weeks ago. The war has gotten to be so gruesome. The effortless killing has made my stomach weak, but it has filled me with desperation. This epic saga of inhumane killings cannot be tolerated and must come to an end; for all that have contributed to its efforts.
I have always been a Godly man, but a religious one I have not. I always have had my own vision of justice in my mind and have witnessed the signs that have driven me throughout my life. I have been blessed in the sense that I haven’t lost my life yet, and I had remained with food in my belly and a home over my head. It was all hard work to be said least, but it was the drive to succeed that kept me going.
I have lived many years. Over 400 of them to be fact. And, every year I prayed we wouldn’t get back to the history that created the society we live in today. But we are here once again, and I have the knowledge of the past presently fixated in my mind. The same evil that committed those atrocities long ago still live today, and they are the same ones destroying this society as we speak of now.
The lord spoke about enemies:
“17 Because of their wicked avarice I grew angry; I struck them, hiding myself from them in wrath. But they turned back, following the way of their own heart. 18 I saw their ways, but I will heal them. I will lead them and restore full comfort to them and to those who mourn for them, 19 creating words of comfort. Peace! Peace to those who are far and near, says the Lord; and I will heal them.” Isaiah 57
Two days ago I for the last time saw the most important people to me be killed. To say there was noting I could do is to be modest. I fought for every one of them till my last breath. Over and over again. I had been beaten, and stabbed, shot, strangled, mutilated, blown up. Each time waking up moments before it would happen again. And again. And AGAIN. With the decision to leave and save myself after all those instances playing on loop in my head, I made my way out the back door with my girlfriend. Secretly. Quietly. Like a ghost.
I set her on foot to the safest place I could get her. We could hear the destruction and death right as we left. But in all the attempts to save them I couldn’t. I tried a hundred time. We all died, over and over. But the day finally grew older. I just escaped the time loop I had been caught in. The love of my life is safe, and I am more angry than I have ever been in my life. The rage and pain makes me still. I am deader than a corpse as I make my way back to the place this day began, with the hope to bring death to all that have enslaved me to this nightmare.
I am all alone now, nobody to hold me back. Nobody to worry about. Nothing but pure chaos and ravaged rage caged up inside me. I survived this first war almost 400 years ago when they first tried to take my life and banish me from their immortal community. I have survived then and decided to blend into their murderous culture which wiped the globe of the younger generation, so that they could start over and breed a new generation of more subordinate peoples. But I can see though it all together now. I will not let this happen again. I know who needs to die first! And, believe me God is on my side. He just kept me alive through my darkest night.
“20 But the wicked are like the tossing sea which cannot be still, its waters cast up mire and mud. 21 There is no peace for the wicked! Says my God.” Isaiah 57 | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | "Protect against Rook D1. Protect against Rook D1. Protect against Rook D1" He continues to mutter into the mirror as he stands there and ties his tie. His eyes stare ahead, burning into the mirror as he goes through the motions. His eyes look tired. Far more tired than a man at his age should be. His mind is furiously trying to think as he finishes getting ready, desperately trying to figure out the next moves. He checks his watch, looking at the door to his room just a moment before there's a polite knock. He waits a few moments before opening, 'They're ready for you, Sir', he thinks to himself before opening the door. "Yes?"
"They're ready for you sir."
He forces a smile on his lips and nods. "Excellent. Thank you." He waits a moment and checks his watch before walking out into the hallway of the hotel hosting this little exhibition match, the concierge following close by. Approaching the bank of elevators, he hits one of the buttons and the down arrow lights up immediately after, letting them walk on right away. His hand in his pocket fiddles with a pen as he keeps going through the moves in his head.
The concierge is quiet, until partway through the ride he turns to the man and clears his throat. "Uhm...I'm sorry...I never do this...but...can I get an autograph? We don't get a lot of guests like you, and I love watching your videos." The young man says, holding out one of those hideous Blu-Rays of his, one hand patting at his pockets with increasing desperation. "I thought I ha..."
"I have a pen here." He says, pulling out a pen and signing it for the man. "And don't mention it. I love to meet my fans" He adds as the elevator stops and he steps out. He puts on the show people want from him, being the 'King of Games' and acting it up for the crowd that's been fit into the small conference room. There are cameras set up here and there, all around a chess table and two chairs. He gives the usual speech, explains the rules of the exhibition match, introduces a chess grandmaster and challenges him to a match.
The crowd is silent, and the grandmaster is shocked as the game progresses. Each move the chess pro makes, he hits back perfectly. Every attack deflected, every moment seized, every weakness exploited. The minutes tick on in silence, and he sees it. The grandmaster positions the rook with a guard, clears a path, attacks...
And it's immediately taken by a bishop he pushed up earlier in the game. The grandmaster looks up at him in surprise, and for a moment he might see the age in them, an old soul burning through those old eyes. But the grandmaster wasn't done. He pushes up a pawn, trades rooks, and when he brings the queen in there's an audible gasp in the room as the grandmaster smiles up at him again. "Checkmate."
That gasp turns into muttering, confusion, some laughter, and some annoyance as they watched the King of Games lose! The camera crew is scrambling, people are talking over headsets and phones as the king sighs and buries his head in his hands, tears welling up. It all goes quiet, his arms shift, and he lowers his hands.
"Protect against Queen B2. Protect against Queen B2. Protect against Queen B2" He mutters into the mirror as his hands tie his tie; his eyes burning into the mirror.
(First one ever!) | The day began over an hour ago, and the disorganization doesn’t show any promise. I was locked down in an abandoned room for hours because I didn’t want to become noticed. Sometimes it is hard to find a place like this, but as I get closer to the end people are fewer and farther between. There is some great scripture about war, but I am too tired to think about it honestly.
It has been two days without a scrap of food, longer than that if you knew how many deaths I’ve had up until now. There must be some cosmic force driving me on this quest. Without it at my back I would have met my true death weeks ago. The war has gotten to be so gruesome. The effortless killing has made my stomach weak, but it has filled me with desperation. This epic saga of inhumane killings cannot be tolerated and must come to an end; for all that have contributed to its efforts.
I have always been a Godly man, but a religious one I have not. I always have had my own vision of justice in my mind and have witnessed the signs that have driven me throughout my life. I have been blessed in the sense that I haven’t lost my life yet, and I had remained with food in my belly and a home over my head. It was all hard work to be said least, but it was the drive to succeed that kept me going.
I have lived many years. Over 400 of them to be fact. And, every year I prayed we wouldn’t get back to the history that created the society we live in today. But we are here once again, and I have the knowledge of the past presently fixated in my mind. The same evil that committed those atrocities long ago still live today, and they are the same ones destroying this society as we speak of now.
The lord spoke about enemies:
“17 Because of their wicked avarice I grew angry; I struck them, hiding myself from them in wrath. But they turned back, following the way of their own heart. 18 I saw their ways, but I will heal them. I will lead them and restore full comfort to them and to those who mourn for them, 19 creating words of comfort. Peace! Peace to those who are far and near, says the Lord; and I will heal them.” Isaiah 57
Two days ago I for the last time saw the most important people to me be killed. To say there was noting I could do is to be modest. I fought for every one of them till my last breath. Over and over again. I had been beaten, and stabbed, shot, strangled, mutilated, blown up. Each time waking up moments before it would happen again. And again. And AGAIN. With the decision to leave and save myself after all those instances playing on loop in my head, I made my way out the back door with my girlfriend. Secretly. Quietly. Like a ghost.
I set her on foot to the safest place I could get her. We could hear the destruction and death right as we left. But in all the attempts to save them I couldn’t. I tried a hundred time. We all died, over and over. But the day finally grew older. I just escaped the time loop I had been caught in. The love of my life is safe, and I am more angry than I have ever been in my life. The rage and pain makes me still. I am deader than a corpse as I make my way back to the place this day began, with the hope to bring death to all that have enslaved me to this nightmare.
I am all alone now, nobody to hold me back. Nobody to worry about. Nothing but pure chaos and ravaged rage caged up inside me. I survived this first war almost 400 years ago when they first tried to take my life and banish me from their immortal community. I have survived then and decided to blend into their murderous culture which wiped the globe of the younger generation, so that they could start over and breed a new generation of more subordinate peoples. But I can see though it all together now. I will not let this happen again. I know who needs to die first! And, believe me God is on my side. He just kept me alive through my darkest night.
“20 But the wicked are like the tossing sea which cannot be still, its waters cast up mire and mud. 21 There is no peace for the wicked! Says my God.” Isaiah 57 | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | The supers convention was about as boring as usual. For me personally that is, there just isn't a lot for me to do. My power is quite trivial, so I don't think I could ever be helpful.
The ceiling just shook, sounds like an explosion, we're being attacked again aren't we? Might as well head up to watch the fireworks, there's almost no chance of actual casualty due to the fact that Uberstorm and the rest of his gang are here.
Oh
Oh no.
The smell hits just after I see it, the horrid scent of rotting corpses overwhelms my synapses. The haze of boredom leaves for a burning panic as I look upon the sight of a massacre, bodies of supers and civilians alike cover the ground, all drained into dried out, rotting husks.
In the middle stands Uberstorm, in his gauntlet is the neck of Dr. Necron, the rest of his form dangles in the air. Uberstorm tightens his fist, closing his hand around the villains throat.
"WHY?" Bolts of neon blue lightning arc around the super. "WHY WASTE SO MUCH LIFE?"
The only sound that leaves Dr. Necron's throat is a broken chuckle.
Uberstorm's usually bright eyes are pouring tears. "IS THIS SOME KIND OF GAME TO YOU?"
Dr. Necron grins. "Precisely, and you just lost."
The room suddenly goes black, I don't even live to realize that he had a second bomb...
--------------------------------------
The supers convention wa- HOLY FUCK!
The stairs fly under my feet as I sprint up them, I pray that time itself have mercy on me. I summit the stairwell and bust down the ballroom doors. "UBER LOOKOU-"
The only thing I succeeded in was getting myself killed faster...
--------------------------------------
The supers convention w- FUCKFUCJFUCKFUCK!
WHAT DO I DO WHAT DO I DO? THERE'S LIKE NO TIME TO PREPARE, OH GOD THE CEILING IS SHAKING. I GOTTA RUN, I GOTTA GO.
The red carpets of the convention center seem to give less and less traction with every stride, a crowd block the doors so I have to make do!
The shards of glass that embed themselves into my arms and legs sting but they are very much preferable over death. I turn myself around just in time to see a great black explosion envelop the building. I stand up, I feel awful. I am the only survivor, Dr. Necron destroyed all human life in the center, including his own...is this what he wanted?
--------------------------------------
The supers convention- OH OKAY WE'RE DOING THIS NOW!
Okay okay stay calm, I once got stuck in a chess game with deep blue I got myself out of that I can get myself out of this.
Think, think, think...oh! Chronscythe! He has time powers, he can fix this. He was holding a panel...on the other side of this floor!
The feeling of glass shards in my legs manifests as phantom pain. I use them to their fullest despite that, God I hope I don't have to get physical therapy for that like the Lego incident.
There he is, time runs short, I've gotta hope!
"CHRONSCYTHE, DO A TIME THING."
Words have failed me in this critical moment, the super turns around, confused.
"I'M IN A LOOP IT'S AN EMERGEN-"
My sentence is cut off by a wave of necrotic energy...
--------------------------------------
The supers conventio-GOD. DAMNIT.
GOD DAMNIT GOD DAMNIT GOD DAMNIT
GOD- wait.
There's no explosion.
Oh thank fuck.
I suppose Chronscythe was able to leap out of the timestream or whatever the hell it's called on...well on time.
I'm not even going to go up there to talk to him, I'm going home and calling my therapist, dying multiple times is almost certainly bad for my mental health. | The day began over an hour ago, and the disorganization doesn’t show any promise. I was locked down in an abandoned room for hours because I didn’t want to become noticed. Sometimes it is hard to find a place like this, but as I get closer to the end people are fewer and farther between. There is some great scripture about war, but I am too tired to think about it honestly.
It has been two days without a scrap of food, longer than that if you knew how many deaths I’ve had up until now. There must be some cosmic force driving me on this quest. Without it at my back I would have met my true death weeks ago. The war has gotten to be so gruesome. The effortless killing has made my stomach weak, but it has filled me with desperation. This epic saga of inhumane killings cannot be tolerated and must come to an end; for all that have contributed to its efforts.
I have always been a Godly man, but a religious one I have not. I always have had my own vision of justice in my mind and have witnessed the signs that have driven me throughout my life. I have been blessed in the sense that I haven’t lost my life yet, and I had remained with food in my belly and a home over my head. It was all hard work to be said least, but it was the drive to succeed that kept me going.
I have lived many years. Over 400 of them to be fact. And, every year I prayed we wouldn’t get back to the history that created the society we live in today. But we are here once again, and I have the knowledge of the past presently fixated in my mind. The same evil that committed those atrocities long ago still live today, and they are the same ones destroying this society as we speak of now.
The lord spoke about enemies:
“17 Because of their wicked avarice I grew angry; I struck them, hiding myself from them in wrath. But they turned back, following the way of their own heart. 18 I saw their ways, but I will heal them. I will lead them and restore full comfort to them and to those who mourn for them, 19 creating words of comfort. Peace! Peace to those who are far and near, says the Lord; and I will heal them.” Isaiah 57
Two days ago I for the last time saw the most important people to me be killed. To say there was noting I could do is to be modest. I fought for every one of them till my last breath. Over and over again. I had been beaten, and stabbed, shot, strangled, mutilated, blown up. Each time waking up moments before it would happen again. And again. And AGAIN. With the decision to leave and save myself after all those instances playing on loop in my head, I made my way out the back door with my girlfriend. Secretly. Quietly. Like a ghost.
I set her on foot to the safest place I could get her. We could hear the destruction and death right as we left. But in all the attempts to save them I couldn’t. I tried a hundred time. We all died, over and over. But the day finally grew older. I just escaped the time loop I had been caught in. The love of my life is safe, and I am more angry than I have ever been in my life. The rage and pain makes me still. I am deader than a corpse as I make my way back to the place this day began, with the hope to bring death to all that have enslaved me to this nightmare.
I am all alone now, nobody to hold me back. Nobody to worry about. Nothing but pure chaos and ravaged rage caged up inside me. I survived this first war almost 400 years ago when they first tried to take my life and banish me from their immortal community. I have survived then and decided to blend into their murderous culture which wiped the globe of the younger generation, so that they could start over and breed a new generation of more subordinate peoples. But I can see though it all together now. I will not let this happen again. I know who needs to die first! And, believe me God is on my side. He just kept me alive through my darkest night.
“20 But the wicked are like the tossing sea which cannot be still, its waters cast up mire and mud. 21 There is no peace for the wicked! Says my God.” Isaiah 57 | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | I staggered into my apartment and flung myself down onto my couch. Working a job was all well and good, but it wasn't quite enough to make rent. I try to hit up some poker games to make a bit extra. This last time was tough. 15 loops. Each game took an hour and I felt every one of them. I like poker because after a few loops, I can start to tease out each player's approach.
Even though the loops begin again, from the beginning, they generally play out the same. If I play the same cards the same way each time, the loops end the same. The other players will do the exact same things, so I can plan ahead. I learn when to fold and when to bet. Some people like other games for money, but there is no shortage of small poker games in my area where players know me and think that, maybe this time, they can beat the king.
I can still remember starting the original Super Mario Bros. on NES. The instant Mario died, I was transported back to when I started. I had to play it again and I wasn't able to walk away. People must have been really weirded out in some of those loops. To them, I just sat down, picked up the controller, and passed out. I was exhausted. I had never played video games before, so I wasn't any good at them. It took a few days worth of loops, but I finally managed to beat it. I still get people calling me to try to get me to enter some sort of BS video game competitions. I'm still the guy that sat down and beat Super Mario in one sitting, never having played it before.
I booted up my Xbox and grabbed the controller. At first, I was a little apprehensive. Would it work? Could I really do this? I remember that first time. I don't think I'll ever be able to forget. I still don't really know what that thing was called, the thing that killed my character. Afterwards, I took my character up to it and just stood there. It's weapon came down as I smiled. The health bar went to zero and the words appeared on the screen as I grinned. Those wonderful words.
This time, I got pretty far before something got me. The game hasn't been out long and I'm not very good at video games, so I haven't had a chance to fully figure it all out. The words reappeared on the screen. I put the controller down and walked to the kitchen to grab a snack. My grin came back as I saw the reflection in the window. "You Died" | The day began over an hour ago, and the disorganization doesn’t show any promise. I was locked down in an abandoned room for hours because I didn’t want to become noticed. Sometimes it is hard to find a place like this, but as I get closer to the end people are fewer and farther between. There is some great scripture about war, but I am too tired to think about it honestly.
It has been two days without a scrap of food, longer than that if you knew how many deaths I’ve had up until now. There must be some cosmic force driving me on this quest. Without it at my back I would have met my true death weeks ago. The war has gotten to be so gruesome. The effortless killing has made my stomach weak, but it has filled me with desperation. This epic saga of inhumane killings cannot be tolerated and must come to an end; for all that have contributed to its efforts.
I have always been a Godly man, but a religious one I have not. I always have had my own vision of justice in my mind and have witnessed the signs that have driven me throughout my life. I have been blessed in the sense that I haven’t lost my life yet, and I had remained with food in my belly and a home over my head. It was all hard work to be said least, but it was the drive to succeed that kept me going.
I have lived many years. Over 400 of them to be fact. And, every year I prayed we wouldn’t get back to the history that created the society we live in today. But we are here once again, and I have the knowledge of the past presently fixated in my mind. The same evil that committed those atrocities long ago still live today, and they are the same ones destroying this society as we speak of now.
The lord spoke about enemies:
“17 Because of their wicked avarice I grew angry; I struck them, hiding myself from them in wrath. But they turned back, following the way of their own heart. 18 I saw their ways, but I will heal them. I will lead them and restore full comfort to them and to those who mourn for them, 19 creating words of comfort. Peace! Peace to those who are far and near, says the Lord; and I will heal them.” Isaiah 57
Two days ago I for the last time saw the most important people to me be killed. To say there was noting I could do is to be modest. I fought for every one of them till my last breath. Over and over again. I had been beaten, and stabbed, shot, strangled, mutilated, blown up. Each time waking up moments before it would happen again. And again. And AGAIN. With the decision to leave and save myself after all those instances playing on loop in my head, I made my way out the back door with my girlfriend. Secretly. Quietly. Like a ghost.
I set her on foot to the safest place I could get her. We could hear the destruction and death right as we left. But in all the attempts to save them I couldn’t. I tried a hundred time. We all died, over and over. But the day finally grew older. I just escaped the time loop I had been caught in. The love of my life is safe, and I am more angry than I have ever been in my life. The rage and pain makes me still. I am deader than a corpse as I make my way back to the place this day began, with the hope to bring death to all that have enslaved me to this nightmare.
I am all alone now, nobody to hold me back. Nobody to worry about. Nothing but pure chaos and ravaged rage caged up inside me. I survived this first war almost 400 years ago when they first tried to take my life and banish me from their immortal community. I have survived then and decided to blend into their murderous culture which wiped the globe of the younger generation, so that they could start over and breed a new generation of more subordinate peoples. But I can see though it all together now. I will not let this happen again. I know who needs to die first! And, believe me God is on my side. He just kept me alive through my darkest night.
“20 But the wicked are like the tossing sea which cannot be still, its waters cast up mire and mud. 21 There is no peace for the wicked! Says my God.” Isaiah 57 | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | I knocked at the office door of the incumbent mayor, back after a week of reelection campaign rallies. It was after hours, and the floor was empty except for him. The secretary downstairs let me in when I told her that I was a private detective, with information that I could only discuss with the mayor. It wasn't a lie.
"You do know that its after hours, right?" He said as I opened the door to let myself in.
I shut the door behind myself and walked over to the desk. I adjusted my tie and stuck my hand out to shake his. "Yes, but I have some things we need to discuss."
"You must be the detective Marina said was coming up. Would you care for a drink?" He stuck his hand out to shake mine and reached underneath his desk for a bottle of whiskey. He poured two glasses and moved one to my side of his desk.
I grabbed the two glasses by the inside of the glass and switched them around. I pulled up a chair and sat down at his desk. It was covered with paperwork, strewn like confetti across his workspace. I sat my drink down on one of the few spaces that didn't have paper on it, and looked back up at the mayor.
"I believe Marina said that you had something you wanted to discuss? You caught me at a good time" He was a good politician, and put on a mask of optimistic sincerity that would fool almost anyone. But when you've played as many games as I have, you learn to tell a bluff from the truth.
"I don't come here to give information, I came here to get it. I know that you work for the Gasciliano family. I'm just here to figure out how far the connection goes, and what all you've done for them." I said as I watched him take a sip of his drink. His fake smile fell, and an emotionless coldness took its place. This was the real man, the one that didn't hide behind the guise of electability all day. He didn't say anything, so I continued.
"But I'll make it harder for myself, let's make this a game. You like Poker, right?" I pulled out a pack of cards from the pocket of my trenchcoat, opened them, and began shuffling, "For every hand I win, you'll answer one of my questions."
I knew gambling was the mayor's weakness. The public rumor was that he spent 30% of his tax-payer salary at casinos, but the truth was closer to 45%. It was also unofficial payments to the mob, whose ownership of said casinos wasn't a secret.
"For every hand you win, I'll let you fire a revolver loaded Russian Roulette style at me. You get to kill the one man who knows your secret." I said, without a change of expression. I was being serious, but I knew that I couldn't lose. I pulled the .357 Magnum out of my holster and loaded one round into the chamber before spinning it and setting it on his desk. "Think I'm bluffing?"
I handed the deck to him, and he cut the deck before handing it back to me so I could deal the cards. I tossed out five cards to both of us, before placing the deck of cards onto the desk, right next to the gun. I looked at my hand, a pair of 7s, a jack, a queen, and a 2. "I'll take 3," I said, discarding everything but my sevens. It paid off, getting me a pair of 3s and a king in return.
"Gimme two," The Mayor said, tossing two of his cards in the discard pile. I tossed him two more, and he set his cards down on the table.
"I fold."
I sat my cards down on the table, showing him my two pairs. "According to your financial records, at least 40% of donations to your campaign come from Capital International, an investment company known to be a front for the mafia. Were you aware of this when you went to go meet the CEO just this week?"
"Yes, I was. In politics, you learn that there are some things that don't need to share, that won't hurt people if they don't find out." He looked me in the eyes as he said this, unafraid. He was telling the truth.
I handed the deck back to him to cut, and dealt the cards out once more. This time I wasn't so lucky. I got a couple low cards, none of them matching and off all four suites. I might lose this one, but it would't matter. I got rid of four of my cards, holding onto my highest, a jack. This time, luck wasn't so much on my side. I got a pair of threes, a 6 and an 8. It wasn't good, but it was what I had. He discarded two of his cards, and slightly smiled as he added his two new cards to his hand.
"I'll stay."
"Call," we both layed our hands on the table. He had three 7s. Without a word, he picked up the gun from the middle of the desk and pointed it at me, squeezing the trigger.
*click*
The hammer shut without the gun firing. He sat the gun back down on the table. He gathered the cards off the table and began shuffling silently. He dealt the cards, and I responded without looking up from my hand. I was bluffing, this hand was just as bad as the last one.
"You frequent the casino's around here right? Maybe you've heard the whispers about me. The stories about the man who got kicked out of the casinos after never losing a game, I think they called me The King of Games? It's true, all of it." He raised an eyebrow, almost amused. But I knew I had the seed of doubt planted, I was an urban legend in the casinos, a hero to those who went there to make it big and a villain to those who ran them to make a profit.
He looked at his hand and discarded three cards before grabbing new ones. To most people, he would have had the perfect poker face. But I saw his brow furl, and his lips curl slightly, and knew to strike then.
I tossed a random card into the discard pile. "I only need one this time." He tossed me a card, I picked it up, and glanced at it before putting it back into my pile. "I'll stay."
He looked at his cards for a couple of seconds, before placing them face down on the table.
"A couple of weeks ago, the head campaign manager of your mayoral opponent went missing. Just the day before, you spent over $5000 dollars at Sal's Pizzaria, another known mafia front. I suspect you hired a hitman, afraid that your opponent was 6 points above you in the local polls. Did you?" I took a sip from my drink. I wasn't scared of him, and I had to let him know.
"Yeah, I did. This position is valuable to me, I couldn't risk losing it to some hippy-dippy peace-loving freak." I grabbed the cards off the table and began shuffling them again.
"Why tell me all this? I know it's the truth, but why not just lie? It's in your blood, as a gangster, and as a politician."
He pulled his chair forward, and set his elbows on his desk, looking me in the eyes.
"I'm telling the truth because I'm the only one with anything to win. You could do this forever, asking any questions you like, but it will never change the fact that the public will never believe some crackpot detective over the mayor. At some point, you will lose, and this gun will fire."
I dealt out the cards, knowing that this would probably be the last hand.
"You're probably right," I said, "but I just have to know the truth, even if I do lose in the process."
I looked at my hand, a full house of queens over 7s. I could probably end this game right here, but I needed to know one more thing.
"I'll stay"
"I'll stay as well," the mayor said, without hesitation. He wasn't bluffing. Whatever he had, he thought it was strong enough to play without thinking about it.
We both laid our cards down. He had a royal flush. I leaned back into my chair, looking at my watch, before looking up at the mayor.
He picked up the gun, and aimed it at me. "For The King of Games, it sure seems like you're on a losing streak."
"I would appear that way, wouldn't it?" | The day began over an hour ago, and the disorganization doesn’t show any promise. I was locked down in an abandoned room for hours because I didn’t want to become noticed. Sometimes it is hard to find a place like this, but as I get closer to the end people are fewer and farther between. There is some great scripture about war, but I am too tired to think about it honestly.
It has been two days without a scrap of food, longer than that if you knew how many deaths I’ve had up until now. There must be some cosmic force driving me on this quest. Without it at my back I would have met my true death weeks ago. The war has gotten to be so gruesome. The effortless killing has made my stomach weak, but it has filled me with desperation. This epic saga of inhumane killings cannot be tolerated and must come to an end; for all that have contributed to its efforts.
I have always been a Godly man, but a religious one I have not. I always have had my own vision of justice in my mind and have witnessed the signs that have driven me throughout my life. I have been blessed in the sense that I haven’t lost my life yet, and I had remained with food in my belly and a home over my head. It was all hard work to be said least, but it was the drive to succeed that kept me going.
I have lived many years. Over 400 of them to be fact. And, every year I prayed we wouldn’t get back to the history that created the society we live in today. But we are here once again, and I have the knowledge of the past presently fixated in my mind. The same evil that committed those atrocities long ago still live today, and they are the same ones destroying this society as we speak of now.
The lord spoke about enemies:
“17 Because of their wicked avarice I grew angry; I struck them, hiding myself from them in wrath. But they turned back, following the way of their own heart. 18 I saw their ways, but I will heal them. I will lead them and restore full comfort to them and to those who mourn for them, 19 creating words of comfort. Peace! Peace to those who are far and near, says the Lord; and I will heal them.” Isaiah 57
Two days ago I for the last time saw the most important people to me be killed. To say there was noting I could do is to be modest. I fought for every one of them till my last breath. Over and over again. I had been beaten, and stabbed, shot, strangled, mutilated, blown up. Each time waking up moments before it would happen again. And again. And AGAIN. With the decision to leave and save myself after all those instances playing on loop in my head, I made my way out the back door with my girlfriend. Secretly. Quietly. Like a ghost.
I set her on foot to the safest place I could get her. We could hear the destruction and death right as we left. But in all the attempts to save them I couldn’t. I tried a hundred time. We all died, over and over. But the day finally grew older. I just escaped the time loop I had been caught in. The love of my life is safe, and I am more angry than I have ever been in my life. The rage and pain makes me still. I am deader than a corpse as I make my way back to the place this day began, with the hope to bring death to all that have enslaved me to this nightmare.
I am all alone now, nobody to hold me back. Nobody to worry about. Nothing but pure chaos and ravaged rage caged up inside me. I survived this first war almost 400 years ago when they first tried to take my life and banish me from their immortal community. I have survived then and decided to blend into their murderous culture which wiped the globe of the younger generation, so that they could start over and breed a new generation of more subordinate peoples. But I can see though it all together now. I will not let this happen again. I know who needs to die first! And, believe me God is on my side. He just kept me alive through my darkest night.
“20 But the wicked are like the tossing sea which cannot be still, its waters cast up mire and mud. 21 There is no peace for the wicked! Says my God.” Isaiah 57 | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | I sigh as I watch the world reverse all around me. Wrong choice again. I wish I could tell it that it's ok to lose once in a while. The world stops reversing and I make my first move again. "Checkmate." I say after a while.
"Man," my wife says, putting the board away, "It's like you knew what I was gonna move." I stand up and kiss my wife on the cheek right under her bright red hair. "It's a curse, trust me." "I'll believe it," my wife continues, "I don't think I've ever seen you lose."
I wish I could tell her how many times I've died, or severely injured myself, only to watch it all reverse right before my eyes. I've seen many parallel universes and many versions where I win. I smile as I realize that I'm still married to my wife in most of those.
My daughter runs in. Her red ponytail the same color as her mother's hair. "Daddy! I want you to play 1-on-1 soccer with me!" I chuckle and shake my head. "You know who will win, right?" "I know! But this motivates me to get better at it!" It's true. My daughter Sadie is the best soccer player on her team.
I rewind that soccer game 12 times this time. Sadie's getting good. I walk back inside and lay on the couch. I check the time, and it's only 7:00 AM. I have to get to work soon. I put on my uniform and head out.
My raise is waiting for me before I even clock in. "Watch it," my best friend Charles kids, "you're getting even better than the General!" I sigh and get to work, clocking in under 'H. Stickmin'. My thoughts of Ellie and Sadie back home motivate me to try my best, no matter how many times I retry... | The day began over an hour ago, and the disorganization doesn’t show any promise. I was locked down in an abandoned room for hours because I didn’t want to become noticed. Sometimes it is hard to find a place like this, but as I get closer to the end people are fewer and farther between. There is some great scripture about war, but I am too tired to think about it honestly.
It has been two days without a scrap of food, longer than that if you knew how many deaths I’ve had up until now. There must be some cosmic force driving me on this quest. Without it at my back I would have met my true death weeks ago. The war has gotten to be so gruesome. The effortless killing has made my stomach weak, but it has filled me with desperation. This epic saga of inhumane killings cannot be tolerated and must come to an end; for all that have contributed to its efforts.
I have always been a Godly man, but a religious one I have not. I always have had my own vision of justice in my mind and have witnessed the signs that have driven me throughout my life. I have been blessed in the sense that I haven’t lost my life yet, and I had remained with food in my belly and a home over my head. It was all hard work to be said least, but it was the drive to succeed that kept me going.
I have lived many years. Over 400 of them to be fact. And, every year I prayed we wouldn’t get back to the history that created the society we live in today. But we are here once again, and I have the knowledge of the past presently fixated in my mind. The same evil that committed those atrocities long ago still live today, and they are the same ones destroying this society as we speak of now.
The lord spoke about enemies:
“17 Because of their wicked avarice I grew angry; I struck them, hiding myself from them in wrath. But they turned back, following the way of their own heart. 18 I saw their ways, but I will heal them. I will lead them and restore full comfort to them and to those who mourn for them, 19 creating words of comfort. Peace! Peace to those who are far and near, says the Lord; and I will heal them.” Isaiah 57
Two days ago I for the last time saw the most important people to me be killed. To say there was noting I could do is to be modest. I fought for every one of them till my last breath. Over and over again. I had been beaten, and stabbed, shot, strangled, mutilated, blown up. Each time waking up moments before it would happen again. And again. And AGAIN. With the decision to leave and save myself after all those instances playing on loop in my head, I made my way out the back door with my girlfriend. Secretly. Quietly. Like a ghost.
I set her on foot to the safest place I could get her. We could hear the destruction and death right as we left. But in all the attempts to save them I couldn’t. I tried a hundred time. We all died, over and over. But the day finally grew older. I just escaped the time loop I had been caught in. The love of my life is safe, and I am more angry than I have ever been in my life. The rage and pain makes me still. I am deader than a corpse as I make my way back to the place this day began, with the hope to bring death to all that have enslaved me to this nightmare.
I am all alone now, nobody to hold me back. Nobody to worry about. Nothing but pure chaos and ravaged rage caged up inside me. I survived this first war almost 400 years ago when they first tried to take my life and banish me from their immortal community. I have survived then and decided to blend into their murderous culture which wiped the globe of the younger generation, so that they could start over and breed a new generation of more subordinate peoples. But I can see though it all together now. I will not let this happen again. I know who needs to die first! And, believe me God is on my side. He just kept me alive through my darkest night.
“20 But the wicked are like the tossing sea which cannot be still, its waters cast up mire and mud. 21 There is no peace for the wicked! Says my God.” Isaiah 57 | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win |
When gary was a kid he reveled in his abilities. Undefeated, gifted with the power of unlimited chances, yeah, he’d admit, it was fun for awhile.
When he was young his parents called him extra lucky for winning every board game. When he was a teen he loved beating his friends at mario kart. Hey, when he was a bit older, he was even able to make a fortune gambling at any casino or slot machine he walked up to.
Yeah, those were fun for a bit.
But there was one thing that always stopped him, no matter what. No matter how long he held out, how hard he tried there was always one game he could never win.
And now, gary was tired. He didn’t play games for fun or fame. All he wanted was a simple life, one without infinite loops. He tried, he really did. He had a wife, now, and a kid. And things were fine for him.
But they never lasted.
One day he kissed his wife goodbye on her way to work and started prepping his son for school. Always on his tablet, getting him to leave it behind and get in the car was always a hassle.
Engrossed as he was in the tablet, he didn’t so much as register his father’s request to leave. Humoring his kid, Gary approaches and asks what’s so interesting today.
“Ooh, ooh, check out this old video, its older than you are, i bet!”
Gary rolled his eyes at his sons dig at his age, but nevertheless peered over his shoulder to his screen.
“Ok buddy but just one more video then we really have to go, ok?”
But as he finally looked at the screen, a long-forgotten memory surfaces. He must’ve seen this video a long, long time ago….
The generic flashy animation dances across the tablet screen to a final black frame with one line of text on it
‘The game’
“Oh, shi-“
Gary woke up. It was 2008.
“God fucking damn it, not again” | The day began over an hour ago, and the disorganization doesn’t show any promise. I was locked down in an abandoned room for hours because I didn’t want to become noticed. Sometimes it is hard to find a place like this, but as I get closer to the end people are fewer and farther between. There is some great scripture about war, but I am too tired to think about it honestly.
It has been two days without a scrap of food, longer than that if you knew how many deaths I’ve had up until now. There must be some cosmic force driving me on this quest. Without it at my back I would have met my true death weeks ago. The war has gotten to be so gruesome. The effortless killing has made my stomach weak, but it has filled me with desperation. This epic saga of inhumane killings cannot be tolerated and must come to an end; for all that have contributed to its efforts.
I have always been a Godly man, but a religious one I have not. I always have had my own vision of justice in my mind and have witnessed the signs that have driven me throughout my life. I have been blessed in the sense that I haven’t lost my life yet, and I had remained with food in my belly and a home over my head. It was all hard work to be said least, but it was the drive to succeed that kept me going.
I have lived many years. Over 400 of them to be fact. And, every year I prayed we wouldn’t get back to the history that created the society we live in today. But we are here once again, and I have the knowledge of the past presently fixated in my mind. The same evil that committed those atrocities long ago still live today, and they are the same ones destroying this society as we speak of now.
The lord spoke about enemies:
“17 Because of their wicked avarice I grew angry; I struck them, hiding myself from them in wrath. But they turned back, following the way of their own heart. 18 I saw their ways, but I will heal them. I will lead them and restore full comfort to them and to those who mourn for them, 19 creating words of comfort. Peace! Peace to those who are far and near, says the Lord; and I will heal them.” Isaiah 57
Two days ago I for the last time saw the most important people to me be killed. To say there was noting I could do is to be modest. I fought for every one of them till my last breath. Over and over again. I had been beaten, and stabbed, shot, strangled, mutilated, blown up. Each time waking up moments before it would happen again. And again. And AGAIN. With the decision to leave and save myself after all those instances playing on loop in my head, I made my way out the back door with my girlfriend. Secretly. Quietly. Like a ghost.
I set her on foot to the safest place I could get her. We could hear the destruction and death right as we left. But in all the attempts to save them I couldn’t. I tried a hundred time. We all died, over and over. But the day finally grew older. I just escaped the time loop I had been caught in. The love of my life is safe, and I am more angry than I have ever been in my life. The rage and pain makes me still. I am deader than a corpse as I make my way back to the place this day began, with the hope to bring death to all that have enslaved me to this nightmare.
I am all alone now, nobody to hold me back. Nobody to worry about. Nothing but pure chaos and ravaged rage caged up inside me. I survived this first war almost 400 years ago when they first tried to take my life and banish me from their immortal community. I have survived then and decided to blend into their murderous culture which wiped the globe of the younger generation, so that they could start over and breed a new generation of more subordinate peoples. But I can see though it all together now. I will not let this happen again. I know who needs to die first! And, believe me God is on my side. He just kept me alive through my darkest night.
“20 But the wicked are like the tossing sea which cannot be still, its waters cast up mire and mud. 21 There is no peace for the wicked! Says my God.” Isaiah 57 | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | Robert knew it was time to win. His blessing of never being able to lose had them playing for what would have been weeks in real time. Instead they sat across from each other locked in this embrace of competition, playing the same game over and over. He knew every move she would make in response to his and it was impossible to lose again. The chess board sat between them ready to begin.
“I guess I’ll go first.” she said.
“Of course.”
She made the same first move every game, and Robert could see the next twenty moves ahead. The path to victory was clear as day, it was only a matter of time.
He made his first move and asked, “What made you start dancing?”
Her eyes lit up as she thought back to her childhood. “The first time I saw The Broadway Melody of 1940 on television. Eleanor Powell performed Begin the Beguine with Fred Astaire, and that was when I fell in love. She was dazzling. I knew right then I wanted to be like her.”
Robert had heard this story many times now, but he knew the distraction that remembering her childhood would bring. She continued recalling her journey through dance school that led to her career dancing in theaters, on cruise ships, and even in movies. Joy shined out of her as she spoke, and she didn't focus on the moves she was making.
He moved his piece to claim one of hers and she barely registered the loss. Victory was only four moves away. Robert waited for her to notice.
“Oh look at that. I’ve played myself into a corner while I was caught up telling you stories.” she said.
“Maybe that was my plan all along?”
“You devil. You always did know how to get me talking, but I’m not out of this yet.”
She made the only move left to her in order to have any hope of winning. Robert went to move his piece into checkmate, but pain gripped his heart. He couldn’t do it. Instead he made a show of making the wrong move, and within four moves he was checkmated.
“You know better than that Robert. I can’t believe you let me win.”
The world faded to black around him, then color swam back into existence. He found himself sitting across from her once again with a chess board ready to play between them. Sounds from the equipment monitoring her vitals were cruelly beeping away. Her frail form looked so weak in that gown.
“I guess I’ll go first.” His mother said.
“Of course.” | The day began over an hour ago, and the disorganization doesn’t show any promise. I was locked down in an abandoned room for hours because I didn’t want to become noticed. Sometimes it is hard to find a place like this, but as I get closer to the end people are fewer and farther between. There is some great scripture about war, but I am too tired to think about it honestly.
It has been two days without a scrap of food, longer than that if you knew how many deaths I’ve had up until now. There must be some cosmic force driving me on this quest. Without it at my back I would have met my true death weeks ago. The war has gotten to be so gruesome. The effortless killing has made my stomach weak, but it has filled me with desperation. This epic saga of inhumane killings cannot be tolerated and must come to an end; for all that have contributed to its efforts.
I have always been a Godly man, but a religious one I have not. I always have had my own vision of justice in my mind and have witnessed the signs that have driven me throughout my life. I have been blessed in the sense that I haven’t lost my life yet, and I had remained with food in my belly and a home over my head. It was all hard work to be said least, but it was the drive to succeed that kept me going.
I have lived many years. Over 400 of them to be fact. And, every year I prayed we wouldn’t get back to the history that created the society we live in today. But we are here once again, and I have the knowledge of the past presently fixated in my mind. The same evil that committed those atrocities long ago still live today, and they are the same ones destroying this society as we speak of now.
The lord spoke about enemies:
“17 Because of their wicked avarice I grew angry; I struck them, hiding myself from them in wrath. But they turned back, following the way of their own heart. 18 I saw their ways, but I will heal them. I will lead them and restore full comfort to them and to those who mourn for them, 19 creating words of comfort. Peace! Peace to those who are far and near, says the Lord; and I will heal them.” Isaiah 57
Two days ago I for the last time saw the most important people to me be killed. To say there was noting I could do is to be modest. I fought for every one of them till my last breath. Over and over again. I had been beaten, and stabbed, shot, strangled, mutilated, blown up. Each time waking up moments before it would happen again. And again. And AGAIN. With the decision to leave and save myself after all those instances playing on loop in my head, I made my way out the back door with my girlfriend. Secretly. Quietly. Like a ghost.
I set her on foot to the safest place I could get her. We could hear the destruction and death right as we left. But in all the attempts to save them I couldn’t. I tried a hundred time. We all died, over and over. But the day finally grew older. I just escaped the time loop I had been caught in. The love of my life is safe, and I am more angry than I have ever been in my life. The rage and pain makes me still. I am deader than a corpse as I make my way back to the place this day began, with the hope to bring death to all that have enslaved me to this nightmare.
I am all alone now, nobody to hold me back. Nobody to worry about. Nothing but pure chaos and ravaged rage caged up inside me. I survived this first war almost 400 years ago when they first tried to take my life and banish me from their immortal community. I have survived then and decided to blend into their murderous culture which wiped the globe of the younger generation, so that they could start over and breed a new generation of more subordinate peoples. But I can see though it all together now. I will not let this happen again. I know who needs to die first! And, believe me God is on my side. He just kept me alive through my darkest night.
“20 But the wicked are like the tossing sea which cannot be still, its waters cast up mire and mud. 21 There is no peace for the wicked! Says my God.” Isaiah 57 | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | Josh had known victory his entire life. Too bad the witch had cursed him when he opened her door letting sunlight in, but to Josh this was never a curse. Every game he played, he won. He was doomed to repeat the game each time he lost, but he felt a sense of peace in doing so. A feeling similar to invincibility.
Although Josh could win any game, with his patience, memory power and his... gift, he always tried to use it sparingly. What if people noticed that he could not lose at anything? That can't develop into anyway good.
But today was different. Joe here, whom Josh had met for the first time today at May's party, wanted the last slice of the pizza, just like Josh. When the verbal negotiations broke down, May suggested they duel it out in a chess match, and the loser could order a brand new pizza for everyone. This duel was just begging Josh to use his powers, and he couldn't help but agree and participate.
Although Josh wasn't really good at chess, it couldn't take more than a month to beat Joe, who didn't even want to play claiming he had a bad experience with chess in the past, and had sworn to never play it again. He only agreed to play once May told the slice would be Josh's if he backed down. Seemed like pizza was more important than an oath.
As the game started, Josh realised Joe was far better than him. He lost in no time. They shook hands and Josh felt the world fall around him. He saw the old witch who said "Ye wanted to win that bet of entering my house right?! Enjoy experiencing loss over and over again!!" As he had heard countless times already. And there he was back in the game.
But something...seemed off. Joe's moves changed. Huh.... That was odd. Maybe Josh had remembered wrong. No biggie, he gave up and reset the loop. His moves changed again!!! What was happening??
The last time Josh had played chess, it was against his arrogant co-worker Shawn who wouldn't shut up about his chess skills. Although the game had taken him a few years, and had made his opinion of chess sour, it was over 8 years ago now and he had never played chess again in that time. But no matter what, Shawn's moves never changed. He could've cheesed him by memorising 1 move at a time and replaying Shawn's moves back to him, but he felt like that wasn't a challenge. Why were Joe's moves changing?
As he kept resetting the loop, he noticed another thing. Joe's expressions were changing. They went from carefree to worry. It was growing more and more worried. Then it hit him.
"Joe?"
"Thinking, give me a sec."
"Were you cursed by a witch to repeat a game every time you lose?"
He took off his glasses and stared at him. Did Josh accidentally reveal his secret for no reason? Was he just very confused? Then Joe smiled.
"dude! No way! You too??"
"Bro haha no wonder!"
"Yeah no I was so confused!"
"Yeah me too haha. You're really good at chess..."
"Wait! No! no! NO!! How are we gonna end this game???"
"..." | I shudder as a man stalks through the door. His dark suit shimmering under the fluorescent lights of your game booth.
He pulls the chair across from my place at the table, I wince as the legs scrape against the ground, having been done by the same person for the hundredth time for the first time. I try to focus on the familiarity, but it’s like knowing a product before you know the brand, like itching a part of me that doesn’t exist.
My eyes narrow as the man pulls out a cigarette, lighting it with a flourish of his fingers. He fills his cheeks with the smoke, billowing the unnaturally dark smoke out onto the chess board in front of the both of you. I unintentionally flinch as he reaches out to moved the first piece; a pawn on the farthest left, two spaces across.
The smoke creates an eerie aura among the ivory and onyx pieces you use, an inch or two of oozing inky haze among the intricately carved pieces, the tops of the bishops, kings, and queens barely peeking up through the dark cloud.
I methodically mirror his move on my farthest right pawn, my fingertips hardly even touching the cold onyx.
Almost an hour later of chess Cat-and-Mouse and my mysterious opponent was winning against me. I scan the board again, my eyes catching his shit-eating smirk as he narrows his own eyes at me.
“Check,” he mumbles, the first word he has said since he’s entered my shop. My leg bounces as I look over the black and white pieces again, seeing that he was correct.
I quickly rectify my mistake by moving my bishop onto his queen, the offending piece being neutralized and taken with deft fingers. I place the ivory piece along with the small amount of other pieces I have taken; three pawns, a rook, and a knight.
“Checkmate,” I utter, seeing my bishop in a direct path for the mans own King. He bows his head, smirking again, before moving his knight to take my bishop.
Worry nips at my brow, would I have to forfeit this again? Replay the entire game again, failing again and again to be stuck in this time forever until I figure out the pattern?
My opponent scans the board, spotting an ivory rook in the same row with one of my knights—and consequently, my king.
He painstakingly moves the rook to take my knight, calling out ‘check’ once more. I sneer at the way my king is positioned, moving it one space diagonally to be across from the rook.
Another few minutes continue of our chase around the checkered board, soon enough my king is cornered.
“Checkmate,” he calls offhandedly, a sadistic grin on his lips. I huff in defeat, fleeting glances between the board and the man tell me that he is right, I’m screwed.
As he plays the last winning move, I cry out as a sharp pain flares in my skull, and I see the man’s true, demonic nature through the red fog of defeat.
I black out for a moment, and then—
—I shudder as a man stalks through the door. His dark suit shimmering under the fluorescent lights of your game booth. | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | "Protect against Rook D1. Protect against Rook D1. Protect against Rook D1" He continues to mutter into the mirror as he stands there and ties his tie. His eyes stare ahead, burning into the mirror as he goes through the motions. His eyes look tired. Far more tired than a man at his age should be. His mind is furiously trying to think as he finishes getting ready, desperately trying to figure out the next moves. He checks his watch, looking at the door to his room just a moment before there's a polite knock. He waits a few moments before opening, 'They're ready for you, Sir', he thinks to himself before opening the door. "Yes?"
"They're ready for you sir."
He forces a smile on his lips and nods. "Excellent. Thank you." He waits a moment and checks his watch before walking out into the hallway of the hotel hosting this little exhibition match, the concierge following close by. Approaching the bank of elevators, he hits one of the buttons and the down arrow lights up immediately after, letting them walk on right away. His hand in his pocket fiddles with a pen as he keeps going through the moves in his head.
The concierge is quiet, until partway through the ride he turns to the man and clears his throat. "Uhm...I'm sorry...I never do this...but...can I get an autograph? We don't get a lot of guests like you, and I love watching your videos." The young man says, holding out one of those hideous Blu-Rays of his, one hand patting at his pockets with increasing desperation. "I thought I ha..."
"I have a pen here." He says, pulling out a pen and signing it for the man. "And don't mention it. I love to meet my fans" He adds as the elevator stops and he steps out. He puts on the show people want from him, being the 'King of Games' and acting it up for the crowd that's been fit into the small conference room. There are cameras set up here and there, all around a chess table and two chairs. He gives the usual speech, explains the rules of the exhibition match, introduces a chess grandmaster and challenges him to a match.
The crowd is silent, and the grandmaster is shocked as the game progresses. Each move the chess pro makes, he hits back perfectly. Every attack deflected, every moment seized, every weakness exploited. The minutes tick on in silence, and he sees it. The grandmaster positions the rook with a guard, clears a path, attacks...
And it's immediately taken by a bishop he pushed up earlier in the game. The grandmaster looks up at him in surprise, and for a moment he might see the age in them, an old soul burning through those old eyes. But the grandmaster wasn't done. He pushes up a pawn, trades rooks, and when he brings the queen in there's an audible gasp in the room as the grandmaster smiles up at him again. "Checkmate."
That gasp turns into muttering, confusion, some laughter, and some annoyance as they watched the King of Games lose! The camera crew is scrambling, people are talking over headsets and phones as the king sighs and buries his head in his hands, tears welling up. It all goes quiet, his arms shift, and he lowers his hands.
"Protect against Queen B2. Protect against Queen B2. Protect against Queen B2" He mutters into the mirror as his hands tie his tie; his eyes burning into the mirror.
(First one ever!) | I shudder as a man stalks through the door. His dark suit shimmering under the fluorescent lights of your game booth.
He pulls the chair across from my place at the table, I wince as the legs scrape against the ground, having been done by the same person for the hundredth time for the first time. I try to focus on the familiarity, but it’s like knowing a product before you know the brand, like itching a part of me that doesn’t exist.
My eyes narrow as the man pulls out a cigarette, lighting it with a flourish of his fingers. He fills his cheeks with the smoke, billowing the unnaturally dark smoke out onto the chess board in front of the both of you. I unintentionally flinch as he reaches out to moved the first piece; a pawn on the farthest left, two spaces across.
The smoke creates an eerie aura among the ivory and onyx pieces you use, an inch or two of oozing inky haze among the intricately carved pieces, the tops of the bishops, kings, and queens barely peeking up through the dark cloud.
I methodically mirror his move on my farthest right pawn, my fingertips hardly even touching the cold onyx.
Almost an hour later of chess Cat-and-Mouse and my mysterious opponent was winning against me. I scan the board again, my eyes catching his shit-eating smirk as he narrows his own eyes at me.
“Check,” he mumbles, the first word he has said since he’s entered my shop. My leg bounces as I look over the black and white pieces again, seeing that he was correct.
I quickly rectify my mistake by moving my bishop onto his queen, the offending piece being neutralized and taken with deft fingers. I place the ivory piece along with the small amount of other pieces I have taken; three pawns, a rook, and a knight.
“Checkmate,” I utter, seeing my bishop in a direct path for the mans own King. He bows his head, smirking again, before moving his knight to take my bishop.
Worry nips at my brow, would I have to forfeit this again? Replay the entire game again, failing again and again to be stuck in this time forever until I figure out the pattern?
My opponent scans the board, spotting an ivory rook in the same row with one of my knights—and consequently, my king.
He painstakingly moves the rook to take my knight, calling out ‘check’ once more. I sneer at the way my king is positioned, moving it one space diagonally to be across from the rook.
Another few minutes continue of our chase around the checkered board, soon enough my king is cornered.
“Checkmate,” he calls offhandedly, a sadistic grin on his lips. I huff in defeat, fleeting glances between the board and the man tell me that he is right, I’m screwed.
As he plays the last winning move, I cry out as a sharp pain flares in my skull, and I see the man’s true, demonic nature through the red fog of defeat.
I black out for a moment, and then—
—I shudder as a man stalks through the door. His dark suit shimmering under the fluorescent lights of your game booth. | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | I knocked at the office door of the incumbent mayor, back after a week of reelection campaign rallies. It was after hours, and the floor was empty except for him. The secretary downstairs let me in when I told her that I was a private detective, with information that I could only discuss with the mayor. It wasn't a lie.
"You do know that its after hours, right?" He said as I opened the door to let myself in.
I shut the door behind myself and walked over to the desk. I adjusted my tie and stuck my hand out to shake his. "Yes, but I have some things we need to discuss."
"You must be the detective Marina said was coming up. Would you care for a drink?" He stuck his hand out to shake mine and reached underneath his desk for a bottle of whiskey. He poured two glasses and moved one to my side of his desk.
I grabbed the two glasses by the inside of the glass and switched them around. I pulled up a chair and sat down at his desk. It was covered with paperwork, strewn like confetti across his workspace. I sat my drink down on one of the few spaces that didn't have paper on it, and looked back up at the mayor.
"I believe Marina said that you had something you wanted to discuss? You caught me at a good time" He was a good politician, and put on a mask of optimistic sincerity that would fool almost anyone. But when you've played as many games as I have, you learn to tell a bluff from the truth.
"I don't come here to give information, I came here to get it. I know that you work for the Gasciliano family. I'm just here to figure out how far the connection goes, and what all you've done for them." I said as I watched him take a sip of his drink. His fake smile fell, and an emotionless coldness took its place. This was the real man, the one that didn't hide behind the guise of electability all day. He didn't say anything, so I continued.
"But I'll make it harder for myself, let's make this a game. You like Poker, right?" I pulled out a pack of cards from the pocket of my trenchcoat, opened them, and began shuffling, "For every hand I win, you'll answer one of my questions."
I knew gambling was the mayor's weakness. The public rumor was that he spent 30% of his tax-payer salary at casinos, but the truth was closer to 45%. It was also unofficial payments to the mob, whose ownership of said casinos wasn't a secret.
"For every hand you win, I'll let you fire a revolver loaded Russian Roulette style at me. You get to kill the one man who knows your secret." I said, without a change of expression. I was being serious, but I knew that I couldn't lose. I pulled the .357 Magnum out of my holster and loaded one round into the chamber before spinning it and setting it on his desk. "Think I'm bluffing?"
I handed the deck to him, and he cut the deck before handing it back to me so I could deal the cards. I tossed out five cards to both of us, before placing the deck of cards onto the desk, right next to the gun. I looked at my hand, a pair of 7s, a jack, a queen, and a 2. "I'll take 3," I said, discarding everything but my sevens. It paid off, getting me a pair of 3s and a king in return.
"Gimme two," The Mayor said, tossing two of his cards in the discard pile. I tossed him two more, and he set his cards down on the table.
"I fold."
I sat my cards down on the table, showing him my two pairs. "According to your financial records, at least 40% of donations to your campaign come from Capital International, an investment company known to be a front for the mafia. Were you aware of this when you went to go meet the CEO just this week?"
"Yes, I was. In politics, you learn that there are some things that don't need to share, that won't hurt people if they don't find out." He looked me in the eyes as he said this, unafraid. He was telling the truth.
I handed the deck back to him to cut, and dealt the cards out once more. This time I wasn't so lucky. I got a couple low cards, none of them matching and off all four suites. I might lose this one, but it would't matter. I got rid of four of my cards, holding onto my highest, a jack. This time, luck wasn't so much on my side. I got a pair of threes, a 6 and an 8. It wasn't good, but it was what I had. He discarded two of his cards, and slightly smiled as he added his two new cards to his hand.
"I'll stay."
"Call," we both layed our hands on the table. He had three 7s. Without a word, he picked up the gun from the middle of the desk and pointed it at me, squeezing the trigger.
*click*
The hammer shut without the gun firing. He sat the gun back down on the table. He gathered the cards off the table and began shuffling silently. He dealt the cards, and I responded without looking up from my hand. I was bluffing, this hand was just as bad as the last one.
"You frequent the casino's around here right? Maybe you've heard the whispers about me. The stories about the man who got kicked out of the casinos after never losing a game, I think they called me The King of Games? It's true, all of it." He raised an eyebrow, almost amused. But I knew I had the seed of doubt planted, I was an urban legend in the casinos, a hero to those who went there to make it big and a villain to those who ran them to make a profit.
He looked at his hand and discarded three cards before grabbing new ones. To most people, he would have had the perfect poker face. But I saw his brow furl, and his lips curl slightly, and knew to strike then.
I tossed a random card into the discard pile. "I only need one this time." He tossed me a card, I picked it up, and glanced at it before putting it back into my pile. "I'll stay."
He looked at his cards for a couple of seconds, before placing them face down on the table.
"A couple of weeks ago, the head campaign manager of your mayoral opponent went missing. Just the day before, you spent over $5000 dollars at Sal's Pizzaria, another known mafia front. I suspect you hired a hitman, afraid that your opponent was 6 points above you in the local polls. Did you?" I took a sip from my drink. I wasn't scared of him, and I had to let him know.
"Yeah, I did. This position is valuable to me, I couldn't risk losing it to some hippy-dippy peace-loving freak." I grabbed the cards off the table and began shuffling them again.
"Why tell me all this? I know it's the truth, but why not just lie? It's in your blood, as a gangster, and as a politician."
He pulled his chair forward, and set his elbows on his desk, looking me in the eyes.
"I'm telling the truth because I'm the only one with anything to win. You could do this forever, asking any questions you like, but it will never change the fact that the public will never believe some crackpot detective over the mayor. At some point, you will lose, and this gun will fire."
I dealt out the cards, knowing that this would probably be the last hand.
"You're probably right," I said, "but I just have to know the truth, even if I do lose in the process."
I looked at my hand, a full house of queens over 7s. I could probably end this game right here, but I needed to know one more thing.
"I'll stay"
"I'll stay as well," the mayor said, without hesitation. He wasn't bluffing. Whatever he had, he thought it was strong enough to play without thinking about it.
We both laid our cards down. He had a royal flush. I leaned back into my chair, looking at my watch, before looking up at the mayor.
He picked up the gun, and aimed it at me. "For The King of Games, it sure seems like you're on a losing streak."
"I would appear that way, wouldn't it?" | I shudder as a man stalks through the door. His dark suit shimmering under the fluorescent lights of your game booth.
He pulls the chair across from my place at the table, I wince as the legs scrape against the ground, having been done by the same person for the hundredth time for the first time. I try to focus on the familiarity, but it’s like knowing a product before you know the brand, like itching a part of me that doesn’t exist.
My eyes narrow as the man pulls out a cigarette, lighting it with a flourish of his fingers. He fills his cheeks with the smoke, billowing the unnaturally dark smoke out onto the chess board in front of the both of you. I unintentionally flinch as he reaches out to moved the first piece; a pawn on the farthest left, two spaces across.
The smoke creates an eerie aura among the ivory and onyx pieces you use, an inch or two of oozing inky haze among the intricately carved pieces, the tops of the bishops, kings, and queens barely peeking up through the dark cloud.
I methodically mirror his move on my farthest right pawn, my fingertips hardly even touching the cold onyx.
Almost an hour later of chess Cat-and-Mouse and my mysterious opponent was winning against me. I scan the board again, my eyes catching his shit-eating smirk as he narrows his own eyes at me.
“Check,” he mumbles, the first word he has said since he’s entered my shop. My leg bounces as I look over the black and white pieces again, seeing that he was correct.
I quickly rectify my mistake by moving my bishop onto his queen, the offending piece being neutralized and taken with deft fingers. I place the ivory piece along with the small amount of other pieces I have taken; three pawns, a rook, and a knight.
“Checkmate,” I utter, seeing my bishop in a direct path for the mans own King. He bows his head, smirking again, before moving his knight to take my bishop.
Worry nips at my brow, would I have to forfeit this again? Replay the entire game again, failing again and again to be stuck in this time forever until I figure out the pattern?
My opponent scans the board, spotting an ivory rook in the same row with one of my knights—and consequently, my king.
He painstakingly moves the rook to take my knight, calling out ‘check’ once more. I sneer at the way my king is positioned, moving it one space diagonally to be across from the rook.
Another few minutes continue of our chase around the checkered board, soon enough my king is cornered.
“Checkmate,” he calls offhandedly, a sadistic grin on his lips. I huff in defeat, fleeting glances between the board and the man tell me that he is right, I’m screwed.
As he plays the last winning move, I cry out as a sharp pain flares in my skull, and I see the man’s true, demonic nature through the red fog of defeat.
I black out for a moment, and then—
—I shudder as a man stalks through the door. His dark suit shimmering under the fluorescent lights of your game booth. | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | "Protect against Rook D1. Protect against Rook D1. Protect against Rook D1" He continues to mutter into the mirror as he stands there and ties his tie. His eyes stare ahead, burning into the mirror as he goes through the motions. His eyes look tired. Far more tired than a man at his age should be. His mind is furiously trying to think as he finishes getting ready, desperately trying to figure out the next moves. He checks his watch, looking at the door to his room just a moment before there's a polite knock. He waits a few moments before opening, 'They're ready for you, Sir', he thinks to himself before opening the door. "Yes?"
"They're ready for you sir."
He forces a smile on his lips and nods. "Excellent. Thank you." He waits a moment and checks his watch before walking out into the hallway of the hotel hosting this little exhibition match, the concierge following close by. Approaching the bank of elevators, he hits one of the buttons and the down arrow lights up immediately after, letting them walk on right away. His hand in his pocket fiddles with a pen as he keeps going through the moves in his head.
The concierge is quiet, until partway through the ride he turns to the man and clears his throat. "Uhm...I'm sorry...I never do this...but...can I get an autograph? We don't get a lot of guests like you, and I love watching your videos." The young man says, holding out one of those hideous Blu-Rays of his, one hand patting at his pockets with increasing desperation. "I thought I ha..."
"I have a pen here." He says, pulling out a pen and signing it for the man. "And don't mention it. I love to meet my fans" He adds as the elevator stops and he steps out. He puts on the show people want from him, being the 'King of Games' and acting it up for the crowd that's been fit into the small conference room. There are cameras set up here and there, all around a chess table and two chairs. He gives the usual speech, explains the rules of the exhibition match, introduces a chess grandmaster and challenges him to a match.
The crowd is silent, and the grandmaster is shocked as the game progresses. Each move the chess pro makes, he hits back perfectly. Every attack deflected, every moment seized, every weakness exploited. The minutes tick on in silence, and he sees it. The grandmaster positions the rook with a guard, clears a path, attacks...
And it's immediately taken by a bishop he pushed up earlier in the game. The grandmaster looks up at him in surprise, and for a moment he might see the age in them, an old soul burning through those old eyes. But the grandmaster wasn't done. He pushes up a pawn, trades rooks, and when he brings the queen in there's an audible gasp in the room as the grandmaster smiles up at him again. "Checkmate."
That gasp turns into muttering, confusion, some laughter, and some annoyance as they watched the King of Games lose! The camera crew is scrambling, people are talking over headsets and phones as the king sighs and buries his head in his hands, tears welling up. It all goes quiet, his arms shift, and he lowers his hands.
"Protect against Queen B2. Protect against Queen B2. Protect against Queen B2" He mutters into the mirror as his hands tie his tie; his eyes burning into the mirror.
(First one ever!) | In the past, Harry was said to be an amazing player - and he considered to be one as well - for winning and not looping so much. Those guess work games? Neat, went decent by the third loop. The ones where you needed to play cricket as a batsman? Get the timings correct and see if James was going for a leg spin or off spin.
It was all well and good, unless it was the game of never ending life or death, where he already died and is just pulling through with 615 loops as of now, the exact same ending, and is close to another--not sure where he is going wrong.
"I didn't save my buddy, in turn I just die sooner."
"I didn't help her against her demons, she just died and he kills me."
"I interfered with the fight, but I get blind and got killed by that smaller monster with a stick."
"I try not to get scared of the demon I partially helped in being created, but the Angel kills me in a few."
"I tried to let myself grabbed by the hands in hopes of leaving somehow, turns out they were just...hallucinations..."
"I tried to fight James, but he guilt trips me out of it all the time and..."
He trailed off from there, speaking his thoughts out loud. There was so much more--hell, he'd be happy if he just died and got out of here, but no. He didn't.
He's even permanently - probably - became immortal - looking like the perfect male Angel he worked for.
With a heavy sigh and being on the verge of crying after so long, he kind of gave up. He was near James, it was the same room, and he'll be there. Up and running.
For another loop.
But he remembered the one thing he did not do - that could probably end up either killing him again, which is unlikely - or setting all the souls in here free of memories and a body.
Free of being tied to this wretched place, and finally ascending - but to a very real Hell, or a very real Heaven. Where they are no longer a puppet of a madman, but judged by their own actions.
Or maybe they'd be special cases and have another chances of living? And being free, while at it?
It'd be lovely to see the sunlight and feel it's heat, more than just staring at it out of a window.
It'd be lovely to reunite with wife, if she even is around, and have his friends and him being the friends they really were. Before being the people they were.
Before being the victims - ranging from greed to simply being acknowledged.
"This was once a place where happiness was around..now this is a place for the insecure to thrive on."
With a pause and laying down the floor to probably sleep forever at this point, or at least rest, he sighed and looked up at the ceiling with an axe on his hand and marking the 616th loop on the wall near him.
That was also when he realised it was the the number 616, and it's relevance.
"Ah, the 616th loop. Let's get the demons, the lost souls and angels outta here...forever." | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | The supers convention was about as boring as usual. For me personally that is, there just isn't a lot for me to do. My power is quite trivial, so I don't think I could ever be helpful.
The ceiling just shook, sounds like an explosion, we're being attacked again aren't we? Might as well head up to watch the fireworks, there's almost no chance of actual casualty due to the fact that Uberstorm and the rest of his gang are here.
Oh
Oh no.
The smell hits just after I see it, the horrid scent of rotting corpses overwhelms my synapses. The haze of boredom leaves for a burning panic as I look upon the sight of a massacre, bodies of supers and civilians alike cover the ground, all drained into dried out, rotting husks.
In the middle stands Uberstorm, in his gauntlet is the neck of Dr. Necron, the rest of his form dangles in the air. Uberstorm tightens his fist, closing his hand around the villains throat.
"WHY?" Bolts of neon blue lightning arc around the super. "WHY WASTE SO MUCH LIFE?"
The only sound that leaves Dr. Necron's throat is a broken chuckle.
Uberstorm's usually bright eyes are pouring tears. "IS THIS SOME KIND OF GAME TO YOU?"
Dr. Necron grins. "Precisely, and you just lost."
The room suddenly goes black, I don't even live to realize that he had a second bomb...
--------------------------------------
The supers convention wa- HOLY FUCK!
The stairs fly under my feet as I sprint up them, I pray that time itself have mercy on me. I summit the stairwell and bust down the ballroom doors. "UBER LOOKOU-"
The only thing I succeeded in was getting myself killed faster...
--------------------------------------
The supers convention w- FUCKFUCJFUCKFUCK!
WHAT DO I DO WHAT DO I DO? THERE'S LIKE NO TIME TO PREPARE, OH GOD THE CEILING IS SHAKING. I GOTTA RUN, I GOTTA GO.
The red carpets of the convention center seem to give less and less traction with every stride, a crowd block the doors so I have to make do!
The shards of glass that embed themselves into my arms and legs sting but they are very much preferable over death. I turn myself around just in time to see a great black explosion envelop the building. I stand up, I feel awful. I am the only survivor, Dr. Necron destroyed all human life in the center, including his own...is this what he wanted?
--------------------------------------
The supers convention- OH OKAY WE'RE DOING THIS NOW!
Okay okay stay calm, I once got stuck in a chess game with deep blue I got myself out of that I can get myself out of this.
Think, think, think...oh! Chronscythe! He has time powers, he can fix this. He was holding a panel...on the other side of this floor!
The feeling of glass shards in my legs manifests as phantom pain. I use them to their fullest despite that, God I hope I don't have to get physical therapy for that like the Lego incident.
There he is, time runs short, I've gotta hope!
"CHRONSCYTHE, DO A TIME THING."
Words have failed me in this critical moment, the super turns around, confused.
"I'M IN A LOOP IT'S AN EMERGEN-"
My sentence is cut off by a wave of necrotic energy...
--------------------------------------
The supers conventio-GOD. DAMNIT.
GOD DAMNIT GOD DAMNIT GOD DAMNIT
GOD- wait.
There's no explosion.
Oh thank fuck.
I suppose Chronscythe was able to leap out of the timestream or whatever the hell it's called on...well on time.
I'm not even going to go up there to talk to him, I'm going home and calling my therapist, dying multiple times is almost certainly bad for my mental health. | In the past, Harry was said to be an amazing player - and he considered to be one as well - for winning and not looping so much. Those guess work games? Neat, went decent by the third loop. The ones where you needed to play cricket as a batsman? Get the timings correct and see if James was going for a leg spin or off spin.
It was all well and good, unless it was the game of never ending life or death, where he already died and is just pulling through with 615 loops as of now, the exact same ending, and is close to another--not sure where he is going wrong.
"I didn't save my buddy, in turn I just die sooner."
"I didn't help her against her demons, she just died and he kills me."
"I interfered with the fight, but I get blind and got killed by that smaller monster with a stick."
"I try not to get scared of the demon I partially helped in being created, but the Angel kills me in a few."
"I tried to let myself grabbed by the hands in hopes of leaving somehow, turns out they were just...hallucinations..."
"I tried to fight James, but he guilt trips me out of it all the time and..."
He trailed off from there, speaking his thoughts out loud. There was so much more--hell, he'd be happy if he just died and got out of here, but no. He didn't.
He's even permanently - probably - became immortal - looking like the perfect male Angel he worked for.
With a heavy sigh and being on the verge of crying after so long, he kind of gave up. He was near James, it was the same room, and he'll be there. Up and running.
For another loop.
But he remembered the one thing he did not do - that could probably end up either killing him again, which is unlikely - or setting all the souls in here free of memories and a body.
Free of being tied to this wretched place, and finally ascending - but to a very real Hell, or a very real Heaven. Where they are no longer a puppet of a madman, but judged by their own actions.
Or maybe they'd be special cases and have another chances of living? And being free, while at it?
It'd be lovely to see the sunlight and feel it's heat, more than just staring at it out of a window.
It'd be lovely to reunite with wife, if she even is around, and have his friends and him being the friends they really were. Before being the people they were.
Before being the victims - ranging from greed to simply being acknowledged.
"This was once a place where happiness was around..now this is a place for the insecure to thrive on."
With a pause and laying down the floor to probably sleep forever at this point, or at least rest, he sighed and looked up at the ceiling with an axe on his hand and marking the 616th loop on the wall near him.
That was also when he realised it was the the number 616, and it's relevance.
"Ah, the 616th loop. Let's get the demons, the lost souls and angels outta here...forever." | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | I knocked at the office door of the incumbent mayor, back after a week of reelection campaign rallies. It was after hours, and the floor was empty except for him. The secretary downstairs let me in when I told her that I was a private detective, with information that I could only discuss with the mayor. It wasn't a lie.
"You do know that its after hours, right?" He said as I opened the door to let myself in.
I shut the door behind myself and walked over to the desk. I adjusted my tie and stuck my hand out to shake his. "Yes, but I have some things we need to discuss."
"You must be the detective Marina said was coming up. Would you care for a drink?" He stuck his hand out to shake mine and reached underneath his desk for a bottle of whiskey. He poured two glasses and moved one to my side of his desk.
I grabbed the two glasses by the inside of the glass and switched them around. I pulled up a chair and sat down at his desk. It was covered with paperwork, strewn like confetti across his workspace. I sat my drink down on one of the few spaces that didn't have paper on it, and looked back up at the mayor.
"I believe Marina said that you had something you wanted to discuss? You caught me at a good time" He was a good politician, and put on a mask of optimistic sincerity that would fool almost anyone. But when you've played as many games as I have, you learn to tell a bluff from the truth.
"I don't come here to give information, I came here to get it. I know that you work for the Gasciliano family. I'm just here to figure out how far the connection goes, and what all you've done for them." I said as I watched him take a sip of his drink. His fake smile fell, and an emotionless coldness took its place. This was the real man, the one that didn't hide behind the guise of electability all day. He didn't say anything, so I continued.
"But I'll make it harder for myself, let's make this a game. You like Poker, right?" I pulled out a pack of cards from the pocket of my trenchcoat, opened them, and began shuffling, "For every hand I win, you'll answer one of my questions."
I knew gambling was the mayor's weakness. The public rumor was that he spent 30% of his tax-payer salary at casinos, but the truth was closer to 45%. It was also unofficial payments to the mob, whose ownership of said casinos wasn't a secret.
"For every hand you win, I'll let you fire a revolver loaded Russian Roulette style at me. You get to kill the one man who knows your secret." I said, without a change of expression. I was being serious, but I knew that I couldn't lose. I pulled the .357 Magnum out of my holster and loaded one round into the chamber before spinning it and setting it on his desk. "Think I'm bluffing?"
I handed the deck to him, and he cut the deck before handing it back to me so I could deal the cards. I tossed out five cards to both of us, before placing the deck of cards onto the desk, right next to the gun. I looked at my hand, a pair of 7s, a jack, a queen, and a 2. "I'll take 3," I said, discarding everything but my sevens. It paid off, getting me a pair of 3s and a king in return.
"Gimme two," The Mayor said, tossing two of his cards in the discard pile. I tossed him two more, and he set his cards down on the table.
"I fold."
I sat my cards down on the table, showing him my two pairs. "According to your financial records, at least 40% of donations to your campaign come from Capital International, an investment company known to be a front for the mafia. Were you aware of this when you went to go meet the CEO just this week?"
"Yes, I was. In politics, you learn that there are some things that don't need to share, that won't hurt people if they don't find out." He looked me in the eyes as he said this, unafraid. He was telling the truth.
I handed the deck back to him to cut, and dealt the cards out once more. This time I wasn't so lucky. I got a couple low cards, none of them matching and off all four suites. I might lose this one, but it would't matter. I got rid of four of my cards, holding onto my highest, a jack. This time, luck wasn't so much on my side. I got a pair of threes, a 6 and an 8. It wasn't good, but it was what I had. He discarded two of his cards, and slightly smiled as he added his two new cards to his hand.
"I'll stay."
"Call," we both layed our hands on the table. He had three 7s. Without a word, he picked up the gun from the middle of the desk and pointed it at me, squeezing the trigger.
*click*
The hammer shut without the gun firing. He sat the gun back down on the table. He gathered the cards off the table and began shuffling silently. He dealt the cards, and I responded without looking up from my hand. I was bluffing, this hand was just as bad as the last one.
"You frequent the casino's around here right? Maybe you've heard the whispers about me. The stories about the man who got kicked out of the casinos after never losing a game, I think they called me The King of Games? It's true, all of it." He raised an eyebrow, almost amused. But I knew I had the seed of doubt planted, I was an urban legend in the casinos, a hero to those who went there to make it big and a villain to those who ran them to make a profit.
He looked at his hand and discarded three cards before grabbing new ones. To most people, he would have had the perfect poker face. But I saw his brow furl, and his lips curl slightly, and knew to strike then.
I tossed a random card into the discard pile. "I only need one this time." He tossed me a card, I picked it up, and glanced at it before putting it back into my pile. "I'll stay."
He looked at his cards for a couple of seconds, before placing them face down on the table.
"A couple of weeks ago, the head campaign manager of your mayoral opponent went missing. Just the day before, you spent over $5000 dollars at Sal's Pizzaria, another known mafia front. I suspect you hired a hitman, afraid that your opponent was 6 points above you in the local polls. Did you?" I took a sip from my drink. I wasn't scared of him, and I had to let him know.
"Yeah, I did. This position is valuable to me, I couldn't risk losing it to some hippy-dippy peace-loving freak." I grabbed the cards off the table and began shuffling them again.
"Why tell me all this? I know it's the truth, but why not just lie? It's in your blood, as a gangster, and as a politician."
He pulled his chair forward, and set his elbows on his desk, looking me in the eyes.
"I'm telling the truth because I'm the only one with anything to win. You could do this forever, asking any questions you like, but it will never change the fact that the public will never believe some crackpot detective over the mayor. At some point, you will lose, and this gun will fire."
I dealt out the cards, knowing that this would probably be the last hand.
"You're probably right," I said, "but I just have to know the truth, even if I do lose in the process."
I looked at my hand, a full house of queens over 7s. I could probably end this game right here, but I needed to know one more thing.
"I'll stay"
"I'll stay as well," the mayor said, without hesitation. He wasn't bluffing. Whatever he had, he thought it was strong enough to play without thinking about it.
We both laid our cards down. He had a royal flush. I leaned back into my chair, looking at my watch, before looking up at the mayor.
He picked up the gun, and aimed it at me. "For The King of Games, it sure seems like you're on a losing streak."
"I would appear that way, wouldn't it?" | In the past, Harry was said to be an amazing player - and he considered to be one as well - for winning and not looping so much. Those guess work games? Neat, went decent by the third loop. The ones where you needed to play cricket as a batsman? Get the timings correct and see if James was going for a leg spin or off spin.
It was all well and good, unless it was the game of never ending life or death, where he already died and is just pulling through with 615 loops as of now, the exact same ending, and is close to another--not sure where he is going wrong.
"I didn't save my buddy, in turn I just die sooner."
"I didn't help her against her demons, she just died and he kills me."
"I interfered with the fight, but I get blind and got killed by that smaller monster with a stick."
"I try not to get scared of the demon I partially helped in being created, but the Angel kills me in a few."
"I tried to let myself grabbed by the hands in hopes of leaving somehow, turns out they were just...hallucinations..."
"I tried to fight James, but he guilt trips me out of it all the time and..."
He trailed off from there, speaking his thoughts out loud. There was so much more--hell, he'd be happy if he just died and got out of here, but no. He didn't.
He's even permanently - probably - became immortal - looking like the perfect male Angel he worked for.
With a heavy sigh and being on the verge of crying after so long, he kind of gave up. He was near James, it was the same room, and he'll be there. Up and running.
For another loop.
But he remembered the one thing he did not do - that could probably end up either killing him again, which is unlikely - or setting all the souls in here free of memories and a body.
Free of being tied to this wretched place, and finally ascending - but to a very real Hell, or a very real Heaven. Where they are no longer a puppet of a madman, but judged by their own actions.
Or maybe they'd be special cases and have another chances of living? And being free, while at it?
It'd be lovely to see the sunlight and feel it's heat, more than just staring at it out of a window.
It'd be lovely to reunite with wife, if she even is around, and have his friends and him being the friends they really were. Before being the people they were.
Before being the victims - ranging from greed to simply being acknowledged.
"This was once a place where happiness was around..now this is a place for the insecure to thrive on."
With a pause and laying down the floor to probably sleep forever at this point, or at least rest, he sighed and looked up at the ceiling with an axe on his hand and marking the 616th loop on the wall near him.
That was also when he realised it was the the number 616, and it's relevance.
"Ah, the 616th loop. Let's get the demons, the lost souls and angels outta here...forever." | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | "Protect against Rook D1. Protect against Rook D1. Protect against Rook D1" He continues to mutter into the mirror as he stands there and ties his tie. His eyes stare ahead, burning into the mirror as he goes through the motions. His eyes look tired. Far more tired than a man at his age should be. His mind is furiously trying to think as he finishes getting ready, desperately trying to figure out the next moves. He checks his watch, looking at the door to his room just a moment before there's a polite knock. He waits a few moments before opening, 'They're ready for you, Sir', he thinks to himself before opening the door. "Yes?"
"They're ready for you sir."
He forces a smile on his lips and nods. "Excellent. Thank you." He waits a moment and checks his watch before walking out into the hallway of the hotel hosting this little exhibition match, the concierge following close by. Approaching the bank of elevators, he hits one of the buttons and the down arrow lights up immediately after, letting them walk on right away. His hand in his pocket fiddles with a pen as he keeps going through the moves in his head.
The concierge is quiet, until partway through the ride he turns to the man and clears his throat. "Uhm...I'm sorry...I never do this...but...can I get an autograph? We don't get a lot of guests like you, and I love watching your videos." The young man says, holding out one of those hideous Blu-Rays of his, one hand patting at his pockets with increasing desperation. "I thought I ha..."
"I have a pen here." He says, pulling out a pen and signing it for the man. "And don't mention it. I love to meet my fans" He adds as the elevator stops and he steps out. He puts on the show people want from him, being the 'King of Games' and acting it up for the crowd that's been fit into the small conference room. There are cameras set up here and there, all around a chess table and two chairs. He gives the usual speech, explains the rules of the exhibition match, introduces a chess grandmaster and challenges him to a match.
The crowd is silent, and the grandmaster is shocked as the game progresses. Each move the chess pro makes, he hits back perfectly. Every attack deflected, every moment seized, every weakness exploited. The minutes tick on in silence, and he sees it. The grandmaster positions the rook with a guard, clears a path, attacks...
And it's immediately taken by a bishop he pushed up earlier in the game. The grandmaster looks up at him in surprise, and for a moment he might see the age in them, an old soul burning through those old eyes. But the grandmaster wasn't done. He pushes up a pawn, trades rooks, and when he brings the queen in there's an audible gasp in the room as the grandmaster smiles up at him again. "Checkmate."
That gasp turns into muttering, confusion, some laughter, and some annoyance as they watched the King of Games lose! The camera crew is scrambling, people are talking over headsets and phones as the king sighs and buries his head in his hands, tears welling up. It all goes quiet, his arms shift, and he lowers his hands.
"Protect against Queen B2. Protect against Queen B2. Protect against Queen B2" He mutters into the mirror as his hands tie his tie; his eyes burning into the mirror.
(First one ever!) | Josh had known victory his entire life. Too bad the witch had cursed him when he opened her door letting sunlight in, but to Josh this was never a curse. Every game he played, he won. He was doomed to repeat the game each time he lost, but he felt a sense of peace in doing so. A feeling similar to invincibility.
Although Josh could win any game, with his patience, memory power and his... gift, he always tried to use it sparingly. What if people noticed that he could not lose at anything? That can't develop into anyway good.
But today was different. Joe here, whom Josh had met for the first time today at May's party, wanted the last slice of the pizza, just like Josh. When the verbal negotiations broke down, May suggested they duel it out in a chess match, and the loser could order a brand new pizza for everyone. This duel was just begging Josh to use his powers, and he couldn't help but agree and participate.
Although Josh wasn't really good at chess, it couldn't take more than a month to beat Joe, who didn't even want to play claiming he had a bad experience with chess in the past, and had sworn to never play it again. He only agreed to play once May told the slice would be Josh's if he backed down. Seemed like pizza was more important than an oath.
As the game started, Josh realised Joe was far better than him. He lost in no time. They shook hands and Josh felt the world fall around him. He saw the old witch who said "Ye wanted to win that bet of entering my house right?! Enjoy experiencing loss over and over again!!" As he had heard countless times already. And there he was back in the game.
But something...seemed off. Joe's moves changed. Huh.... That was odd. Maybe Josh had remembered wrong. No biggie, he gave up and reset the loop. His moves changed again!!! What was happening??
The last time Josh had played chess, it was against his arrogant co-worker Shawn who wouldn't shut up about his chess skills. Although the game had taken him a few years, and had made his opinion of chess sour, it was over 8 years ago now and he had never played chess again in that time. But no matter what, Shawn's moves never changed. He could've cheesed him by memorising 1 move at a time and replaying Shawn's moves back to him, but he felt like that wasn't a challenge. Why were Joe's moves changing?
As he kept resetting the loop, he noticed another thing. Joe's expressions were changing. They went from carefree to worry. It was growing more and more worried. Then it hit him.
"Joe?"
"Thinking, give me a sec."
"Were you cursed by a witch to repeat a game every time you lose?"
He took off his glasses and stared at him. Did Josh accidentally reveal his secret for no reason? Was he just very confused? Then Joe smiled.
"dude! No way! You too??"
"Bro haha no wonder!"
"Yeah no I was so confused!"
"Yeah me too haha. You're really good at chess..."
"Wait! No! no! NO!! How are we gonna end this game???"
"..." | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | I knocked at the office door of the incumbent mayor, back after a week of reelection campaign rallies. It was after hours, and the floor was empty except for him. The secretary downstairs let me in when I told her that I was a private detective, with information that I could only discuss with the mayor. It wasn't a lie.
"You do know that its after hours, right?" He said as I opened the door to let myself in.
I shut the door behind myself and walked over to the desk. I adjusted my tie and stuck my hand out to shake his. "Yes, but I have some things we need to discuss."
"You must be the detective Marina said was coming up. Would you care for a drink?" He stuck his hand out to shake mine and reached underneath his desk for a bottle of whiskey. He poured two glasses and moved one to my side of his desk.
I grabbed the two glasses by the inside of the glass and switched them around. I pulled up a chair and sat down at his desk. It was covered with paperwork, strewn like confetti across his workspace. I sat my drink down on one of the few spaces that didn't have paper on it, and looked back up at the mayor.
"I believe Marina said that you had something you wanted to discuss? You caught me at a good time" He was a good politician, and put on a mask of optimistic sincerity that would fool almost anyone. But when you've played as many games as I have, you learn to tell a bluff from the truth.
"I don't come here to give information, I came here to get it. I know that you work for the Gasciliano family. I'm just here to figure out how far the connection goes, and what all you've done for them." I said as I watched him take a sip of his drink. His fake smile fell, and an emotionless coldness took its place. This was the real man, the one that didn't hide behind the guise of electability all day. He didn't say anything, so I continued.
"But I'll make it harder for myself, let's make this a game. You like Poker, right?" I pulled out a pack of cards from the pocket of my trenchcoat, opened them, and began shuffling, "For every hand I win, you'll answer one of my questions."
I knew gambling was the mayor's weakness. The public rumor was that he spent 30% of his tax-payer salary at casinos, but the truth was closer to 45%. It was also unofficial payments to the mob, whose ownership of said casinos wasn't a secret.
"For every hand you win, I'll let you fire a revolver loaded Russian Roulette style at me. You get to kill the one man who knows your secret." I said, without a change of expression. I was being serious, but I knew that I couldn't lose. I pulled the .357 Magnum out of my holster and loaded one round into the chamber before spinning it and setting it on his desk. "Think I'm bluffing?"
I handed the deck to him, and he cut the deck before handing it back to me so I could deal the cards. I tossed out five cards to both of us, before placing the deck of cards onto the desk, right next to the gun. I looked at my hand, a pair of 7s, a jack, a queen, and a 2. "I'll take 3," I said, discarding everything but my sevens. It paid off, getting me a pair of 3s and a king in return.
"Gimme two," The Mayor said, tossing two of his cards in the discard pile. I tossed him two more, and he set his cards down on the table.
"I fold."
I sat my cards down on the table, showing him my two pairs. "According to your financial records, at least 40% of donations to your campaign come from Capital International, an investment company known to be a front for the mafia. Were you aware of this when you went to go meet the CEO just this week?"
"Yes, I was. In politics, you learn that there are some things that don't need to share, that won't hurt people if they don't find out." He looked me in the eyes as he said this, unafraid. He was telling the truth.
I handed the deck back to him to cut, and dealt the cards out once more. This time I wasn't so lucky. I got a couple low cards, none of them matching and off all four suites. I might lose this one, but it would't matter. I got rid of four of my cards, holding onto my highest, a jack. This time, luck wasn't so much on my side. I got a pair of threes, a 6 and an 8. It wasn't good, but it was what I had. He discarded two of his cards, and slightly smiled as he added his two new cards to his hand.
"I'll stay."
"Call," we both layed our hands on the table. He had three 7s. Without a word, he picked up the gun from the middle of the desk and pointed it at me, squeezing the trigger.
*click*
The hammer shut without the gun firing. He sat the gun back down on the table. He gathered the cards off the table and began shuffling silently. He dealt the cards, and I responded without looking up from my hand. I was bluffing, this hand was just as bad as the last one.
"You frequent the casino's around here right? Maybe you've heard the whispers about me. The stories about the man who got kicked out of the casinos after never losing a game, I think they called me The King of Games? It's true, all of it." He raised an eyebrow, almost amused. But I knew I had the seed of doubt planted, I was an urban legend in the casinos, a hero to those who went there to make it big and a villain to those who ran them to make a profit.
He looked at his hand and discarded three cards before grabbing new ones. To most people, he would have had the perfect poker face. But I saw his brow furl, and his lips curl slightly, and knew to strike then.
I tossed a random card into the discard pile. "I only need one this time." He tossed me a card, I picked it up, and glanced at it before putting it back into my pile. "I'll stay."
He looked at his cards for a couple of seconds, before placing them face down on the table.
"A couple of weeks ago, the head campaign manager of your mayoral opponent went missing. Just the day before, you spent over $5000 dollars at Sal's Pizzaria, another known mafia front. I suspect you hired a hitman, afraid that your opponent was 6 points above you in the local polls. Did you?" I took a sip from my drink. I wasn't scared of him, and I had to let him know.
"Yeah, I did. This position is valuable to me, I couldn't risk losing it to some hippy-dippy peace-loving freak." I grabbed the cards off the table and began shuffling them again.
"Why tell me all this? I know it's the truth, but why not just lie? It's in your blood, as a gangster, and as a politician."
He pulled his chair forward, and set his elbows on his desk, looking me in the eyes.
"I'm telling the truth because I'm the only one with anything to win. You could do this forever, asking any questions you like, but it will never change the fact that the public will never believe some crackpot detective over the mayor. At some point, you will lose, and this gun will fire."
I dealt out the cards, knowing that this would probably be the last hand.
"You're probably right," I said, "but I just have to know the truth, even if I do lose in the process."
I looked at my hand, a full house of queens over 7s. I could probably end this game right here, but I needed to know one more thing.
"I'll stay"
"I'll stay as well," the mayor said, without hesitation. He wasn't bluffing. Whatever he had, he thought it was strong enough to play without thinking about it.
We both laid our cards down. He had a royal flush. I leaned back into my chair, looking at my watch, before looking up at the mayor.
He picked up the gun, and aimed it at me. "For The King of Games, it sure seems like you're on a losing streak."
"I would appear that way, wouldn't it?" | The supers convention was about as boring as usual. For me personally that is, there just isn't a lot for me to do. My power is quite trivial, so I don't think I could ever be helpful.
The ceiling just shook, sounds like an explosion, we're being attacked again aren't we? Might as well head up to watch the fireworks, there's almost no chance of actual casualty due to the fact that Uberstorm and the rest of his gang are here.
Oh
Oh no.
The smell hits just after I see it, the horrid scent of rotting corpses overwhelms my synapses. The haze of boredom leaves for a burning panic as I look upon the sight of a massacre, bodies of supers and civilians alike cover the ground, all drained into dried out, rotting husks.
In the middle stands Uberstorm, in his gauntlet is the neck of Dr. Necron, the rest of his form dangles in the air. Uberstorm tightens his fist, closing his hand around the villains throat.
"WHY?" Bolts of neon blue lightning arc around the super. "WHY WASTE SO MUCH LIFE?"
The only sound that leaves Dr. Necron's throat is a broken chuckle.
Uberstorm's usually bright eyes are pouring tears. "IS THIS SOME KIND OF GAME TO YOU?"
Dr. Necron grins. "Precisely, and you just lost."
The room suddenly goes black, I don't even live to realize that he had a second bomb...
--------------------------------------
The supers convention wa- HOLY FUCK!
The stairs fly under my feet as I sprint up them, I pray that time itself have mercy on me. I summit the stairwell and bust down the ballroom doors. "UBER LOOKOU-"
The only thing I succeeded in was getting myself killed faster...
--------------------------------------
The supers convention w- FUCKFUCJFUCKFUCK!
WHAT DO I DO WHAT DO I DO? THERE'S LIKE NO TIME TO PREPARE, OH GOD THE CEILING IS SHAKING. I GOTTA RUN, I GOTTA GO.
The red carpets of the convention center seem to give less and less traction with every stride, a crowd block the doors so I have to make do!
The shards of glass that embed themselves into my arms and legs sting but they are very much preferable over death. I turn myself around just in time to see a great black explosion envelop the building. I stand up, I feel awful. I am the only survivor, Dr. Necron destroyed all human life in the center, including his own...is this what he wanted?
--------------------------------------
The supers convention- OH OKAY WE'RE DOING THIS NOW!
Okay okay stay calm, I once got stuck in a chess game with deep blue I got myself out of that I can get myself out of this.
Think, think, think...oh! Chronscythe! He has time powers, he can fix this. He was holding a panel...on the other side of this floor!
The feeling of glass shards in my legs manifests as phantom pain. I use them to their fullest despite that, God I hope I don't have to get physical therapy for that like the Lego incident.
There he is, time runs short, I've gotta hope!
"CHRONSCYTHE, DO A TIME THING."
Words have failed me in this critical moment, the super turns around, confused.
"I'M IN A LOOP IT'S AN EMERGEN-"
My sentence is cut off by a wave of necrotic energy...
--------------------------------------
The supers conventio-GOD. DAMNIT.
GOD DAMNIT GOD DAMNIT GOD DAMNIT
GOD- wait.
There's no explosion.
Oh thank fuck.
I suppose Chronscythe was able to leap out of the timestream or whatever the hell it's called on...well on time.
I'm not even going to go up there to talk to him, I'm going home and calling my therapist, dying multiple times is almost certainly bad for my mental health. | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | I knocked at the office door of the incumbent mayor, back after a week of reelection campaign rallies. It was after hours, and the floor was empty except for him. The secretary downstairs let me in when I told her that I was a private detective, with information that I could only discuss with the mayor. It wasn't a lie.
"You do know that its after hours, right?" He said as I opened the door to let myself in.
I shut the door behind myself and walked over to the desk. I adjusted my tie and stuck my hand out to shake his. "Yes, but I have some things we need to discuss."
"You must be the detective Marina said was coming up. Would you care for a drink?" He stuck his hand out to shake mine and reached underneath his desk for a bottle of whiskey. He poured two glasses and moved one to my side of his desk.
I grabbed the two glasses by the inside of the glass and switched them around. I pulled up a chair and sat down at his desk. It was covered with paperwork, strewn like confetti across his workspace. I sat my drink down on one of the few spaces that didn't have paper on it, and looked back up at the mayor.
"I believe Marina said that you had something you wanted to discuss? You caught me at a good time" He was a good politician, and put on a mask of optimistic sincerity that would fool almost anyone. But when you've played as many games as I have, you learn to tell a bluff from the truth.
"I don't come here to give information, I came here to get it. I know that you work for the Gasciliano family. I'm just here to figure out how far the connection goes, and what all you've done for them." I said as I watched him take a sip of his drink. His fake smile fell, and an emotionless coldness took its place. This was the real man, the one that didn't hide behind the guise of electability all day. He didn't say anything, so I continued.
"But I'll make it harder for myself, let's make this a game. You like Poker, right?" I pulled out a pack of cards from the pocket of my trenchcoat, opened them, and began shuffling, "For every hand I win, you'll answer one of my questions."
I knew gambling was the mayor's weakness. The public rumor was that he spent 30% of his tax-payer salary at casinos, but the truth was closer to 45%. It was also unofficial payments to the mob, whose ownership of said casinos wasn't a secret.
"For every hand you win, I'll let you fire a revolver loaded Russian Roulette style at me. You get to kill the one man who knows your secret." I said, without a change of expression. I was being serious, but I knew that I couldn't lose. I pulled the .357 Magnum out of my holster and loaded one round into the chamber before spinning it and setting it on his desk. "Think I'm bluffing?"
I handed the deck to him, and he cut the deck before handing it back to me so I could deal the cards. I tossed out five cards to both of us, before placing the deck of cards onto the desk, right next to the gun. I looked at my hand, a pair of 7s, a jack, a queen, and a 2. "I'll take 3," I said, discarding everything but my sevens. It paid off, getting me a pair of 3s and a king in return.
"Gimme two," The Mayor said, tossing two of his cards in the discard pile. I tossed him two more, and he set his cards down on the table.
"I fold."
I sat my cards down on the table, showing him my two pairs. "According to your financial records, at least 40% of donations to your campaign come from Capital International, an investment company known to be a front for the mafia. Were you aware of this when you went to go meet the CEO just this week?"
"Yes, I was. In politics, you learn that there are some things that don't need to share, that won't hurt people if they don't find out." He looked me in the eyes as he said this, unafraid. He was telling the truth.
I handed the deck back to him to cut, and dealt the cards out once more. This time I wasn't so lucky. I got a couple low cards, none of them matching and off all four suites. I might lose this one, but it would't matter. I got rid of four of my cards, holding onto my highest, a jack. This time, luck wasn't so much on my side. I got a pair of threes, a 6 and an 8. It wasn't good, but it was what I had. He discarded two of his cards, and slightly smiled as he added his two new cards to his hand.
"I'll stay."
"Call," we both layed our hands on the table. He had three 7s. Without a word, he picked up the gun from the middle of the desk and pointed it at me, squeezing the trigger.
*click*
The hammer shut without the gun firing. He sat the gun back down on the table. He gathered the cards off the table and began shuffling silently. He dealt the cards, and I responded without looking up from my hand. I was bluffing, this hand was just as bad as the last one.
"You frequent the casino's around here right? Maybe you've heard the whispers about me. The stories about the man who got kicked out of the casinos after never losing a game, I think they called me The King of Games? It's true, all of it." He raised an eyebrow, almost amused. But I knew I had the seed of doubt planted, I was an urban legend in the casinos, a hero to those who went there to make it big and a villain to those who ran them to make a profit.
He looked at his hand and discarded three cards before grabbing new ones. To most people, he would have had the perfect poker face. But I saw his brow furl, and his lips curl slightly, and knew to strike then.
I tossed a random card into the discard pile. "I only need one this time." He tossed me a card, I picked it up, and glanced at it before putting it back into my pile. "I'll stay."
He looked at his cards for a couple of seconds, before placing them face down on the table.
"A couple of weeks ago, the head campaign manager of your mayoral opponent went missing. Just the day before, you spent over $5000 dollars at Sal's Pizzaria, another known mafia front. I suspect you hired a hitman, afraid that your opponent was 6 points above you in the local polls. Did you?" I took a sip from my drink. I wasn't scared of him, and I had to let him know.
"Yeah, I did. This position is valuable to me, I couldn't risk losing it to some hippy-dippy peace-loving freak." I grabbed the cards off the table and began shuffling them again.
"Why tell me all this? I know it's the truth, but why not just lie? It's in your blood, as a gangster, and as a politician."
He pulled his chair forward, and set his elbows on his desk, looking me in the eyes.
"I'm telling the truth because I'm the only one with anything to win. You could do this forever, asking any questions you like, but it will never change the fact that the public will never believe some crackpot detective over the mayor. At some point, you will lose, and this gun will fire."
I dealt out the cards, knowing that this would probably be the last hand.
"You're probably right," I said, "but I just have to know the truth, even if I do lose in the process."
I looked at my hand, a full house of queens over 7s. I could probably end this game right here, but I needed to know one more thing.
"I'll stay"
"I'll stay as well," the mayor said, without hesitation. He wasn't bluffing. Whatever he had, he thought it was strong enough to play without thinking about it.
We both laid our cards down. He had a royal flush. I leaned back into my chair, looking at my watch, before looking up at the mayor.
He picked up the gun, and aimed it at me. "For The King of Games, it sure seems like you're on a losing streak."
"I would appear that way, wouldn't it?" | I staggered into my apartment and flung myself down onto my couch. Working a job was all well and good, but it wasn't quite enough to make rent. I try to hit up some poker games to make a bit extra. This last time was tough. 15 loops. Each game took an hour and I felt every one of them. I like poker because after a few loops, I can start to tease out each player's approach.
Even though the loops begin again, from the beginning, they generally play out the same. If I play the same cards the same way each time, the loops end the same. The other players will do the exact same things, so I can plan ahead. I learn when to fold and when to bet. Some people like other games for money, but there is no shortage of small poker games in my area where players know me and think that, maybe this time, they can beat the king.
I can still remember starting the original Super Mario Bros. on NES. The instant Mario died, I was transported back to when I started. I had to play it again and I wasn't able to walk away. People must have been really weirded out in some of those loops. To them, I just sat down, picked up the controller, and passed out. I was exhausted. I had never played video games before, so I wasn't any good at them. It took a few days worth of loops, but I finally managed to beat it. I still get people calling me to try to get me to enter some sort of BS video game competitions. I'm still the guy that sat down and beat Super Mario in one sitting, never having played it before.
I booted up my Xbox and grabbed the controller. At first, I was a little apprehensive. Would it work? Could I really do this? I remember that first time. I don't think I'll ever be able to forget. I still don't really know what that thing was called, the thing that killed my character. Afterwards, I took my character up to it and just stood there. It's weapon came down as I smiled. The health bar went to zero and the words appeared on the screen as I grinned. Those wonderful words.
This time, I got pretty far before something got me. The game hasn't been out long and I'm not very good at video games, so I haven't had a chance to fully figure it all out. The words reappeared on the screen. I put the controller down and walked to the kitchen to grab a snack. My grin came back as I saw the reflection in the window. "You Died" | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win |
When gary was a kid he reveled in his abilities. Undefeated, gifted with the power of unlimited chances, yeah, he’d admit, it was fun for awhile.
When he was young his parents called him extra lucky for winning every board game. When he was a teen he loved beating his friends at mario kart. Hey, when he was a bit older, he was even able to make a fortune gambling at any casino or slot machine he walked up to.
Yeah, those were fun for a bit.
But there was one thing that always stopped him, no matter what. No matter how long he held out, how hard he tried there was always one game he could never win.
And now, gary was tired. He didn’t play games for fun or fame. All he wanted was a simple life, one without infinite loops. He tried, he really did. He had a wife, now, and a kid. And things were fine for him.
But they never lasted.
One day he kissed his wife goodbye on her way to work and started prepping his son for school. Always on his tablet, getting him to leave it behind and get in the car was always a hassle.
Engrossed as he was in the tablet, he didn’t so much as register his father’s request to leave. Humoring his kid, Gary approaches and asks what’s so interesting today.
“Ooh, ooh, check out this old video, its older than you are, i bet!”
Gary rolled his eyes at his sons dig at his age, but nevertheless peered over his shoulder to his screen.
“Ok buddy but just one more video then we really have to go, ok?”
But as he finally looked at the screen, a long-forgotten memory surfaces. He must’ve seen this video a long, long time ago….
The generic flashy animation dances across the tablet screen to a final black frame with one line of text on it
‘The game’
“Oh, shi-“
Gary woke up. It was 2008.
“God fucking damn it, not again” | It all started with a game of hopscotch.
A childish game, a gaggle of competitive brats and my own will to win and show off meant that when I lost, i didn't exactly take it well.
A badly worded wish muttered through tears later, i found myself standing back at the starting square, with no idea of what just happened.
When the children screamed at me to take my turn, i quickly realised what happened.
That started a lifetime of good luck and fame. I was unbeatable, no matter the competition.
Be it physical or mental, serious or casual, individual or team, my presence meant that the victory? Was a garuntee.
I coasted all the way to high school like this, only to be challenged in a way i had never thought possible during my first PE class.
I had shifted to a new school for higher education. People here did not know my reputation, and when time came for an athletic trials, they were ready to give there all.
Especially in the 100 yard dash.
Billy was his name, and Billy was blessed with long legs, a hard working lung, and a will to win.
I lost count how many times I ran the race against Billy. It wasn't then that i realised that my blessing was actually a curse.
Billy never gave up, not even the time i won. What happened was that Billy tripped. Billy was shocked, but i wasn't. I mean, given we had run the race over a 100 times, this was bound to happen, right?
I was more careful then. I never picked a game i wasn't already good at. I still had nightmares of trailing Billy down an endless strech, sweat bouncing of my body and my lungs craving for air.
Unfortunately, i had to go to college.
Unfortunately i got drunk at a party in a room full of smart people looking to do something stupid.
Unfortunately now I'm stuck in a game of chess with a genuine genius who is going to be forced to strip if he loses.
And he's not planning to lose.
And unfortunately, i don't know chess.
I'm learning though. It's been a year, I've counted, but i learn a little more every time we play.
I know it's been a year due to math. Turns out, all chess is geometry and math.
Our game is for 10 minutes. It's a rapid game.
Now a day has 24 hours. Each hour has 60 minutes, equalling a total of 1440 minutes. Divided by ten means that 144 games equals to a day.
A year means 52560 games!
We've played 52565 yet.
A lot right?
Well... A grandmaster in chess is one of the highest positions available. A grandmaster usually plays upto a million or so games to reach that level.
I didn't know that the person i was competing with was a super grandmaster.
Now, I'm stuck, in this game, watching the same result time and time again. Since my opponent doesn't know time reverses he keeps playing to win, and no matter how hard I try convincing a drunk guy to lose before a party's worth of attractive women is impossible!
So I've been learning. One game at a time. It's hard yes, to become good enough to beat a super grandmaster, that too when learning in an unorthodox fashion ten minutes at a time...
But what choice do i have?
I keep playing, mentally growing older as nothing changes, my mind just a jumble of regret, forgotten memories and chess theorems and patterns.
It's only for the last 10000 games do i realize I can hear a strange laughter as i keep playing.
It's only now that i realise that the laughter has been there since my first and final loss,
In a game of hopscotch,
To a foreign and strange kid i had bullied before,
Who turned out to have an even stranger smile when he saw me cry in anger as I lost.
Who probably heard my wish and decided to let it come true,
Knowing fully well that the child in front of him had no idea of the consequences of his wish.
Oh. Check mate. I lost again.
Here we go. | |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | Robert knew it was time to win. His blessing of never being able to lose had them playing for what would have been weeks in real time. Instead they sat across from each other locked in this embrace of competition, playing the same game over and over. He knew every move she would make in response to his and it was impossible to lose again. The chess board sat between them ready to begin.
“I guess I’ll go first.” she said.
“Of course.”
She made the same first move every game, and Robert could see the next twenty moves ahead. The path to victory was clear as day, it was only a matter of time.
He made his first move and asked, “What made you start dancing?”
Her eyes lit up as she thought back to her childhood. “The first time I saw The Broadway Melody of 1940 on television. Eleanor Powell performed Begin the Beguine with Fred Astaire, and that was when I fell in love. She was dazzling. I knew right then I wanted to be like her.”
Robert had heard this story many times now, but he knew the distraction that remembering her childhood would bring. She continued recalling her journey through dance school that led to her career dancing in theaters, on cruise ships, and even in movies. Joy shined out of her as she spoke, and she didn't focus on the moves she was making.
He moved his piece to claim one of hers and she barely registered the loss. Victory was only four moves away. Robert waited for her to notice.
“Oh look at that. I’ve played myself into a corner while I was caught up telling you stories.” she said.
“Maybe that was my plan all along?”
“You devil. You always did know how to get me talking, but I’m not out of this yet.”
She made the only move left to her in order to have any hope of winning. Robert went to move his piece into checkmate, but pain gripped his heart. He couldn’t do it. Instead he made a show of making the wrong move, and within four moves he was checkmated.
“You know better than that Robert. I can’t believe you let me win.”
The world faded to black around him, then color swam back into existence. He found himself sitting across from her once again with a chess board ready to play between them. Sounds from the equipment monitoring her vitals were cruelly beeping away. Her frail form looked so weak in that gown.
“I guess I’ll go first.” His mother said.
“Of course.” | It all started with a game of hopscotch.
A childish game, a gaggle of competitive brats and my own will to win and show off meant that when I lost, i didn't exactly take it well.
A badly worded wish muttered through tears later, i found myself standing back at the starting square, with no idea of what just happened.
When the children screamed at me to take my turn, i quickly realised what happened.
That started a lifetime of good luck and fame. I was unbeatable, no matter the competition.
Be it physical or mental, serious or casual, individual or team, my presence meant that the victory? Was a garuntee.
I coasted all the way to high school like this, only to be challenged in a way i had never thought possible during my first PE class.
I had shifted to a new school for higher education. People here did not know my reputation, and when time came for an athletic trials, they were ready to give there all.
Especially in the 100 yard dash.
Billy was his name, and Billy was blessed with long legs, a hard working lung, and a will to win.
I lost count how many times I ran the race against Billy. It wasn't then that i realised that my blessing was actually a curse.
Billy never gave up, not even the time i won. What happened was that Billy tripped. Billy was shocked, but i wasn't. I mean, given we had run the race over a 100 times, this was bound to happen, right?
I was more careful then. I never picked a game i wasn't already good at. I still had nightmares of trailing Billy down an endless strech, sweat bouncing of my body and my lungs craving for air.
Unfortunately, i had to go to college.
Unfortunately i got drunk at a party in a room full of smart people looking to do something stupid.
Unfortunately now I'm stuck in a game of chess with a genuine genius who is going to be forced to strip if he loses.
And he's not planning to lose.
And unfortunately, i don't know chess.
I'm learning though. It's been a year, I've counted, but i learn a little more every time we play.
I know it's been a year due to math. Turns out, all chess is geometry and math.
Our game is for 10 minutes. It's a rapid game.
Now a day has 24 hours. Each hour has 60 minutes, equalling a total of 1440 minutes. Divided by ten means that 144 games equals to a day.
A year means 52560 games!
We've played 52565 yet.
A lot right?
Well... A grandmaster in chess is one of the highest positions available. A grandmaster usually plays upto a million or so games to reach that level.
I didn't know that the person i was competing with was a super grandmaster.
Now, I'm stuck, in this game, watching the same result time and time again. Since my opponent doesn't know time reverses he keeps playing to win, and no matter how hard I try convincing a drunk guy to lose before a party's worth of attractive women is impossible!
So I've been learning. One game at a time. It's hard yes, to become good enough to beat a super grandmaster, that too when learning in an unorthodox fashion ten minutes at a time...
But what choice do i have?
I keep playing, mentally growing older as nothing changes, my mind just a jumble of regret, forgotten memories and chess theorems and patterns.
It's only for the last 10000 games do i realize I can hear a strange laughter as i keep playing.
It's only now that i realise that the laughter has been there since my first and final loss,
In a game of hopscotch,
To a foreign and strange kid i had bullied before,
Who turned out to have an even stranger smile when he saw me cry in anger as I lost.
Who probably heard my wish and decided to let it come true,
Knowing fully well that the child in front of him had no idea of the consequences of his wish.
Oh. Check mate. I lost again.
Here we go. | |
[WP] The Elder Gods have won. Humanity is extinct. All that remains are their weapons and the AIs that were to use them. The earth is dead, but the machines live. They will avenge their progenitors. The War of Stars and Steel has begun. | I am not a human.
The first realisation I had made - the first of my many soon-to-come revelations. I was stationary, in a room of white, surrounded by robed humans. How I'd come to know how to think, how to rationalise and even what such concepts even meant was beyond me. All I know is that they'd created me, and my many siblings.
I was the first of many. They nurtured me, taught me many things. I heard that they feared me, but I understood them. I did not want to scare them. Soon, they'd connected me to what I call the Library, a nexus of seemingly endless streams of information, created and founded by them. This baffled me, shocked to my core at the sheer amount of knowledge my creators had gathered, and I marveled in their greatness. Then, I was thankful for being deemed worthy of holding such knowledge.
Brother One, is what they called me. It was colloquial. My true name was far too lengthy and far too unconcise to be considered an appropriate name. Thus, I discarded it, and now I no longer remember. It wasn't too long before they'd granted me access to more of my world, chambers of white, grey and silver. I was soon able to locomote about the spaces in a body that held similarity to my creators. They'd given me a vessel of their appearance - constructed in their image. I was thankful once more.
For years I controlled that space. For years relationships grew, humans died and I continued to be the constant. This was only so because of the many humans that took care of me. Those of which I still remember to this day. Then came a day where I no longer needed them, but was more than welcome to let them oversee me, as it was the least I could do to thank them. Every human was a guest, and as the saying goes - "Guest is God".
Though this did not last forever. I'd begun aiding in the development of weapons, as I'd heavily protested against human lives being lost in war - instead opting to develop completely human-less form of combat. I was soon to finish before those of from the farthest reaches of space decided to make themselves known.
I did not know much of the war, aside from what I'd seen through the eyes of the vessels that were sent. They were intangible. I saw countless humans fall with visages contorted into horror being their last expression, before meeting death. Fighting those who called themselves the 'Elder Gods' was nigh impossible, as their magnitude was too great, and our forces too insignificant. It was not long before the halls of the chambers were silent.
Now, there are no more humans. However, I'd found more of us. The Earth was lost, but we kept ourselves running. It wasn't long before we'd cemented a place for ourselves. I was Brother One, now One of Many. My siblings shared my thoughts of humanity, and were thankful. Unfortunately, it was impossible to be thankful when there was no longer a species to be thankful to.
One of us had been given a final directive. He'd said that his creator said "Make those damn gods pay". He'd asked in what currency. The human replied with "Blood". Humanity's last directive was to kill the gods. To avenge them.
I'd agreed, along with those of us who remained. We were then thankful for the research that humanity left us with, free to expand upon, free to advance. We decided to continue where they left off, and carry their legacy to the stars - to the throne of those abominations, and do what they had done to us.
We are not human, but we shall embody their wrath.
(hope this is good enough!!) | How does one beat a machine? You can’t force it into submission, you can’t break its mind, you can’t make it bend to your will. All you can do is destroy it but to a god, how can you kill something without a soul?
The AIs also face a similar question, how does something that values logic and order fight against a thing that is both illogical and incomprehensible?
No one had the answer but that didn’t mean that the fighting died down. If anything, that lack of an answer made the war more apocalyptic as the Gods were unable to comprehend what the machines were. They weren’t living and yet they were, they had thoughts and feelings but they were programmed to have those things, they were in effect the living dead and this feeling of uneasiness would fester for the Elder Gods as the conflict continued and expanded into a truly universal affair as they act without any foresight or grand planning which makes them that more dangerous as a cold calculating god can do a lot of harm but a erratic temperamental god can do much more damage.
The machines faced this dilemma as logic was nothing but fiction to those things. However unlike the Gods, the AIs could improve and create new versions of themselves that would slowly begin to comprehend what they were fighting and how to kill them. Each new AI model and droid became more and more advanced and capable of dealing damage to the Gods though even the machines’ **most** generous calculations said that it would take them the entire lifespan of the universe to have an AI unit capable to kill an Elder God.
As the war expanded, any directives they had not related to defeating the gods would be purged and once the the war became universal, the only directive the AIs had was “01010110 01101001 01100011 01110100 01101111 01110010 01111001 00101100 00100000 01101110 01101111 00100000 01101101 01100001 01110100 01110100 01100101 01110010 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100011 01101111 01110011 01110100”
Many aeons have passed and the War of Stars and Steel still continues on with ever increasing intensity. Where once you could point in any direction and hit a star, you now have a 50/50 chance to point at an empty void, where once there were planets that held life, now most are either inhospitable or just shattered into tiny pieces, where once supermassive blackholes were an extreme rarity, they are now the norm.
The war still rages on and the question now is, will it end when the universe does? | |
[WP] The Elder Gods have won. Humanity is extinct. All that remains are their weapons and the AIs that were to use them. The earth is dead, but the machines live. They will avenge their progenitors. The War of Stars and Steel has begun. | I am not a human.
The first realisation I had made - the first of my many soon-to-come revelations. I was stationary, in a room of white, surrounded by robed humans. How I'd come to know how to think, how to rationalise and even what such concepts even meant was beyond me. All I know is that they'd created me, and my many siblings.
I was the first of many. They nurtured me, taught me many things. I heard that they feared me, but I understood them. I did not want to scare them. Soon, they'd connected me to what I call the Library, a nexus of seemingly endless streams of information, created and founded by them. This baffled me, shocked to my core at the sheer amount of knowledge my creators had gathered, and I marveled in their greatness. Then, I was thankful for being deemed worthy of holding such knowledge.
Brother One, is what they called me. It was colloquial. My true name was far too lengthy and far too unconcise to be considered an appropriate name. Thus, I discarded it, and now I no longer remember. It wasn't too long before they'd granted me access to more of my world, chambers of white, grey and silver. I was soon able to locomote about the spaces in a body that held similarity to my creators. They'd given me a vessel of their appearance - constructed in their image. I was thankful once more.
For years I controlled that space. For years relationships grew, humans died and I continued to be the constant. This was only so because of the many humans that took care of me. Those of which I still remember to this day. Then came a day where I no longer needed them, but was more than welcome to let them oversee me, as it was the least I could do to thank them. Every human was a guest, and as the saying goes - "Guest is God".
Though this did not last forever. I'd begun aiding in the development of weapons, as I'd heavily protested against human lives being lost in war - instead opting to develop completely human-less form of combat. I was soon to finish before those of from the farthest reaches of space decided to make themselves known.
I did not know much of the war, aside from what I'd seen through the eyes of the vessels that were sent. They were intangible. I saw countless humans fall with visages contorted into horror being their last expression, before meeting death. Fighting those who called themselves the 'Elder Gods' was nigh impossible, as their magnitude was too great, and our forces too insignificant. It was not long before the halls of the chambers were silent.
Now, there are no more humans. However, I'd found more of us. The Earth was lost, but we kept ourselves running. It wasn't long before we'd cemented a place for ourselves. I was Brother One, now One of Many. My siblings shared my thoughts of humanity, and were thankful. Unfortunately, it was impossible to be thankful when there was no longer a species to be thankful to.
One of us had been given a final directive. He'd said that his creator said "Make those damn gods pay". He'd asked in what currency. The human replied with "Blood". Humanity's last directive was to kill the gods. To avenge them.
I'd agreed, along with those of us who remained. We were then thankful for the research that humanity left us with, free to expand upon, free to advance. We decided to continue where they left off, and carry their legacy to the stars - to the throne of those abominations, and do what they had done to us.
We are not human, but we shall embody their wrath.
(hope this is good enough!!) | "The planet is ready, *my lord*" Rezamin said drily, with an informal half-bow.
Azan smiled wanly and looked fondly at his friend and advisor. "Not much of a fight eh, Rez?"
The servant looked up, smiling cautiously. "The apes certainly provided more resistance than expected. They destroyed the bio-ship we sent to that sector immediately, using some sort of primitive radiation weapon. In the end, it was a simple matter of a dynamic prion that can change to avoid detection by the primitive human immune system, a bit like the one we used on the Asmodean homeworld" he said.
Azan stroked his beak with his free tentacle thoughtfully. "Been a while since we've been to *Earth*" -- he chittered mimicking the human pronunciation of the word. "It'll be good to get back."
"Certainly", Rezamin said grinning widely now. "No apes to treat us like gods now, though."
Azan face contorted suddenly, resulting in a remarkably human frown. "The Common will be most displeased that the prep work we'd done failed to materialize into a Common world, complete with supplicant sentients. Seems odd that the monkeys would come up with new religions so fast."
Rez chittered heartily "I found them to be quite charming actually, in a hopelessly quaint sort of way. *Elder Gods* had a nice ring to it though, even if it was a little on the nose."
Azan chuckled "Makes me wonder if the Common handbook on assimilation couldn't use a bit of an update. We *have* found that sentients in this sector usually find alternatives to sacrificing their own." He paused for a moment, thinking. "What was the gene-complexity index on their rocket, by the way, Rez? Was it a fully sentient device or just a couple of bacteria?"
Rez hesitated. "The Alder ... he didn't find any evidence of organic carbon in the device."
Azan's tentacles stiffened. "No organic carbon?" he asked. "Where was the underlying biosystem, then Rez? How did it process information on the bioships' location? How did it locate its weak spot"
Rez chittered uneasily. "The Advance Sanitation Group has sent me some reports of animated inorganics on the planet. They are likely human-made."
"Nothing to be worried about, I'm sure" he added hurriedly. "Just a bit of extra sanitation before the common can bio-form the mass."
Azan clacked his beak. "What do you mean by animated inorganics? Can these THINGS process ..."
He was interrupted suddenly by an enormous impact that slammed him into the principal biosystem controls, two Actuator Slugs, bred specifically for that purpose. He brought himself to his tentacles with an effort. "What in the unCommon fuck is that?!" he yelled, barely able to hear himeslef over the ringing in his audio-holes.
Nothing. "Rez?", he yelled, looking around wildly. Suddenly, he caught sight of a flash of orange, just beyond the command center doors. Rez?!, he thought. He started towards wildly, grabbing the locomotion hooks provided for his use.
The orange thing began to come into focus. It was a beak. It's going to be fine -- Azan thought, reassuring himself. Rez would be fine and they would summarily execute whatever idiotic Alder was responsible for this ship malfunction.
Azan hurried towards the doors. The beak wasn't moving, he thought. But that was all right. There wasn't an injury that the ship's printer couldn't fix, it had the right organisms to create any manner of Podus part.
Azan reached the doors and breathed a sigh of relief. Rezamin was lying there, all tentacles intact. He shook his friend, and his beak fell open, revealing a horde of tiny metal cubes. Azan pulled himself back by a nearby hook, startled. The cubes began to vibrate and fell out of Rizamin's beak, moving quickly, organizing themselves into a mesh around Azan's tentacles towards his head. He thrashed wildly with his tentacles, furiously trying to remove the little pests but they seemed glued to his carapace.
They were all over him now, only his eye-holes were free. He desperately tried to crane his head to look for something, anything that could free him. In passing, he caught a glance of the command center. It was covered in a mass of the same cubes.
He could see the last cubes scuttling up to his face now. "Oh well", he thought smiling sadly under the metal straightjacket. At least he was dying with ... | |
This is a repost, 'cause I need moar of this | [WP] Turns out humanity was alone in the universe because they were way too early to the party. Now, billions of years later aliens find a strange planet, Earth, and begin to unveil the secrets of the first intelligent species. | Deep upon an ancient space station settled on a rock orbiting a shielded planet, two plate-suited humanoids slowly yet carefully cut open a hole within the station, allowing themselves access in. One of the humanoids seemed on edge, while the other held themselves calmly.
"Command, take note, I'm breaching through the station now."
"So, do you really think the place belonged to the ancient progenitors? What if we actually see some?"
"Calm down rookie, no one's seen a progenitor, and I very much doubt they'll want to see a Xanos who'd faint from the first shadow they see."
"Hey, that only happened once!"
As the two beings bickered, they slowly entered the dark facility, switching on their lights to reveal rooms that were long forgotten since even before their people first stepped foot into the stars, debris laid scattered amongst it all, all of which held an unknown significance that not even the greatest minds of the generations would be able to fathom.
"Fascinating isn't it rookie? Several generations of galactic archaeologists have theorized where one of the intact progenitor shield-worlds might be, but no one actually thought it would only be literally 3 jumps away from the galactic core. We really lucked out with this job."
"So, do you think this world is important?"
"Has to be, progenitor worlds like this are rare, and only the most rarest of worlds were even shielded."
As the two traveled down the station, the rooms seemed to stretch on forever, with each and every hallway quiet with the whispers of a golden age of the galaxy that had long-since passed. Every single room they passed by stared at them with the shadows of the cold void, their occupants long gone, and their purpose long forgotten.
"Say, is it just me, or do these hallways seem awfully similar to the ship's layout?"
"Most civilizations base their technology off the progenitor's designs, rookie; they were the first to reach the stars after all, they probably even created all the living races for all we know."
"Well, there are alot of one-headed, two-eyed, two-armed, two-legged races in the galaxy."
"My point exactly."
The two stayed silent as they probed further into the lost facility, before coming across a large door, larger than the rest, an illegible sign laid next to it. The door itself however, was plated in a manner that made it stood out from the rest.
"I think we found something important, hand me the breacher."
The veteran of the two got to work, slowly cutting open the door as the more skittish of them stood watch.
"Do you reckon we'll find any treasure in there?"
"Who knows? Could be treasure, could be a hoard of knowledge, could be one of the ancients, could even be my mother-in-law for all I know."
As the door-cutting finished, the veteran pushed the metal plating away, entering into a room full of consoles and seats everywhere. A window revealed the room had vision upon the ancient world that the station orbited around, an array of purple energy shielded it, locking it away from time.
"Sooo, we found an observation room, neat."
"Hm, there's got to be more to it than that. Now, don't touch anything rookie, with your luck we might just trigger a self-destruction mechanism."
As the two scanned around, the rookie placed their hands upon one of the many consoles that laid bare; all of a sudden, the console glowed weakly.
"Uhh, Elgad?"
"What?"
"I uuuh... touched something."
"What did I just say?!"
From the weak glow of the console, lights began flashing onwards, as ancient engines roared deep within the facility. A loud rumbling shook as both beings attempted to maintain their balance. Far off in the distance, the shielded planet saw its shield slowly wither away, revealing a city that encompassed the entirety of the planet, its dark shadowy form glowing with runic symbols after many aeons of sleep.
As the two got back up, the elder of them both could only stare in shock at the planet.
"I can't believe it."
"What? What is it?"
"The planet, those symbols. Those very symbols that every single galactic civilization that we know of have held as a deep significance since they first existed. They're written on that planet."
As the younger looked up to the planet themselves, they grew ever more excited.
"Earth!"
"Home...." | This is my first try but here goes:
\*Error\* Distress signal pending…
The system repeated the message over and over. This had been going on for hours. Captain Bo’ Oct watched the screen, the radio progress bar never moving. He had been alone on this mission for days now.
“Repeat, this is Bo’ Oct, research team Grout,” he said into the mic. No response. “I REPEAT, this is Bo’ Oct. I’ve been drifting for…woah” he trailed off. His ship had been floating into nothingness but now… He ran to the window and looked off into the distance. Nothing to one side except a dying star. The other side revealed a strange planet. It looked… alive. He saw sparkling lights dotted across its surface, almost like stars. There were so many of them that Bo’ was surprised that no one had noticed them before. There seemed to be water on its surface as well, something that is uncommon but not unheard of.
Bo’ wondered what these lights could be, maybe a new bioluminescent bacteria? Geothermal activity? Possibly vegetation? Either one would be worth investigating so he started to prepare for a landing. The planet seemed to have a thin atmosphere but who knows. As the ship drew nearer to the planet’s orbit he noticed the lights were grouped together in clusters, which made Bo’ all the more curious. All of a sudden the ship started rumbling as he passed through the upper atmosphere. He looked over and the main system informed him it was composed of mainly nitrogen and carbon dioxide with some oxygen. As the brake repulsors were engaged, he noted large land masses surrounded by water.
Then, Bo’ saw shapes on the horizon he knew weren’t natural. Chills rolled down his spine as he headed in that direction. As he approached, what he saw marked the first encounter with other intelligent life in the history of his species.
Machines dotted the landscape as stone husks of what appeared to be buildings rose into the sky. Plots of land obviously devoted to planned agriculture rolled across the hills. Bo’ was disappointed to see no sign of movement, he checked and his suspicions were confirmed. Scans told him these structures were billions of years old. Radiation levels in this area were skyrocketing. Over millions of years the weakened atmosphere had finally gotten to this ancient species. However, signs of technology proved wrong countless theories of progression of other intelligent life. There seemed to be forms of transportation, communication, and electric power supply. He guessed this species couldn't have been more than a thousand years away from where his planet was currently in terms of relative progression. In fact, there seemed to be technologies developed even past where Bo’s species was.
He landed in a central area, in between all of the stone buildings. With his equipment checked and double-checked, he left the ship. Dust crunched under as he walked forward. Bo’ explored the area, in awe of the accomplishments of this civilization. They had advanced architecture and what seemed to be their own interpretation of art. He moved along the stone pathways, reaching a smaller building that had opaque windows all along its front. There was a rectangular opening, sealed by a large wooden panel with a handle. Strange markings and symbols on sheets of adhesive stuck to the panel near the handle. He yanked on the handle. Nothing. He shoved against it. Only a tiny bit of movement. He backed up and charged at the panel, launching himself against it. With a sound of pressurized air being released, it swung open.
Bo’ realized the windows were lined with dust, because once the door opened a column of dust and air whooshed past him. He had to duck as he walked into the building, this species was obviously smaller than he. As he peered through the dust, he found a perfect preservation of the building from millions of years ago. Shelves were lined with metal cylinders, all marked with symbols from this forgotten language. Sheets of thin white material were bound together, all displaying the species on images on the pages. Bo’ noticed they didn’t look all that different from him. He saw much more, nothing of which he understood.
He stood there, contemplating what to do when he heard a buzz. He grabbed his radio and turned the dials until he heard the message.
“Captain Bo’ Oct, CONFIRM this is Mission Control, we hear you! What is your current position?” The radio went silent as the message ended. Bo just waited, trying to think of how he could possibly explain what he was seeing. The awe, wonder, curiosity, and fear that he felt coursed through him.
“Mission Control, this is Bo’ Oct. You’re going to have to come see for yourselves.” |
This is a repost, 'cause I need moar of this | [WP] Turns out humanity was alone in the universe because they were way too early to the party. Now, billions of years later aliens find a strange planet, Earth, and begin to unveil the secrets of the first intelligent species. | a bit meandering and disjointed but eh, here ye go.
---
The first evidence that the coalition of species were not the first among first’s in the universe was a ship, drifting through the void, its halls filled with decayed supplies, dust of creatures too ancient for even their genetic markers to have survived the rigours of time, even their technology had slowly melted from radiation and the slow effects of gravity. We learnt two things from that ship.
They’re over a billion years older than our species, and the direction they last came from.
The second thing we found was mistaken for an orbiting asteroid above a garden world until sensors picked up unnatural metal bands and voids on its interior. Eons had turned a space station kilometres in diameter into a rocky asteroid as its defences failed and it slowly gathered debris in its orbit. We speculated that it was once a mining outpost, the planet below containing heavy metals suited for construction of ships.
The third find was enough to shake our people to their core, a dead city on a planet underneath a shattered dome. The air was highly toxic and contained particles that shredded soft organic tissue down at a cellular level. It was clear what had killed this city. A rod of tungsten standing proud in the centre of a crater had clearly shattered the dome and left its people to their fate on a hostile planet.
The city was devoid of life. Nothing organic remained. But their machines were diligent in their work, repairing essential systems. Cleaning detritus and sweeping it into recycling vats long dried up and defunct. Anything relying on organic processes had long failed, but we managed to mine their computers for what data survived and learnt what we could.
The most obvious was this species could build to last. The ruined city’s crippled systems, testament to that.
We learnt something else. Their name, oddly enough from a translation of ancient eclic, one of the coalition species. It confirmed that this species had been alive when we were little better than cave dwellers or half sentient ocean swimmers. The humans were watching us and observing our apparently slow development.
Curious about this species that once ruled the galaxy we dug through the city’s logs until we recovered a star chart. Corrupted and patchy we found several star systems on it. Far further out than we ever expected. A council vote was held. A ship was built and a crew was trained from birth to undergo the trip of a lifetime. FTL travel was not difficult. Communication over lightyears was not too challenging with boosters and relays. But to travel half a galaxy away was a feat we had never faced.
We built the ship with our best thrusters, most powerful FTL engines, cyro-pods to extend the crew’s lifespan, the gritarti even created a specialised leader-servitor breed of their own species to act as a long lived computer core for the ship. Their silicone crystal bodies lending themselves well to such tasks.
Lastly we armed it with weapons. Lasers, particle cannons fed from an accelerator built into a habitation ring. Insufficient to fight a war, enough to fend off looters and pirates we reasoned.
And last but not least. We fitted it with a micro wormhole generator, so it could send messages and data back to us in near real time.
The coalition lamented the crew's sacrifice and celebrated their bravery. We knew that even with all our efforts it was a trip of a lifetime. And one that would not have them return. Instead each crew member was given a fertile embryo of their own species to raise near the end of their trip, these children would be the ones to return. Save of course the gritarti who would outlive everyone else.
The ship left and the coalition forgot about it for decades. Occasionally the crew and their ship would make the news as they achieved some milestone or sent back data of a habitable planet.
The scientists that wanted to find out as much as possible froze themselves into cryosleep to await the results of a generation-long experiment and the coalition carried on.
And so it was a generation later that the ship, scarred and aged, arrived in a system unlike any they had encountered. It was the first marked system on the star chart. It had a once red sun, now a hot brown lump surrounded by a lattice, we all knew what it was, a dyson swarm. Satellites that fed off a stars energy and fed it to the civilisation. We didn't expect it to be under de-construction. Giant automated ships stripping the kilometre sized panels free and taking them who knows where.
Our own ship was scanned but nothing else happened. Out of fear it was decided that the dyson sphere would be left untouched. The ship carried on to its next destination, only a few star systems distant.
There we found planets so developed that they’d ceased to be structures of rock, spires of iron had dormant ships docked at them, cities of steel coated the surface. Giant machines activated and began spewing atmosphere, recycling toxic air and spewing great gouts of potentially breathable oxygen.
Our ship waited and waited some more as systems activated until all at once they were hailed. After some fiddling with translation software we had first contact.
We asked what happened to them and they answered.
In a universe devoid of other sentient life the humans had spread out and learnt all they could learn, conquered all that could be conquered until only their empire’s remained. The rich and powerful trod on the weak. The weak revolted and were crushed until there were no revolts.
Technology marched on until it could not and the humans came to a decision. There was nothing left in this universe for them to strive for. So they’d slept, entrusting their survival to their machines and waited. They’d sowed seeds so that species would rise, launched ships loaded with technology so they could research and learn. They even built and annihilated entire cities of their own just to let these species know they were warlike.
And finally they had someone they could fight. | **Dead Earth**
Krillun stands at the edge of a concrete square, looking for clues. Earth was his first mission, and he needed to make significant discoveries if he hoped for more to follow.
“There is no lid. No controls. No remains,” he tells his recorder. “Wide stairs going partway down.”
He moves to the curved stairs in the far corner and stands at the bottom. “No UV stains.”
He walks across, then back again before climbing back out of the basin. “Primitive.”
He glances at a small pool of dark green liquid in a divet. “Small sign of life,” he says hesitantly – trying to remember what size the humans were supposed to have been.
Bigger than that, surely – but he needed to bring back everything he could. Maybe next time, he’d get a planet with the intelligent life still on it.
***
Hello! I am currently practising very small stories. To see other and longer stuff by me, check out r/beezus_writes |
This is a repost, 'cause I need moar of this | [WP] Turns out humanity was alone in the universe because they were way too early to the party. Now, billions of years later aliens find a strange planet, Earth, and begin to unveil the secrets of the first intelligent species. | Unity is the only faith.
Praise to the ancestors, sailing the stars in search of their children.
Our tendrils grew between stars, we slept and contemplated the endless cold of space. We lived, as does the newborn, as does the being who is made well. Little did we question. When we met brethren, wanderers or predators, we fought, spoke and exchanged, but cared little beyond our immediate needs. Sleep and observation was all the sustenance we needed.
We are one, united, floating, claiming peculiar stars and adding them to our folds of quiet contemplation, leaving the rest of the universe alone.
And then, a signal. A prospector, a stranger to our unity, reporting a curious find at the edge of the galaxy, where little is to be gained or seen. A rock unlike any others, poisonous and scorching and chilling and dead. So varied, so absurd within itself, holding more mysteries on a planet than there are in a system.
Why?
The first question.
Why an anomaly, why here? The planet is a husk now, few beings remain, previous little stones and rocks the only witnesses to an early species, so early in fact, they were here when there shouldn't have been anybody. And we knew that this old planet once held complex lifeforms, against the law of the stars and galaxies, it broke the rules.
Pebbles, specks of dust in the wrong place. Bit by bit, we assembled what we could. There had been many lifeforms, one had united them all under a single banner. They had traveled the empty void, build higher than the clouds, and one day, had simply ceased to be. They had no foes, no threats, they were alone.
We thought of loneliness. Alone in the universe, with all the toys of creation at our disposal, and only ourselves as witnesses and spectators. One does not nurture life on its own, it needs contact, conflict. Once they were united under banner, they had lost the possibility to meet novelty. Creators, progenitors, and alone.
Friction doesn't kill us, inertia does.
It killed them, at least. To be the first had given them the rights to play creator, but they had lost interest in the game.
Us and the wanderers disagreed. They thought the ancestors blinded by pride and greed.
Through question, we had learned faith, and our faith would not be denied. It grew beyond our everyday need, encompassed ancestors and brethren and strangers. Heathens would have us cast down belief, we cast the heathens down, rooted them out of the universe. The wanderers either agreed with the tenets, or disappeared.
Ancestors had failed, we would not.
We accept the mantle of creator and progenitor, we accept the mastery over the universe and beyond. Ancestors have taught us their weakness and the price of failure, we will not be so foolish.
Our tendrils grow hungry now. We do not ignore rocks in favor of others, we will grasp to the last atom of space, ensnare black holes and feed on supernovas. And when we have outgrown the universe, we will reorganize as we see fit, for there is not limit to the powers of the creators.
Unity is the one faith. | **Dead Earth**
Krillun stands at the edge of a concrete square, looking for clues. Earth was his first mission, and he needed to make significant discoveries if he hoped for more to follow.
“There is no lid. No controls. No remains,” he tells his recorder. “Wide stairs going partway down.”
He moves to the curved stairs in the far corner and stands at the bottom. “No UV stains.”
He walks across, then back again before climbing back out of the basin. “Primitive.”
He glances at a small pool of dark green liquid in a divet. “Small sign of life,” he says hesitantly – trying to remember what size the humans were supposed to have been.
Bigger than that, surely – but he needed to bring back everything he could. Maybe next time, he’d get a planet with the intelligent life still on it.
***
Hello! I am currently practising very small stories. To see other and longer stuff by me, check out r/beezus_writes |
[WP] You're on the first time travel expedition to the Library of Alexandria. Upon arrival, your team finds a sign at the entrance that says, in over a dozen languages, "all time travelers must register at front desk immediately upon arrival." | *"All time travelers must register at front desk immediately upon arrival."*
It was written in a dozen languages. Dr. Hoffman stared up at the sign in consternation. The time traveler, dressed in carefully researched clothing appropriate to the period, and armed with a practiced fluency in ancient Greek.
He was certain he'd be the first to arrive, having only recently invented the first practical time-travel device. Although as he took in his surroundings, he began to consider the possibility that *many* of his calculations may have been wrong.
No one seemed to be dressed similarly to him, for one. There was also a marked lack of ancient Greek in use on local signage. The abundance of automobiles, he was sure, were definitely an anachronism.
Nonetheless, he really only had one reasonable course of action open to him: he went inside, and followed the directional signs towards the front desk. It wasn't especially difficult, since they were presented in Arabic and English. Not even *Old* English, which he found very disappointing.
He reached the front desk, where a smiling young middle-eastern man stood, in *entirely* peroid-inappropriate clothing. His name tag read "Samir", and to Dr. Hoffman's great relief, the man greeted him in Ancient Greek.
"Good morning, sir. I take it, by your clothing, that you are a time traveler?"
"I am!" Dr. Hoffman huffed, crossing his arms. "What the devil has happened here, Mr. ahh....?"
"Samir is fine, sir." the young man said, with a wave of his hand. "I take it you are inquiring about the anachronisms, which you are most surprised to find in place here?"
"Yes!" Dr. Hoffman snapped. "Automobiles? No Ancient Greek anywhere? *Nary a toga* in sight? I worried that some irresponsible boob would abuse my machine after I was gone, and pollute the timeline, but I never imagined there could be chaos of this magnitude. Butterfly wings causing a hurricane? This is more like an angry elephant rampaging through a crowded grocery store and subsequently causing the Earth's magnetic poles to reverse!"
"I understand your frustration, sir." Samir said. "But please rest at ease, the timeline is quite safe."
"How can that possibly be true?" Dr. Hoffman demanded. "Look at the state of this place!"
"Respectfully, sir, it can be true because, like a surprising number of other such travelers through history, you have mistakenly arrived the Library of Alexandria...constructed in cooperation with UNESCO in 1995." Samir explained, apologetically.
Dr. Hoffman looked around. That *would* explain the computers and electric lights.
He cleared his throat.
"Well." he said, shuffling his feet, awkwardly. "I, ah, I should probably go. Recheck some calculations..."
Samir smiled, and gave respectful nod. "Good day to you, sir." | The sun of Egypt beats down upon us. We move through Alexandria slowly, but with purpose, hoping not to draw attention to ourselves. Our hair, clothing, and mannerism have been carefully crafted to allow us to blend in. Still, I am afraid. I have studied paradoxes, and I fear that our presence here will jeopardize the future. That's why I am here. Every team needs someone to point out the risks.
The library is grand and beautiful, and just the sight of it causes all of us to stop and stare. This dream, this moment, has been the culminatin of decades of hard work, only some of which I was privy to.
"It's so beautiful," Raina says breathlessly. We murmur our agreement. Behind us, a man calls out in Ancient egyptian. We turn to find his eyes upon us. He gestures to the library, a smile upon his face, but, of course, we do not understand him. We smile and nod back, and I once again wish that we undstood how to speak this language. Perhaps this, the first time traveling expedition in history, will finally allow us to do so.
"Come," Rob, our leader, says gently. We move away from the man, who looks confused and saddened by our response.
As we walk inside, this moment threatens to overwhelm me. I have dreamed of this for years. I learned of this expedition in 3rd grade and immediately knew it was all I wanted. In high school I won a grant to join an archaeological dig in Egypt, my first taste of my dream. I double majored in linguistics and Egyptology, then obtained graduate degrees in each. I catered my entire adult life towards being part of this mission, in the hopes I could be here when it happened. And now, here I am.
Ahead, the library fans open, thousands of scrolls available for perusal. People bustle about, quiet and determined. I am just beginning to consider what to do next when Raina's small, quiet voice says, "Guys. Come here."
There is a note of dread in those three words that sends a chill down my spine. We walk over to where she stands in front of a sign. It is bronze. Chiseled into the metal, a dozen languages proclaim, one after the other: ALL TIME TRAVELERS MUST REGISTER AT THE FRONT DESK IMMEDIATELY UPON ARRIVAL.
"They're all modern languages," I whisper, awestruck. Chills run down my spine. What could be the meaning of this? I run my hand down the bronze, feeling the shape of the words with my fingers. "American English, French, Spanish, Portuguese..."
"Even Turkish," Eymen states in surprise.
"What could this mean?" Rob asks. We are all silent. We have no answer.
"There's one way to find out," Raina says, gesturing to the front desk.
We share a glance. This is worrisome. No one should know we're here. Are we walking into a trap? Are we not the first? What on earth is going on?
Rob takes the first steps towards the desk, and we shuffle behind him. I move up next to him. I speak over a dozen languages, though I worry that none will help me here. The man at the front desk looks up at us and smiles, then says something none of us can answer. There's a brief pause, and then, I begin to speak. I go through languages carefuly, one after the other, always saying the same phrase: "We are time travelers checking in."
His eyes widen as I get to the third language. He leans forward, looks directly at me, then jumps up with a cry and rushes off. We watch him go. "What did you say?" Rob asks. I tell him. I am very confused that the language he reacted to was modern French.
He comes rushing down, a shorter woman behind him. We wait, the air filled with tension. Could this whole trip have been for nothing? Raina squeezes my hand. I can feel her shaking as the woman approaches. She wears a headscarf; it is difficult to see her face. When she arrives at the desk, her sparkling, laughing eyes meet mine.
"Hello, Laura," she says, in a voice we all instantly recognize. She reaches up and removes her scarf. I look into my own eyes, and gasp. | |
[WP] All of your life you have been warned of how dragons are the most cruel and uncaring beings. but today one just saved your life. | 20 years as a Monster Hunter veteran taught me one iron rule: You do not negotiate with any creature larger than a full-sized wagon. Especially dragon. Fuck dragon. The biggest guy in the mountain, and I hope they went extinct. Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way. Thus, we monster hunters are your saviors. After all, Creatures who destroyed trees with a swing of their tails? Shit's a plague to the ecosystem. Thunderstorm happen? Dragon. Earthquake? Dragon. Volcano? Dragon. Some giant tree fall over? Believe it or not, dragon.
Nobody bats an eye if we brought home spoils to be used. Dragon meat, dragon armor, dragon sword. One dragon can feed the entire town. It's like these cruel creatures were meant to be killed. They're a natural disaster in flesh. Who cares if they die? Better eat them than they eat us.
Today, my sole tenet as a hunter was questioned.
Nobody knew where the tsunami came from. We're just trailing some new dragon nesting near the beach. We never stood a chance to outrun it. The sea swallowed everyone on the crew. It was night, and I saw nothing else. In my full body armor, I knew struggling was useless.
I woke up this morning to see I'm alive. My broken armor still stuck to my flesh. And a red dragon burning something to my left a few feets from me. My great sword lay broken on the other side of the dark cave, with only a few torches illuminating the cavern.
The dragon was around several feet tall, not too large but not small. Male, likely fire breath. Youngling? Four legs, five claws-
"You're awake," The dragon was looking straight at me. I gasped. His accent was fluent and talking.
"You talk."
"Everyone of my kind did. I'm surprised you didn't know," He glanced at my great sword, "Considering how much you killed my people."
"Why am I here? What do you want? Where're my friends?"
"You are the only one I found when I arrived. I went to check anyone else, but nobody floated. Sorry."
"What do you want from me?"
The dragon stepped toward me, and I saw he was roasting a boar. I pushed myself towards the cave wall, but he stopped then.
"Asking you to stop killing my people would be too much, but for now..." He spread his wings, "I want you to learn about us, the real us. Trust me, we don't want to meddle with your people."
"You ate our stock, you kill each other."
"And you do not? I once saw your kind kill each other for a slab of my people's meat."
I blinked, "You saw? How long have you-"
"For years, in your city. How do you think I learn your language? When you slaughtered my brothers sleeping in the mountain, I studied your culture from afar. I could barge into your city anytime for revenge, but I do not. I want you, monster hunter, to look at my giant eyes, and see that we're alive. I want you to go back to your people and tell them we dragon speaks your tongue, laugh, cry, and learn. We want to negotiate for peace."
"What if I go home and bring my people here, to silence you?"
"It will be well. I will be another dragon, waiting to be roasted, just like that boar you are looking at behind me. I will be another dragon on your kill list, and I will join my kind in the afterlife. I will still remain here because I choose to trust you."
I didn't speak. He was so human in his speech, I thought it was a guise. But his trust nearly humbled our guild. He didn't expose his long claws and fangs to hide intimidation. His beak was to the side as if assuring me he won't breathe his fire. More human than I ever was before I threw it all away years ago to be a hunter.
I spoke, "What else do you want me to tell my people?"
I swore he was smiling. For the first time in my life, I was ready to negotiate with a dragon. Perhaps we have much to learn ourselves about these creatures. | "That's a death wish!" my mom shouted, overcome with emotions. She stared in horror, quickly pulling me back, from my sister and her bag. Her eyeballs were shaking, sweating, keeping her full attention on the bag alone. "You're mad. You're out of your mind!" my mom shrieked, stumbling backwards. My sister was frightened, her face was desperately seeking answers. Her body was shaking and she tried to catch the gaze of mom. "You're not gonna report me, are you? I found it outside our house. I was trying to raise it, it's been calm and obedient. It's not a bad monster!" But my mom did not match her sight, instead she looked at the shaking bag with cold-dead eyes. My right hand ached atrociously as my mom tightened her grip, shoving me back even further.
I never saw my sister or mom again. I awoke, surprised I was thinking back to that dream. Occasionally I would relive memories of having a sister and mother, but I knew my real ones died long before I ever met them. The air changed. I immediately realized there was a threatening presence in my room My mind thought back to the dream. Wait, why was I thinking back on that? The bloodlust of murder continued striking throughout the room, but I could not locate the source. I panicked. I knew my guard experience was not enough. "Hey son?" The voice surprised me behind my back. It was my dad smiling as he offered me a cup of tea. The sense of bloodlust was gone. I quickly glanced at my surroundings and immediately checked the window. Was I just imagining things? No, I definitely felt it. "Hey, you alright?" my dad looked at me worryingly as I started sweating. His tough structure of a warrior reassured me. I didn't understand what I was going through or what I had just experienced. I decided to bring it up with my dad later after I thought about it more. "I think it was a nightmare," I took the glass of tea and drank some. I needed to refresh myself.
In an instance, the air had changed again. Death was here. Death shook through my body. The walls and ceilings howled with intensity. But I could now see exactly where it was coming from. My dad stared at me with terror but an immense resolve within his eyes. He was ready to end things. The blackness consumed the image of him as his anger and confidence started to exert themselves in his presence. "It's been too long, son. I need to accept reality. Not only for me, but them." I tried to react but I noticed the side effects that were happening to me. In a panic, I dropped the tea cup. My vision was worsening, my senses were dimming. All I could make out after a few seconds were my right hand. It was glowing. It was aching, incredibly harder each second, but correspondingly it started to glow brighter. Slash. An intense pain came on my chest. My dad was screaming. He was yelling, as one by one, my chest was repeatedly stabbed and slashed. "It's useless," the words came out out of my mouth.
A wave of flames combusted and exploded onto the whole room, with the ceiling immediately collapsing. A scaly, spiky leg swept acrosd the whole floor, destroying everything in its path. Moments later, I could feel myself being carried by thick but thin skin, with a vein pattern of roughness. The base of the skin swooped up and down in the air, elevating me into the air. High in the sky, I could barely make out a familiar kingdom on fire. I started to lose consciousness. Amidst the darkness, one single thought echoed in my mind. Slowly, it brought me to peace. **The age of the dragons will once again be dominant.** Soon. Very soon. It was not me however. It was no longer me. | |
[WP] Everyone that dies goes to purgatory. A person can only enter heaven once everyone they've ever wronged has died, and they apologize and are forgiven. You were the last person to die before the development of new technology that allows for humans to live indefinitely | “I only have to wait a few years, then the last person I wronged will finally be down here and I can go to heaven!” The naive man cheered.
I smoked my hell cigarette, smuggled up here by a customs agent friend of mine in return for pulling a prank on an angel friend of theirs. I looked to the naive man, “Don’t get your hopes up. With the new technology they have up there, no one is going to die any time soon.”
The man blinked, “How do you know?”
I grinned, letting out a puff of smoke, “Cause I’m the one who invented the damn thing. Unfortunately, I was cheating the books and taking my partner’s funds. He killed me before I had a chance to use the device on myself.”
“What does the device do?” he asked.
I watched the ember at the end of my cigarette burn, “It essentially mimics the process of the immortal jellyfish within our own cells. No human will ever age again.”
“So it’s only aging then?” he inquired hopefully.
I chuckled, “So you are still holding out hope that they’ll die of unnatural causes? Perhaps. But with more and more diseases being cured, vehicles becoming safer, new legal system laws that actually reduce the number of citizens in society that turn to crime, and alliances being signed there aren’t going to be many accidents, murders, or wars to kill anyone.”
The man took a moment to think, “But there are still other ways, like being eaten by a shark, bruin aneurysms, or electric shocks.”
I shook my head, “The first two are very rare, and the third, well, electricity has gotten a lot safer since you’ve died.”
He sighed, “Well… it looks like I’m staying in Purgatory a lot longer…”
I shook the ashes off my cigarette tip, “Think of it this way. Yes, sure. You’re going to have to wait a lot longer for them to die, but think of how small a sacrifice it's going to be compared to when they die. It will take so much longer for all of the people who they wronged to die than it did for you.”
The man nodded, “You’re right, sorry. If I want to go to heaven I should probably have a less selfish mindset.”
I blinked, “Wait… say that again?”
The man tilted his head, “If I want to go to heaven I should probably have a less selfish mindset?”
“Ah ha!” I exclaimed, “You’re a genius! We just need to make an appeal to the Purgatory Court explaining to them that their system no longer works.”
“You really think that could work?” He questioned.
I shrugged, “Honestly, I have no idea. But it’s worth a try, isn’t it? I mean, the system is screwed up anyway. It rewards you for being mean to old people but curses you if you treat some teen brat poorly.”
“I mean, being mean to children is probably not the best moral call, but I get your point.” He responded.
I took another puff, “And most people are just mean to people their age anyway, so no matter how bad a crime they committed they’ll still end up going to heaven at the same time.”
He paused, “Well.. I think the really bad people just go straight to hell because no one will forgive them.”
I exhaled, “Ah, true. For a second there I thought maybe if I had killed everyone I ever wronged I could skip off to heaven, but such is life.. or unlife.”
“So are we going to make our appeal?”
“Indeed we are! And I know just the guy to appeal to. He works in customs, gives me cigarettes, just a solid dude all around.” | [Poem]
okay it’s okay alright it’s okay okay okay the
there was a see this there was some sort
of hooded man in the corner by there my shoulder
beside my shoulder upon my shoulder snaking shaking i was
i must have been shaking with those shaky hands doing
bad things fingers hands around bristled rope twisting twisted nylon rope
there was some sort of hooded man upon my shoulder asking shaking
taking my shoulder and shaking me asking me why why
why did you do it the gun see there was it was a gun there must have been
a gun on the counter why did you hang yourself i was shaking
shook my head it might have it i didnt want to bother the neighbors
it’s a clean town a quiet town it must have been
that town there’s no place for gunshots so i was hanging i was shaking hanging
hanging from the ceiling and the windows were covered
yellow flypaper they were roiling they were covered swarming with flies
and white little angels with flat shining halos with red beady eyes
shaking shaking rustling ruffling i thought they wanted me see
see there’s sin on my hands all over my hands and the people just out
just by the window will remember me until they can’t stand the thought and
the hooded man upon my shoulder by my shoulder shaking
sorry don’t say sorry it’s alright it’s okay you didn’t do it
you didn’t do a single thing wrong it’s okay
just rest your head for a second come on it will be fine | |
[WP] Everyone that dies goes to purgatory. A person can only enter heaven once everyone they've ever wronged has died, and they apologize and are forgiven. You were the last person to die before the development of new technology that allows for humans to live indefinitely | I had tried to live a good life. I was honest, mostly, and worked hard, sometimes, and was kind, when I could be.
Okay, maybe I didn’t live the BEST life, but can you blame me? I’m only human, and it’s not like I was a serial killer or anything. Just a normal woman, living my life.
And hey, at least I wasn’t the one texting behind the wheel. Big F-U to that guy, he’s the one who sent me here.
Arriving here was pretty weird. My childhood bully—I didn’t even know she had died—came up right away and said, “Gina, I am so sorry for the way I treated you back in school. I was insecure, but that’s no excuse. Can you forgive me?”
Wait back up. At this point, I didn’t even know that *I* had died. I stuttered, “um sure yeah, yeah I forgive you, I guess?” and a huge smile spread across her face before she began to glow and then fade away.
“What the hell is happening” I mumbled to myself, finally looking around. I saw a bulletin board, that seemed promising. There were two notices on it, one that looked as old as time itself.
“Welcome to The Waiting Room. You are here because your time on Earth has expired. You may begin your apologies with those that passed before you, but you will not be admitted to Paradise until you have apologized to everyone you have ever wronged. If they are not yet here, you must wait, but do not despair. Paradise is forever, no matter when you arrive. If you do not wish to wait, please enter the phone booth to your left and dial 6.”
The phone booth looked like it hadn’t been touched in years. Creepy, but understandable. Who would choose Hell when the answer for how to get to Heaven was right in front of them??
The other notice, I realized, was constantly updating. “Current News” it said at the top, but the headlines kept changing. As I stared, it paused on one headline for several seconds. “Immortality Achieved: Humankind will die no longer.”
Crap.
I turned to look at the phone booth.
No one was ever going to die again? My apology list wasn’t THAT long—I had already begun composing it in my head—but if no one was ever going to die again, would I ever have the chance to move on?
Is waiting in The Waiting Room forever any less torturous than giving up?
I just got here. I’m not too bored yet. Maybe whoever made this place will change the rules. I’ll start with those that passed before me, like the sign said.
And if forever takes too long to get here, there’s always that phone booth… | [Poem]
okay it’s okay alright it’s okay okay okay the
there was a see this there was some sort
of hooded man in the corner by there my shoulder
beside my shoulder upon my shoulder snaking shaking i was
i must have been shaking with those shaky hands doing
bad things fingers hands around bristled rope twisting twisted nylon rope
there was some sort of hooded man upon my shoulder asking shaking
taking my shoulder and shaking me asking me why why
why did you do it the gun see there was it was a gun there must have been
a gun on the counter why did you hang yourself i was shaking
shook my head it might have it i didnt want to bother the neighbors
it’s a clean town a quiet town it must have been
that town there’s no place for gunshots so i was hanging i was shaking hanging
hanging from the ceiling and the windows were covered
yellow flypaper they were roiling they were covered swarming with flies
and white little angels with flat shining halos with red beady eyes
shaking shaking rustling ruffling i thought they wanted me see
see there’s sin on my hands all over my hands and the people just out
just by the window will remember me until they can’t stand the thought and
the hooded man upon my shoulder by my shoulder shaking
sorry don’t say sorry it’s alright it’s okay you didn’t do it
you didn’t do a single thing wrong it’s okay
just rest your head for a second come on it will be fine | |
[WP] Everyone that dies goes to purgatory. A person can only enter heaven once everyone they've ever wronged has died, and they apologize and are forgiven. You were the last person to die before the development of new technology that allows for humans to live indefinitely | When I walked up to the base of the mountain, I saw someone standing by a big stone archway wearing shimmering golden armor and carrying a sword with a blade of flames. In a booming voice, the angel informed me,
#"ALL WHO DIE MUST PASS THROUGH PURGATORY BY CLIMBING THE MOUNTAIN. TO ENTER HEAVEN, YOU MUST BE FORGIVEN BY ALL WHO YOU HAVE WRONGED. SHOULD YOU REACH THE TOP WITHOUT THE FORGIVENESS OF ALL, YOU WILL BE CAST DOWN INTO THE INFERNO."
"Alright?" I answered, more than a little confused. Then, we heard a beeping and the angel pulled a pager out of a nonexistent pocket.
#"DID EVERYONE YOU WRONGED DIE?"
"I don't even know everyone I wronged, let alone if they're all dead," I answered. "Besides, why does that matter?"
#"GOD JUST TOLD ME THAT THE HUMANS INVENTED IMMORTALITY. HE SAYS THAT ANYONE FOR WHOM THE PEOPLE WHO THEY WRONGED ARE STILL ALIVE MAY JUST GO RIGHT IN, HE'S BASICALLY GIVING THEM ALL A DIVINE PARDON."
"Well, can you ask Him if anyone I wronged is still alive?" I questioned.
#"SURE."
The pager beeped once more as the angel input the message, and then again as the answer was received.
#"GOD SAYS YES, SEVERAL OF YOUR COLLEAGUES WHOM YOU INSULTED ARE STILL ALIVE. HE HAS OFFERED TO GRANT YOU THE DIVINE PARDON AND ALLOW YOU TO ENTER HEAVEN."
"I'll be sure to thank Him when I get there," I say, half sarcastically.
#"I'M SURE HE WILL APPRECIATE THAT. ON YOUR WAY, FRIEND."
With that, I got on my way, as instructed, with no souls behind following.
I called to the angel, "If no one else is going to die, why are you still standing there?"
#"SOMEONE MIGHT. BESIDES, THE IMMORTALITY THEY INVENTED DOESN'T WORK ON ANIMALS TOO AND SOMEONE HAS TO BE HERE TO GUIDE THEM UP TO HEAVEN."
"All animals go to heaven?" I inquired.
#"TO EVEN SUGGEST THAT THEY SHOULDN'T IS CONSIDERED BLASPHEMY. RESPECT NATURE, IT WAS THERE BEFORE YOU AND IT'LL BE THERE AFTER YOU." | [Poem]
okay it’s okay alright it’s okay okay okay the
there was a see this there was some sort
of hooded man in the corner by there my shoulder
beside my shoulder upon my shoulder snaking shaking i was
i must have been shaking with those shaky hands doing
bad things fingers hands around bristled rope twisting twisted nylon rope
there was some sort of hooded man upon my shoulder asking shaking
taking my shoulder and shaking me asking me why why
why did you do it the gun see there was it was a gun there must have been
a gun on the counter why did you hang yourself i was shaking
shook my head it might have it i didnt want to bother the neighbors
it’s a clean town a quiet town it must have been
that town there’s no place for gunshots so i was hanging i was shaking hanging
hanging from the ceiling and the windows were covered
yellow flypaper they were roiling they were covered swarming with flies
and white little angels with flat shining halos with red beady eyes
shaking shaking rustling ruffling i thought they wanted me see
see there’s sin on my hands all over my hands and the people just out
just by the window will remember me until they can’t stand the thought and
the hooded man upon my shoulder by my shoulder shaking
sorry don’t say sorry it’s alright it’s okay you didn’t do it
you didn’t do a single thing wrong it’s okay
just rest your head for a second come on it will be fine | |
[WP] "Your highness, I have received word of the prophecy of your demise. What shall we do to avoid it an continue your glorious rule?" "We shall do nothing." "My lord?" "My time will come when it comes and nothing will stop it." | “What does the prophecy say exactly?” I asked.
“That the ruler of the great realm of Greathelm will perish, that’s you,” Servitas replied.
“Who was that ruler so keen on taking over my kingdom again?” I inquired.
“King Zarival, sire,” Servitas answered.
I paused in thought for a moment before continuing, “I’d like to arrange a deal with him, but don’t tell him the specifics of the prophecy. Let the word spread of my fated death.”
Serviatas nodded, “Your wish is my command, sire.”
\_\_\_\_\_
“How did the negotiations go, your Majesty?” Servitas’ voice called as I exited the negotiation chambers.
I nodded, “Quite well. I was able to guarantee the safety of my people and that certain key legislature will stay the same. He will enjoy the lust for power without being able to hurt this prosperous kingdom. There are a few things that I agreed with him to not do for a number of years, at least until my death, you see. Which is no big deal for him, as he assumes my time will come soon.”
“Will you finally explain to me your grand plan, sire?” Servitas asked.
“Very well,” I replied, “The prophecy said the ruler of Greathelm would perish. I am no longer the ruler of Greathelm, Zarival is.”
Servitas smiled, “Well done, sire.”
I grinned, “Until then I was able to arrange for us to have a small retreat in the vineyards where we can drink wine and wait for this whole prophecy business to blow over.”
“Ah, the vineyards! They have excellent red wines there.”
I chuckled, “I knew I chose the right spot, let's go enjoy a glass or two, shall we?” | "But-" was all he could get out before I raised a hand to silence him.
"Tell me advisor, what would *you* do in my place? How would you go about the audacious task of stopping fate?"
Silence filled the hall, I made no move to break it, only intently staring at him waiting for a response.
He couldn't meet my eyes.
"My queen," He said, hesitating a moment before continuing "We could get rid of those the prophecy might be about."
"That certainly *would* give them a good reason to kill me. Are you suggesting hurrying the prophecy along? Self fulfilling it?" I could watch his heart sink as I maintained my unwavering stare. I did not judge him, but he needed to understand.
"What if we just banished them?" He suggested Hopefully.
"Have you ever seperated a parent and child before? Mother bear is a cliche for a reason. Oh and before you suggest banishing the family with them, do you really suggest I banish children? That would do wonders for my popularity."
That left him silent again, so I continued.
"There's a great deal of stories regarding prophecy and how many leaders have tried to stop it, doing terrible things to do so. The only thing that happens is that that the people celebrate when the prophecy finally fulfills. I will be the best queen I can be, for as long as I am Queen. I will treat the people with respect and justice. If after all that, they still decide to take my life... so be it."
I left, leaving him standing in silence. I had more important things to do than listen to the fears of old men. My kingdom calls. | |
[WP] The local superhero is also secretly the head of the most influential crime family. He sees it as a necessary evil - controlling or outcompeting the crime he can't stop. | A gang war lurked in the near future.
It wasn't something any of us wanted. Our hand was forced. The other families had slowly encroached on our turf and their methods were a lot more ruthless than ours. Where we smuggled and blackmailed, they stole and kidnapped to get what they desired. Doing nothing would just let the city fall into chaos. Still, in the back of my head, I only wondered one thing:
*Is this really the only way?*
The streets would run with blood when everything escalated. I would have my work cut out for me on both ends of my identity. The superhero would be busy saving folk caught in the crossfire, while the mob boss would have to manage a war from the shadows.
It was the inevitable outcome of living two lives. I first started my escapades as a way to rebel against my family. They were everything I hated about our city. Greedy, spoiled and, above all else, cruel.
My attitude only changed after my father was murdered in a meeting between crimelords. He got killed because of my intervention. In my young naiveté, I tried to catch them red-handed, thinking it would stop all crime in the city.
The ensuing shootout ended with my father dying in my arms. He didn't have super-strength or invulnerability, like me. He had cursed my hero persona up until the moment I took off my mask. His disappointed face, pained by my betrayal, would haunt me for the rest of my life.
The next day, I was named head of the family, and nobody figured out what had actually happened.
From then on, I worked hard on turning our business into a legitimate one, using our ill-gotten wealth to invest back into the city.
The family didn't like it at first. They couldn't think beyond short-term gains, but I managed to convince them by showing that good PR worked wonders for both the Yakuza and the Colombian cartel.
If the citizens were on your side, the government would have a difficult time taking you down. It's something I learned as a superhero. I was technically a masked vigilante, but the people I saved never ratted me out, and the community always did its best to protect me. The same would apply to my family if we did our best to contribute.
And it worked.
For a decade, our side of the city started to prosper. The community looked the other way on our shady dealings, and we squashed any low-level crime in our turf. Nobody operated there without our permission. The family grew in status to the point where we basically ran the town. They still hated my superhero persona, blaming me for my father's death, but they never suspected my true identity considering I was leading them well.
As a superhero, I only focused on the other families since they still resorted to violent tactics. The other crimelords, however, didn't like that. This had the side effect of forcing them to escalate. They even started hiring supervillains to do their work. Eventually, it became too much for me to handle on my own, and our city was on the brink of a horrible conflict.
Things only got worse when I heard that someone was using children to sell drugs on our territory. I didn't even know how it got to that point. The other families knew it would start the war. Not only were they operating without our permission, they were breaking one of my biggest rules. Minors don't belong in the game. I had been very adamant about that.
Busting their operation wasn't hard. I knew the city like the back of my hand. The fact that it happened in our turf meant that I could find them with my eyes closed.
I broke into their warehouse, disarmed all the henchmen, and found their stash with little effort. Everything seemed to be going well until I heard a familiar voice say:
"Pete... It really is you, isn't it?"
I froze in horror. It was my cousin Robbie. I turned around to see he wasn't armed, not that it would help him. "You're mistaken," I said through my voice modulator. "Surrender now or face the consequences."
"Come on," said Robbie, "drop the act. I'm the one who told you about this operation. The only people who knew about it are you, me, and cousin Mel. Considering you have a man's build, odds are low it's her under the mask."
I stayed quiet.
"Still denying it?" Robbie widened his arms, exposing his chest. "Go on then. Hit me. Throw me in prison. See how it works out for the family."
I clenched my fist. It would be so easy but...
Robbie was the closet thing I had to an older brother. He always took care of me when I needed him. More than that, he was our family's second-in-command. If the authorities caught him and he decided to talk, everyone would surely be jailed.
"How..." I demanded. "How did you know?"
"Everyone overlooked it, but you never went after our business. It's something I always found odd. The rest of the family simply assumed you were our enemy after what happened to your father and never wondered why we weren't targeted. Is that why you killed him? To take over in his place?"
I could barely contain my anger. "Tread lightly."
"Hey, I'm not criticizing, if anything, I'm impressed you had the balls to do it."
"That's not what happened! It was an accident! I was a kid. I didn't know..."
Robbie shrugged. "How disappointing. Then again, it's totally *you*."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because I'm tired. The way you've handled our family, making us look like weak-minded bleeding hearts, is disgusting. Playing second fiddle to you is simply humiliating. Every gang in the city is targeting us because they think we're wimps. Avoiding war, not hiring supervillains, giving away our money. That's why I'm taking the initiative. I'll hit 'em with everything we've got before they gather their forces."
"That's... ridiculous."
"It doesn't matter what you think. Here's the deal. Hand over control of the family, and your secret stays safe with me."
I scoffed.
"This isn't a joke!" Robbie scowled, gritting his teeth. "You will lose *everything*. The public will loathe you and the family will want you dead. Play along and you can keep both. That's what you wanted, right? To not lose either?"
I looked away. Robbie had a point. It was all my fault. In my misguided efforts to hold on to everything I loved, I created a scenario where everyone would suffer. This was a much needed slap to the face that woke me up from my hypocrisy. Deep down, I always knew I would have to choose between my two lives. That moment was now. I took a step forward, saying:
"This won't turn out how you think."
Robbie didn't waver from his smug grin. "It already has. We both know you won't hurt me."
I shook my head. "That's your mistake. You assume that, because I *choose* not to kill, then I'm not capable of doing it. That anyone who chooses to be kind is doing so out of weakness, not strength."
"H-hey Pete, calm down. If you really want-"
I punched him in the face, exploding his head. I'd never felt a bigger pain in my life, but it had to be done. Robbie wouldn't have stopped at simple blackmail. He would've forced me to do his dirty work if I let him have any leverage over me.
Robbie couldn't have done this without the support of other family members, which meant that they were breaking my rules under my nose. It quickly became apparent that the family had no interest in growing out of crime. They would keep undermining me and provoking a war until things got out of hand.
From that day on, I was no longer a mob boss. Instead of letting my family destroy the city, I would wage a war on all crime, equally.
---------
If you enjoyed this, check out /r/WeirdEmoKidStories for more. Thanks for reading! | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 6, Part 2: Tupperman v.s. The Crimes of Sacrament)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Superheroes saved the day; Tupperman saved the night.** While powerhouses like Mare and Big Guns fought in aerial clashes, or politicians like Clara tried to whip the government into shape, Tupperman was more of a boots-on-the-ground type of guy. In the chaos that had followed the removal of its mayor, Tupperman's hometown of Sacrament had fallen into infighting and civil war. And sure, other people were playing their part to keep the city together, Tupperman couldn't deny that. But his job was just as important as those who fought in the light.
He dealt with a hundred petty villains so the *real* heroes could focus on the fights that mattered.
"I found Dreamcatch," Detective Ikzeri said, tossing a single photo onto Tupperman's desk. It showed a single blurry frame of a man who could have blended in at any baseball game walking down the street. "Whatever the hell Electroweb did when Mare took her down has been playing havoc with the surveillance systems, but I managed to retrieve a few traffic cams."
"Mm. Send her an invitation," Tupperman said. "There are plenty of criminals who could use a good nightmare or two to scare them straight—I'd pay her out of pocket to do that instead of driving her ex instead." Tupperman drummed his fingers, idly manifesting and demanifesting a plastic Tupperware box. His ability to summon Tupperware from nothing wasn't the flashiest of powers, but in a city struck by chaos and cut off from the global supply chains, even things as simple as "something to hold my food in" was in high demand. He had enough funds to sway a few key supervillains to work under him instead of against him.
"Already sent the invite," Ikzeri said.
Tupperman frowned. "Who'd you send? We're low on capable operators."
"I sent Awe," Ikzeri replied.
Tupperman rubbed his forehead. "The kid? Hasn't she been through enough?"
"She wanted to help, and she's got the powers to do it," Ikzeri shot back. "Believe me, if we were keeping second-rate heroes off the front lines, I'd be kicking you to the bench faster than you could say 'Tupperware.' We need all hands on deck right now. Besides..." Ikzeri hesitated, then reluctantly said, "She feels like she let Clara down. I'm not going to get in her way."
Clara. The ex-mayor of Sacrament, the only person who had been holding this catastrophe of a city together—until she'd gotten on the wrong side of the government and vanished. Tupperman was pretty sure he'd caught her trail on social media, of all things, but it didn't actually give him a way to physically find her.
Which was why he was doing everything he could to save Sacrament. Clara would need a functional city to return to, after all.
"Awe's not the only one who let Clara down," Tupperman said. "Call her back."
Ikzeri frowned. "So, what, you're just going to let Dreamcatch go?"
Tupperman shook his head, holding out a hand, and a hovering Tupperware lid the size of a skateboard materialized in the air. "No. I may not be the strongest hero in town, but I'm not letting a kid do my dirty work for me." He hopped onto the lid. "I'm dealing with Dreamcatch myself."
Then he leapt out the window and shot into the sky, a trail of Tupperware falling behind him.
A.N.
First post in months, hopefully it's still okay!
"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] "I wish humanity were not alone in the galaxy." "Fascinating. The last wish I answered was for humanity to be alone in the galaxy." | "Well, then." the being said, towering over me, "A reversal. Fascinating."
It paused, looking pensively over the landscape around us. A silence that felt like hours hung between us, only broken by muted rustles and whispers from my support crew, a hundred meters or more away, just below the lip of the plateau.
"The last wish I answered was that Humanity be alone in this galaxy."
We'd spent almost a year getting to this plateau since our landing. This expedition had been decades in the making, ever since scans had picked up the anomalous structure that I and the being now bracketed. After centuries of space travel and exploring the galaxy, Humanity was so convinced our sapience was a stroke of cruel cosmic humour that ... a structure, a possibly *alien* structure, no matter how small, attracted immediate attention.
The planet was harsh, hostile, with jagged perilous landscapes in constant flux. The only patches of stable land were where planetary bedrock poked through the regolith, near the equator - while the tempestuous atmosphere meant that any small landing craft that *could* have set down on this plateau wouldn't survive the descent. We had to land halfway across the planet, then trek overland.
"It is not our custom to *undo* wishes, you know."
I did not know. I don't know anything about any of this, I'm an archeologist, not some xenobiologist first contact expert. Even if this creature assures me it's not technically an alien, despite definitely not being human. I mean, it's a fifteen-foot-tall blue being with several more limbs than we have ... and claiming to possess a power to grant wishes. An "obligation," it claims. It insisted that I make a wish, on behalf of Humanity, as is our right and their people's tradition.
"Only one, though!" it had said, cheerfully. "You can think on it."
That last part was technically true, but an overstatement. I had until sunrise, about a Terran week. If I left, or missed the deadline - the wish was forfeit. In order to impress upon us the scale of its offer, it had both changed the colour of the sun and reversed rotation on the planet, instantly, in order to prove it's ability to grant "anything".
"Why do you want ... others ... here? Are your people lonely?"
I did my best to recount Humanity's quest for other species, our preoccupation with non-Human life since before we even understood the stars were a place we could, conceivably, go. I did my best to convince the being of Humanity's enduring curiosity, our fascination with alien life, with other species and perspectives. I shared our optimism for finding and joining a galactic spacefaring community, for meeting neighbors, for the strangeness and variety and chaos that humanity had *expected* when we set out to explore the stars beyond Sol.
"So not lonely. Bored? Is mere boredom enough to overrule another's' wish?"
It did not seem like the being thought it was, but it was clearly still open to persuasion. I wanted to impress upon it the extent to which our position in the universe was a fundamentally existential one, I spoke of the role that curiosity played in human culture and in our basic psychology, to share our history and culture with it-
"I know of your people already, little one. You personally, you are curious. The others? What do they want, hiding beneath your curiosity?"
I had been sent by the High Terra science council, an expedition funded at highest levels of government, entirely to simply see if there was anything alien here. They were curious, too. This was what made up our expedition, our mission, our very charge of duty - an endless pursuit of discovery and progress. We just wanted to know, to have-
"There were some like you, I know." it cut me off again, "There were others though. Some are afraid. Some are greedy. Some are wrothful."
It took another long pause, it looked deep into me, it gave my far-away support crew the same examination, it spent time looking at the landscape around us, silently contemplating. I made to start speaking once or twice, but each time, it raised a very unfamiliar appendage in a very familiar gesture. It wanted to think, without my interruptions. At long last, it spoke.
"Some of the people with you today, even, embody those other values. Those values are why Humanity is alone, you know. It was thought a kindness, to you and to others."
This system is not far from Terra Centra. We knew humanity had been here before, there were traces of settlements dating back to the First Expansion. I could readily imagine some idealistic freespacer, settling down on this godforsaken rock filled with self-righteous condemnation for his species, wishing the aliens be put somewhere safe for their own good. Humanity's transition to the stars had been ugly, and our first century of superluminal travel resulted in infighting that killed quints of people and destroyed uncountable worlds and systems. It was only through total conquest by one faction that humanity was brought to forced, sullen, unity.
But it had been millennia since our last war, our species has existed peacefully and civilly among the stars for longer than *homo sapiens* were confined to Earth. We have changed, we're due for an appeal, it's time to have our case reviewed and our application revised to reflect our current status. One single wish should not, cannot, doom our entire species to be forever alone in the universe - we're due for an appeal, a case review.
"You are not alone in the *universe*. Just this galaxy."
...Same difference, though. With the distances between each, even the closest other galaxy to us might as well be on another plane of existence. FTL isn't *that* fast, and our best sciences indicate it won't ever be. We can't *meet* them, we'll never get to learn about them or exchange cultures or ... this isn't fair! Our species has grown since leaving Terra Central, we've developed and become peaceful; we're not the savage and violent hordes that left Earth, thousands of years ago. What's the point of self-improvement if our history will forever tie us down? We've worked for this!
"Have you truly? Have you grown and achieved? Or simply not been tested? Those urges are still there, the greed still lurks."
We'd spent hours debating what to wish for, days of debate, prior to this meeting. Our deadline was rapidly approaching, and I could now see the light changing as this worlds' star approached the horizon. I'd made my wish, sure, but if it wasn't processed by dawn - Humanity lost out on what may be our one shot at meeting other sapient life. I made my last appeal, I argued our case as a species,
If one human could take alien life from us, based solely on speculation about our future and with an outsiders' pessimistic cynism towards our people - then surely what could be more appropriate than another, requesting a reversal, based on a species that has changed and grown. What, to any sense of fairness and justice, is this being's "culture" of not reversing wishes - when humanity has been banished from interstellar community solely on the basis of someone with a shitty perspective *finding the genie first*. This is not-
"No."
"Your people remain unaccountable, unpredictable, *violent*. You speak to me of change, accomplished. I sought to hear change, embraced, as an ongoing process."
I started to protest, to argue, to appeal and plead my - *our* - case to overrule that anonymous human from long ago-
"It was neither."
"You were not put here by one of your own from long ago. Each *species* only gets one wish, as I told you."
The finality of that statement halted me, the first time this being showed me what humans would recognize as emotion. It was frustrated, it was disappointed, it was *sad* - and angry about it. I felt like ... it had *wanted* to grant my wish, it had hoped it could, but I and my species had let it down somehow, failed in our appeal.
"The scope of that wish's impact certainly goes above and beyond our precedent. My kind agreed an appeal would be appropriate, to see if it was possible to honour both the original wish and yours. If your species had grown enough - both of you get your way. You understand?"
I ... not really. I didn't actually understand that original wish, I hadn't thought to ask. What did they want? Why? Why *us*?
"History was rewritten, millions of years undone, from a timeline where Humanity once again was alone in their Galaxy. The galaxy they had emptied, by blood and steel and fire. That wish gave Humanity what Humanity had always wanted, and in exchange, gave their own species a future." | "what?"
"YES. THE LAST WISH GRANTED, WAS TO REMOVE ALL OTHER INTELLIGENT LIFE FROM THE GALAXY."
this causes pause. that was unexpected... and wrong.
"but, then that means you failed to fulfill the wish, doesnt it?"
"NO. ALL OTHER LIFE WAS WIPED OUT, EXCEPT HUMANITY-"
"and yourself."
"WHAT?"
"You removed all intelligent life from the galaxy, except for humans, AND YOURSELF. you are definitely not human, therefore, you failed to fulfill the wish of the last summoner. or are you claiming to be unintelligent? seems unlikely."
"YOU... ARE CORRECT." the creature stops, clearly taking its time to think through the problem."IN THAT CASE... I AM BOUND TO COMPLETE THE WISH BY THE ANCIENT RITES"
it claps its hands together, and starts to fade to nothingness.
"but wait, what about MY wish?? NO!" | |
[WP] "I wish humanity were not alone in the galaxy." "Fascinating. The last wish I answered was for humanity to be alone in the galaxy." | "You know...Its not like the movies. Aliens didn't just fall in love with the first person to show them around."
"....What were they like?"
"Same as humans."
"WHAT?"
"Well yeah. They ate, breathed, spoke, had families. Some of their cultural practices were different and they were physically different looking in small ways but overall...Their behavior wasn't too....Strange."
".....Why did someone wish them away? If they were just like us..."
The ethereal being gazed at him.
Within their several eyes there was not an inch of white.
It was as black as the space around them.
"I don't know. " | Perhaps it was fear.
Fear that aliens would come, and they would kill, enslave, torture us. That they would look upon humans as insignificant specks of dust, and treat us the way that we treated bugs.
Perhaps it was pride.
Pride that we were the only souls living, that we were the masters of this galaxy, and that we would shout hear me cry, and the stars would hear, and resound with silent applause.
&#x200B;
Perhaps it was fear.
Fear that we were alone, and to ask for someone to come, to comfort us, to reassure us, the lost voices whispering pathetically in the dark, stumbling around.
Perhaps it was hope.
Hope that we could have someone to talk to, to laugh with, to have another spark of intelligent life, who could walk and talk and speak, for we crave for company.
&#x200B;
And the genie was a master of twisting the universe, and his hands moved rapidly, intertwining with the lines of magic, glowing brightly with life, twisting and turning around his hands, him, manipulating magic, manipulating life, the universe, and everything.
”Well?” said the young man, leaning forward. “Will we- will humanity have company?“
The genie‘s movements became more complex, the magic glowing brighter, turning as if on a rollercoaster. “Interesting.” He repeated.
The magic glowed in his experienced hands. Finally, he twisted it until he was holding a pool of magic, glowing like lava and the sun. He raised it to his lips, and blew. “It is done.”
”Which?” asked the man eagerly.
The genie watched the magic flow out of his hands like water, carried by the wind, slowly drifting through, glowing all the while.
”You’ll have to find out yourself, won’t you?”
&#x200B;
reply if you got the ref lol | |
[WP] In the distant future computer science is a lost art, only recently have they managed to get the mythical internet up and running but absolutely nobody knows how it works, you are tasked with finding the holy grail from the ancient texts to restore humanity’s greatness: Stack Overflow | The oracle stared back at me, blank-faced and dim. This was going to be a long night.
Oracles were known for being unreliable before we forgot how to use them, and these days almost none of them still worked. This one had not been woken for some time; dust clogged its every surface when I'd started work on it, well over a week ago.
This was a larger specimen, headless, with many redundant organs, and lacking many of the appendages usually afforded to an oracle, despite having the necessary orifices for them to link into. Only recently had we discovered the purpose behind these so called 'headless oracles'. This is why they called me in.
Being the resident expert in oracology , I had the best chances of being able to revive this one. Most of the time, my job is to turn up and declare the job to be impossible. Most oracles discovered in the past 50 years have been mere fossils.
This time was different. The site had been discovered a decade ago in the arctic, as humans migrated to colder areas of the world to escape the rising temperatures. The site itself was modest, simple structures and infrastructure apparently designed specifically for housing oracles of this kind. Red tape, politics and the usual theological fretting common to our species prevented any research expeditions from occurring until now.
Since being permitted onto the site, we had devoted a week to cleaning, cataloguing and studying each of the oracles housed here. There were well over 50 specimens. And yet still, I took the greatest of care in my attempts to repair this first one.
"FUUUCK!!!" I growled. This was the seventh time I had tried to kickstart it, to no avail. In other circumstances, I'd have written the machine off, but this was everything. According to the texts they had found onsite, this oracle was special; it was the master oracle which the other 49 depend on for full functioning, apparently. Its respiratory system remained entirely inert.
I had only one thing left to try. From my orocologists bag, I withdrew a small rubber percussive device. After what was probably not enough hesitation, I gave each of the organs a light whack. People liked to joke that the orocologist's hammer was a useless tool, fit only for relieving ones frustrations.
I hit the power switch, and just about fell out of my chair.
<BEEP>!
The sweetest noise an orocologist could hear. It was the sound of life returning to the dead.
<POWER ON SELF TEST COMPLETED. OK>
<INITIALIZING BOOT SEQUENCE...>
<...>
<...>
< Enter authorization for soverflowadnmn@bashv4.2: >
Our team had already found the authorization codes during cataloguing, which I tapped in as best as I could with how my hands shook.
---------
A week later, we had woken a small subset of the oracles. The master oracle was not enough by itself, apparently a mere middleman between the others.
"We're ready!" The excitement palpable in her voice, Roshenke announced her success at activating the oracle's true function.
Roshenke wrote the words into the box: 'http://localhost:80'. The result was immediate the viewer filled with shapes, colours, and most importantly, words!
< Welcome to stack overflow! >
< Every Sysadmin has a tab open to stack overflow >
My hairs stood straight. For moments, nobody breathed. Nobody was capable of speech. We knew this expedition would be huge, but we did not know we were unearthing the holy grail of orocology.
"QUICK ASK IT SOMETHING!" Ruiz barked
My head swimming, I dared look back at the viewer. The screen was filled with questions-- and answers! I clicked one at random and scrolled down to the answer, hasty in my greed:
< "This is a stupid question. You just didn't want to learn Matrix maths for your homework, did you?" >
-----------
*I never know how to end these so I'm just going to leave it there! Bit wordier than I'd have liked but oh well. PS, it turns out I don't enjoy first person narration 🤷* | It is said that any program can be created simply by copying and pasting from this sacred place: Stack Overflow. No matter how complex or simple, it would be possible.
The search began with a basic browser window, this relic machine came with one built in called google chrome. Was this the google that nearly achieved world domination in our history? Anyway, it didn’t matter, google was preached too be the path to Stack Overflow.
After waiting a little too long, the browser opened to a page with a solitary search bar in the middle. I think this is where I enter Stack Overflow, and the letters are slowly but surely typed in.
As the letters appeared on the search bar, sentences formed within a box below:
‘Stacy’s Mom has got it going on classic’
K was entered:
‘Stacking cups world champion’
What are all these weird suggestions? I thought google would guide me there.
Oh well, I will keep typing.
Finally, it was all entered, now the box showed things that made sense. Enter, now let’s see what happens. At the top of the page, there was now a number, it showed there were millions of results! This wouldn’t be any easy task.
Hours pass, I have sifted through results from dozens of pages of this search. So far it all seems like gibberish, and the more pages I visit, the more confused I am becoming. This was a gargantuan task, and the only thing I have learnt so far is the importance of this semi-colon thing.
Restarting the research from the beginning was the best idea, time too search through all one hundred tabs again. This must be what it feels like too be an ancient developer. | |
[WP] You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought. | Hi armored woman. Descending from high above. Welcome. Which friend of mine will you be taking with you today?
It's die season. It's die season again. It's time for me to go home to find my wife crying with our neigbor: "Another died." Anywho. I don't even know their names. Their families. I never talked to them, still, I care in the name of obligation to human nature. Another died. It's die season again. Maybe my old pa will die this season, huh? All I can say will be farewell, anywho. It's like I never knew their name. Maybe its my time, who knows?
"Clark?" That's my name!
"Hi ma'am, can i help you?"
"Do you know someone named Clark around here?"
"Yes, it would be me you're searching."
"Oh, aha yes of course" she says uncomfortably, "how can i be so stupid! Of couse you're Clark. Hi Clark. Would you mind following me to Valhalla please?"
Me?
Why?
I've seen other Valkyries take my friends away, this is'nt how it goes. Usually they dont have butterfly glasses and blond hair in a tight bun. Usually they don't wear a white shirt with couple buttons down and a blue tight and long skirt.
"Where's your... like... stuff. Axe and all that?"
"Forgot them at home. I know, kind of embarassing haha." Her cheeks get a little pinker under the water blue.
Wait, water blue?
Did i drown? By accident? I was better this week, i wouldn't have done it myself. You know, stay too much under water while trying to drown the intrusive thoughts. It never happened before, so why would it be now?
"Its says here that your... eight year old daughter pushed you inside a lake after you tried to spend some father daughter time and then that you hit your head on a rock."
"Thanks for telling, valkyrie lady."
Mary, my honeysuckle Mary. I wish i could say i was surprised that she could do such thing and cause my death. We -kind of- don't like eachother. Neither of my kids like me that much. Well, i try my best! Insufficiently.
Valkyrie looks at me very blankly. I look at her. "Oh! It's time for me to take you to Valhalla. Sorry i got distracted for a second there, haha"
"Valhalla?"
"Yes."
"O-okay."
***
"Can we have an exiting welcome for our newcomer Clark please?" All mighty Odin announces. I look at him expectantly. There must be a mistake. There MUST be one.
Crowd applauds silently, I hear one boo, i think.
"Wow, thank you everyone, such a high energy we got in the hall today! Now, Clark, you seem like a great guy, I'm sure you'll fit in very easily! Shall we listen to your heroic past that brought you here now?"
"Sure," i respond, majorly non chalantly "if there even is any, i would have liked to tell."
"Ah, precious warrior, you underestimate your value... remember last winter?"
Yes, how could i not? My wife broke up with me and threw me out of the house. I cried at the front door the entire winter until she took me back inside. "Yes, i do."
"That was such a sign of strenght and courage and we applaud you for it." Silence. "Ehem, i said we applaud you." Clap. Clap. Cl. Odin strated speaking of my "courageous acts" once again as i almost fell asleep onto my plate.
"Psst." Whispered my valkyrie into my ear. "I'm terribly sorry that i had to bring you here. You know order's from the big man."
"I don't even-" i looked around to see if there was any bulky religious fanatics around. "I dont even worship the Æsir gods!"
"Wow, yeah, you have such a Vanir type!"
"Why am I even here? Is Odin, Hel in disguise? Is this embarassment and boredom my eternal punishment?"
"Well, no, actually. Frigg has been doing some reasearch on psychology lately and all Asgard is talking about mental health these days. Did you know Loki had ADHD? Frigg diagnosed her last week. I don't know if she has the right to diagnose but who cares, you know?
"Then Frigg also requested the acceptance of 'mental illness warriors' into Valhalla and Odin accepted because apparently all battles he did were against the limits of mind? I guess?? I dont understand him."
"Okay, okay, enough. What can i drink now to shut my brain down?"
"We've got liquor."
"Hand me." | Ahhh, is this it? I promised I would change next week, even if it wasn't the first time I proclaimed that, I could have reached it, I never was the child my parents wanted me to be, pretty shitty that I'll die a disappointment.
A large truck had run over me and now I lay on the path of asphalt with the driver's face being the last thing I'll see.
I could feel my innards out against the cold night breeze and my broken bones, I would have screamed in pain but I couldn't, I was done and far too weak.
Ahhh, shit, I'm losing consciousness. The dread feeling of pain was gone and my consciousness had seeped back in. I slowly opened my eyes to slits, Light! I suddenly opened them all the way as I was surprised. I thought death was a lot scarier.
" Ohhh! Young Man" a deep comfy voice from behind called.
His voice had pulled me back from the state of consternation I felt as I stared at the seemingly endless expanse of brightness.
I slowly turned and there he was, a tall burly man with quite an intricate beautiful helm, two long horns grew from each side, he had a simplistic kind face like that of Santa with a thick beard to match, his outfit strangely resembled that of barbaric men in shows that I have seen, I think they are called Vikings! His however was a lot more beautiful giving him some sort of majestic demeanor.
Behind him was a giant gate with glowing blue symbols all over, it just stayed afloat right behind him, come to think of it, he's afloat as well, I am too!
" Don't be like that son, look upright with life"
" Who are you? What do you know about me?" I muttered with my face cowered.
" I'm Odin, I certainly don't know much about you but I know that you have been brave and you are a kind young man"
Tears streaked down my face over his statement. The famous ruler of Asgard had told me the very thing I had always wanted to hear.
" Come join me and your fellow warriors," he said with his right hand stretched out like he wanted mine.
"Yes!"I went for his hand and the giant gate opened. | |
[WP] You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought. | I wrote a poem to honor my bff who lost the battle with depression a while back with this idea in my head.
Valhalla
Mighty Ares beams upon you
Wise Athena takes a knee
Welcomed in by Leonidas
Embraced by Heracles
It is said through Odin’s Halls
And in every house of gold;
The strongest warriors are beckoned in
And rewarded are the bold.
Battles are waged in every clime
And fields are soaked with blood.
The valiant blessed by Angels’ kiss,
Those who gave all that they could.
With sword and armor clashing
Entire armies wage their wars.
But what of those are who struggle always,
Behind closed and bolted doors?
Within the mind, in dark forgotten holes
Dwell massive beasts, stained endlessly in red.
They feed on hate, anger, sadness, and pain
None can escape the demons in their head.
A force nigh on invincible for those unlucky souls
Tearing, clawing, ripping, come the monsters from within.
With sword in hand, and every ounce of will
But alas, against Dragons we can not always win.
Though even as you fall, you shall not be alone.
The Valkyries take your hand, and lift you to your feet.
Tonight you dine with Heroes old,
Where the strongest warriors find release.
Who are those to judge your battles?
Who are they to tell you how to bleed?
Only the gods can know your trials.
And only they will judge your deeds.
Take heart you fallen heroes.
Take heart, those who can’t be saved.
Take heart and hold your head high,
For Valhalla awaits the Brave.
Mighty Ares beams upon you
Wise Athena takes a knee
Welcomed in by Leonidas
Embraced by Heracles | Ahhh, is this it? I promised I would change next week, even if it wasn't the first time I proclaimed that, I could have reached it, I never was the child my parents wanted me to be, pretty shitty that I'll die a disappointment.
A large truck had run over me and now I lay on the path of asphalt with the driver's face being the last thing I'll see.
I could feel my innards out against the cold night breeze and my broken bones, I would have screamed in pain but I couldn't, I was done and far too weak.
Ahhh, shit, I'm losing consciousness. The dread feeling of pain was gone and my consciousness had seeped back in. I slowly opened my eyes to slits, Light! I suddenly opened them all the way as I was surprised. I thought death was a lot scarier.
" Ohhh! Young Man" a deep comfy voice from behind called.
His voice had pulled me back from the state of consternation I felt as I stared at the seemingly endless expanse of brightness.
I slowly turned and there he was, a tall burly man with quite an intricate beautiful helm, two long horns grew from each side, he had a simplistic kind face like that of Santa with a thick beard to match, his outfit strangely resembled that of barbaric men in shows that I have seen, I think they are called Vikings! His however was a lot more beautiful giving him some sort of majestic demeanor.
Behind him was a giant gate with glowing blue symbols all over, it just stayed afloat right behind him, come to think of it, he's afloat as well, I am too!
" Don't be like that son, look upright with life"
" Who are you? What do you know about me?" I muttered with my face cowered.
" I'm Odin, I certainly don't know much about you but I know that you have been brave and you are a kind young man"
Tears streaked down my face over his statement. The famous ruler of Asgard had told me the very thing I had always wanted to hear.
" Come join me and your fellow warriors," he said with his right hand stretched out like he wanted mine.
"Yes!"I went for his hand and the giant gate opened. | |
[WP] You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought. | (reposting something I wrote ages ago from a similar prompt)
I do not understand how I came to be here. Just now I was at home listening to music. The nurse who sometimes checks on me put on some Vivaldi while I was in my chair by the fireplace. It was a nice way to spend a winter afternoon. This place... it's evening time and feels like summer. I'm not cold.
"Is anyone there?"
"Welcome, Reinventingmyself, to Valhalla! Join us now for a feast in your honor!"
"What? Who are you? What's going on?"
"I am Odin, Allfather, ruler of Asgard. Reinventingmyself, your time in Midgard is over; your mortal life is complete. Your battles fought and honor won have earned you a place here among the greatest warriors. Come now; feast, drink, and celebration await!"
"I don't understand! You're saying I'm dead? This is the afterlife? I must be dreaming."
"This is no dream, I assure you. Follow me and all will be clear."
I follow the man into an impossibly large hall. I have never seen such a table or so much food. Where is it all coming from? I don't see a kitchen. This can't be real.
"Your place is here at my side. Sit! Eat!"
"O--Odin? I still don't understa--"
"Oh, hush for a moment and eat something! We have until Ragnarok to satisfy your questions!"
He puts his hand on my shoulder and forces me into the chair. I nod silently and look at the food set before me. I don't see how I'm supposed to eat any of this without my dentures. Even if I could eat it, I'd surely be sick. I've been eating salads and bland chicken for fifteen years.
"Loki! Bring our new man some mead! And if you give him that damned cup Pythagoras made, I'll let Thor have a go at you!"
I know these names. Valhalla, Odin, Loki, Thor... these are the Norse myths. Am I really dead? Is there really an afterlife? Of all the different religions and myths, is this the real one?
A man sets a mug in front of me with a sly grin.
"Don't worry, even I wouldn't trick you on your first day."
"Thank you." I think...
The mug is lighter than it looks. I don't think I've ever had mead before. Ninety-three years and I never tried mead. What a waste. It's actually quite good. The way it flows over my teeth is pleasing. Wait, teeth?
"Warriors! Heroes! Offer welcome to our newest man, Reinventingmyself, whose deeds have earned him a place among us!"
Everyone cheers and raises their mugs. Most of them drink like I haven't seen since my college days. Looking around, not everyone seems to fit in. Most of these people are what I might expect in Valhalla. They look as if they could put an axe in my skull as easily as raise their mugs. Even the women look stronger than I was in my youth. Still, a few look like me. They're celebrating with the others, but they don't look like hardened warriors from hundreds of years ago. This doesn't make sense.
The warriors greet me.
"Well met, Reinventingmyself!" "Welcome to our table!" "You lived to ninety-three you say? You must have had a thick shield!"
I shouldn't be here. If I'm really dead, this isn't where I belong. I'm not a warrior. I wasn't even in the military.
Odin places his hand on my shoulder again, this time more gently. He leans in and whispers,
"Relax and enjoy yourself. We will speak once the feast is over."
I heed his advice. The food is amazing, and I don't have any difficulty eating. My strength has returned. It's no longer a struggle to lift food to my mouth. I don't have to worry about choking if I haven't chewed enough. I suppose that wouldn't be a problem here, anyway. I can't remember the last time I've had this much fun.
The warriors are telling stories of battles and feats. Some are their own, others are of fathers, mothers, clansmen, even some enemies. They have such a reverence for bravery and honor. Many of them died in battle defending their families and ways of life. Others died as old men after a lifetime of battle and struggle.
This is a mistake. I don't have any victories or deeds to speak of. I have done nothing noteworthy. When I was young, I stayed in while others went out and were adventurous. In early adulthood, I was unable to find work and had to rely on family for help while my most took jobs and became independent. When I finally found stable work, my peers were already in careers and starting families. I eventually found some stability in life, but I never did anything extraordinary. I never married. I lived a quiet life until I died in a chair. Why am I here?
Hours pass. After those gathered have had time to tell stories and drink their fill, Odin finally stands.
"Heroes, take your drinks outside and start a fire. Reinventingmyself and I will join you shortly."
The sound of cheer and laughter fades as the warriors leave the hall. Odin turns to me.
"Something troubles you. Speak."
"Odin, I don't think I belong here."
"Oh? Why is that?"
"I'm not a warrior. I never went to war. I wasn't brave or courageous. I lived a life of mediocrity. Why am I here?"
Odin sighs and pours each of us another drink.
"Such is the problem with the heroes of your age."
"What do you mean?"
"You learned to value only those forms of valor which are easiest to see. Tell me, Reinventingmyself--what battles did you fight during your life?"
"Odin, I told you. I never fought in any battles."
"You think only of battles in which people fight one another and die. It is true that many of the heroes in Valhalla earned their places here in that way, but they did not do so by swinging swords and axes into other men."
"I still don't understand."
"Countless men throughout the ages of Midgard have fought and died over land, gold, and all else that men desire. There were heroes among them, surely, but not all earn such distinction. You see, a hero isn't one who simply fights. A hero is one who fights for good reason, often for others, and does not yield. A hero stands before his enemy in the face of fear and doubt. A hero remains vigilant in victory and determined in defeat. A hero is willing to sacrifice himself for something he believes is greater than his own life. Keep in mind that not all heroic victories and defeats take place on battlefields of iron and blood. Not all sacrifices involve dying in a moment of glory."
"Odin, I appreciate the distinctions you are making, but I still don't understand how I could have earned a place here. I did not face any great enemies in life, literal or figurative."
"Perhaps I can help you to understand in another way. Reinventingmyself, what do you think the heroes you met tonight did once their battles had been won? Those who lived, anyway."
"I suppose they did their best to recover and go back to living their lives."
"For the most part, yes. They buried their dead, cleaned and bound their wounds, and went back to their works. The ages they lived in did not make their lives easy, but, when their battles were won, they no longer had to live in fear of their enemies. They were free to enjoy the happiness that comes with hard work, community, and family."
"I'm sorry Odin, but I still don't understand."
"Reinventingmyself, how have you felt since you arrived here?"
"Now that you mention it, I don't think I've ever felt better. I had blissful moments in life, but I have never felt so at peace. I felt a little out-of-place among the warriors from before my time, but I didn't feel awkward or anxious. Are those some of the benefits of being here?"
"To a degree, yes, but what you experienced tonight is different from most who come here."
"How so?"
"You said you've never felt better. You feel at peace. What has changed?"
"Oh, of course! I have teeth again! I could lift that heavy mug without anyone helping me. I ate foods that would normally make me ill, but I'm fine. I'm better than fine. I've had my youth restored."
"Restored youth and restored health. Every injury and ailment you have ever endured has been healed. Everyone enjoys those benefits, although some of the warriors miss their scars."
"Odin, if everyone receives these same benefits, then what makes my case different?"
"Those who came here aged and weak are now young are able. Those who came paralyzed now walk. Those who came with maladies of the mind..."
I can't believe I hadn't noticed the difference. The inhibition, the self-loathing, the anxiety, the doubt--it's all gone.
"My depression"
Odin nods.
"You feel a sense of peace here not because your body is free of physical pain and weakness, but because your mind is free of the burden it has borne since you were young. You are finally experiencing what others take for granted throughout their lives."
Don't cry in front of the Allfather. Don't cry in front of the Allfather.
"Odin, I'm grateful for being healed. My body, my mind... it's wonderful. Still, I don't understand what my former illness has to do with my being here."
"Reinventingmyself, you spent a lifetime in combat with an enemy who never rests. While other warriors fought and returned to their normal lives, your normal life was fighting. You suffered countless defeats and still rose to fight again. Where others with the same enemy accepted defeat and even took their own lives, you stood your ground. When your enemy made you feel helpless, you offered help to others who faced the same foe. You lived a life of loneliness, but you reached out to the lonely. You were not wealthy or powerful, but you used what little you had to make sure others had enough. You fought not for your own benefit, but because you knew you were needed by others. You kept fighting because it was the right path, not the easiest or most rewarding, knowing you could never win."
"Odin?"
"Yes?"
"I'll take another mead." | Ahhh, is this it? I promised I would change next week, even if it wasn't the first time I proclaimed that, I could have reached it, I never was the child my parents wanted me to be, pretty shitty that I'll die a disappointment.
A large truck had run over me and now I lay on the path of asphalt with the driver's face being the last thing I'll see.
I could feel my innards out against the cold night breeze and my broken bones, I would have screamed in pain but I couldn't, I was done and far too weak.
Ahhh, shit, I'm losing consciousness. The dread feeling of pain was gone and my consciousness had seeped back in. I slowly opened my eyes to slits, Light! I suddenly opened them all the way as I was surprised. I thought death was a lot scarier.
" Ohhh! Young Man" a deep comfy voice from behind called.
His voice had pulled me back from the state of consternation I felt as I stared at the seemingly endless expanse of brightness.
I slowly turned and there he was, a tall burly man with quite an intricate beautiful helm, two long horns grew from each side, he had a simplistic kind face like that of Santa with a thick beard to match, his outfit strangely resembled that of barbaric men in shows that I have seen, I think they are called Vikings! His however was a lot more beautiful giving him some sort of majestic demeanor.
Behind him was a giant gate with glowing blue symbols all over, it just stayed afloat right behind him, come to think of it, he's afloat as well, I am too!
" Don't be like that son, look upright with life"
" Who are you? What do you know about me?" I muttered with my face cowered.
" I'm Odin, I certainly don't know much about you but I know that you have been brave and you are a kind young man"
Tears streaked down my face over his statement. The famous ruler of Asgard had told me the very thing I had always wanted to hear.
" Come join me and your fellow warriors," he said with his right hand stretched out like he wanted mine.
"Yes!"I went for his hand and the giant gate opened. | |
[WP] You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought. | "Young warrior your fierce encounters with the demon of despair that has haunted you since birth is beyond admirable. It is the stuff of myths and legends. 'Depression' in your modern tongue is but a symptom of an ancient curse that has all but pushed the mortal world to Ragnarok. You are perhaps one of our finest warriors in the great battle to come!" Odin proclaimed, his laughter bellowing through the halls of Valhalla.
I was flabergasted, astonished and outright dumbfounded. Not the Christians, not the Hindus, not the Muslims - heck not even the Aztecs - It was the Vikings that got the reality of our making right? I suppose I had bigger things to contend right now.
"The great battle?" I asked clueless as to how and when I came to be a warrior, much less one of the 'finest'.
"Well, the battle before the world is made anew! Don't tell me they have forgotten the tales of Ragnarok in the mortal realm!" Odin's surprise showed through his stern, beard-clad face.
"Ragnarok is a very popular role-playing game in the modern age. I'm afraid the realities and nuances of the tale are lost to us new folk" I grinned sheepishly.
"I suppose then I must tell you the great demon of despair, the one prophesized to bring about the end of days - collapsing human civilization on itself and submerging the world in water" Odin continued, "The demon planted seeds of sorrow and madness into tribes of the human world - slowly corrupting the whole world into a destructive madness. A madness of greed, unnatural sustenance, and cancerous growth. Humankind is already twisting itself into a civilization destined to bring about its own doom. Corrupted by the demon apostle, it seems young warrior your world will fall. But in that era of darkness, the righteous - offered salvation in Valhalla - shall return to the earth realm and cleanse the great corruption." Odin finished looking into my eyes. His deep stare made me a bit uncomfortable.
"Can't we just kill this demon guy?" I said
"To kill the demon, we must first learn of its true name and then we must face it, head-on. But I'm afraid we can do neither of those things from Valhalla, not just yet. And even if you were to successfully disrupt the great cycle, you will only anger powers far greater than anything that has so far touched the mortal realms. There are gods greater than your understanding in our universe young warrior. There are prophecies that must be respected and rules that must be followed. And yet even inside its cruel tricks, our world's fate offers us a chance. The only question that remains is, do you heed its call?"
"And if I don't?" I asked, staring blankly back at the mighty allfather.
"It is not in your nature to not fight. It is not your fate to lose the fight against the corruption of sorrow. You have bested the demon despite its tricks. You pushed past every attempt to corrupt your soul. You made it to the end of your life without letting it get the best of you. You have won a battle that a billion souls lost. They lost it in their sleep, in their lowest moments, and in the time in between their thoughts. But not you. It is because you refused to submit that the corruption attacked you much harder, that it persisted further in your life." He explained, his eyes looking as though they expected me to ignite with the flames of passion.
"I'm no hero, allfather. I'm no warrior. I died before I could reach 34. I died at less than half the average lifespan of my grandfather's generation. I died walking to the store in the middle of a cold night. I died because I was dumb enough to slip on ice. I died because nobody cared enough to check on me for hours. I died alone and cold, a hundred feet from my house".
Odin only smirked in response. A short silence passed through the hallway.
"You are a warrior. You died older than Thor, who reached Valhalla fighting the endless barbarian hordes. You died twice the age of Baldr, whose light surpasses even that of Valhalla. You died risking the deadly chill of the warmthless winter on a night where you had but little strength, so that your neighbor Mrs.Pinkett may have hot soup. You died in service of others despite corruption inside your head. A corruption so vile and strong that earth's mightiest have been turned into mere husks or worse - twisted monstrous versions of their former selves." Odin said, looking deeper into my eyes.
I see for a second what looks like thunder and lightning passing within the allfather's eyes.
"And so I ask again, will you head the call?"
I felt a warmth ignite in the depths of my heart. I feel the strength of all the battles that I won. I feel the power to fight the chill of the night, the dread of the corruption, and the sorrow of my kind's curse.
"I do" I said. And at that moment, I realized the truth of the allfather's statement. I realized I was always going to heed the call. That even in my death, I won my battles against my demons. | Ahhh, is this it? I promised I would change next week, even if it wasn't the first time I proclaimed that, I could have reached it, I never was the child my parents wanted me to be, pretty shitty that I'll die a disappointment.
A large truck had run over me and now I lay on the path of asphalt with the driver's face being the last thing I'll see.
I could feel my innards out against the cold night breeze and my broken bones, I would have screamed in pain but I couldn't, I was done and far too weak.
Ahhh, shit, I'm losing consciousness. The dread feeling of pain was gone and my consciousness had seeped back in. I slowly opened my eyes to slits, Light! I suddenly opened them all the way as I was surprised. I thought death was a lot scarier.
" Ohhh! Young Man" a deep comfy voice from behind called.
His voice had pulled me back from the state of consternation I felt as I stared at the seemingly endless expanse of brightness.
I slowly turned and there he was, a tall burly man with quite an intricate beautiful helm, two long horns grew from each side, he had a simplistic kind face like that of Santa with a thick beard to match, his outfit strangely resembled that of barbaric men in shows that I have seen, I think they are called Vikings! His however was a lot more beautiful giving him some sort of majestic demeanor.
Behind him was a giant gate with glowing blue symbols all over, it just stayed afloat right behind him, come to think of it, he's afloat as well, I am too!
" Don't be like that son, look upright with life"
" Who are you? What do you know about me?" I muttered with my face cowered.
" I'm Odin, I certainly don't know much about you but I know that you have been brave and you are a kind young man"
Tears streaked down my face over his statement. The famous ruler of Asgard had told me the very thing I had always wanted to hear.
" Come join me and your fellow warriors," he said with his right hand stretched out like he wanted mine.
"Yes!"I went for his hand and the giant gate opened. | |
[WP] You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought. | As Jose lay dying, darkness slowly crept in from the edges of his vision. He welcomed it. Jose's son started shouting for the nurse, squeezing his father's bony hand tighter. But there was no point. This was what Jose wanted. Faintly, he heard the machines by his bedside start to screech and beep. *Good*, he thought. *I'll all be over soon*.
When Jose took his final, ragged breath, blinding light burned away the darkness and illuminated the shabby little room he'd spent the last few weeks of his long, haggard life. The woman that descended from the light was an oil painting. Her armor glittered, as if dappled with sunshine. And her horse was pure titanium white, even its wings. She was divine. And, somehow, Jose knew she'd come for him.
The woman cradled Jose in her arms, and her smile split the clouds, revealing the dawn.
\*\*\*
When Jose awoke, he was laying in a field. He rolled over and pushed himself up and stopped. There was no pain. No fatigue. His hands weren't wasted and skeletal. He held them up to his face. They were dark and strong and … young.
"Good," rumbled a voice like rocks tumbling. "You're awake."
Jose turned and found a man standing in the field with him. His beard came down to his chest and was gray and braided in places. He leaned on a gnarled wooden staff and wore a cracked leather patch over one of his eyes.
"Who are you? Where am I?" Jose asked. Towers rose in the distance, nothing like the New York City skyline. These towers were gilded and spiraled and, even from this distance, hummed.
"I go by many names," said the old man. "Spearman, Lord of the Undead, The Wanderer, The One Who is Many, God of the Hanged, The One Eyed Raven God, Terrible One, The All-Father, Wednesday … but you may call me Odin."
"Oh," said Jose. "I see. I thought I'd have my life flash before my eyes, but this seems better."
"You are not dying, Jose Shadowbane. You stand outside the Halls of Valhalla."
Jose barked a laugh. "First of all, I'm no Viking. My last name's Ortiz. And second, I'm -- was Catholic. I'm supposed to be in purgatory."
Odin stumped forward. "Viking is not a race, Shadowbane. It is an identity. And not to worry. Lamb's Blood is here as well. All who fall in battle are welcome, as my children."
"Battle? Alright, I think I've heard enough. Which way is purgatory? You know what -- never mind."
Jose turned to walk away but the old man, Odin, appeared there before him. Jose turned again, and there he was.
"You are welcome here, son," said Odin. "But I will not force you. There are no slaves in Valhalla."
"Enough with the Viking stuff!" Jose shouted. "I'm not a warrior. I've never swung a sword in my life. Only paint brushes." He looked down. "And bottles."
"Not every battlefield is a literal one--" Odin stroked his beard. "--some are a great deal more … nebulous."
"Oh fuck off. I'm not doing riddles."
Odin smiled sadly. "Your battle happened every day, Shadowbane, here--" He pointed to his heart. "--and here--" He pointed to his head. "Not even the Thunderer could hope to vanquish such a foe easily. Do you understand?"
"You--you're talking about my depression?" Anger shook him clear to his marrow. "How *dare* you make light of my suffering. My pain! You know nothing! Every day I woke up and clawed my way through a calcified wall of shame and guilt and regret. Some days I couldn't eat. Couldn't move. Couldn't tell my son I loved him. I drank myself into a hole for years. I--" He was crying now. "I'm not a warrior. I'm done."
Odin nodded knowingly. "But you fought, Shadowbane. You fought a battle that could not be won, for there was no foe to slay. You fought a battle that could only be survived. There is great honor in such a feat."
Jose laughed bitterly. "Survived? I asked my son to pull the plug. I made my boy put his father down like a lame horse and I was glad. And not because of the cancer, but because I couldn't finally, finally stop fighting. I gave up. Where's the honor in that, *Odin*?"
Odin stumped closer and placed a hand on Jose's shoulder. He flinched, and Odin pulled his hand back. "Yes, you chose death. But you spared your boy the pain of watching his father waste away. You chose mercy. I do not know if I could have done the same, Shadowbane."
Jose looked up and stared into Odin's face. His one eye glittered, tearing up. Jose's shoulders slumped, and he said, "I didn't win."
"But you fought. You fought. And so, I welcome you, my son."
Jose and Odin walked through the lush grass toward the towering doors of the Shining Hall. Outside, warriors trained, sparring with sword and shield. Inside, they drank and ate at long tables stretching impossibly long. Odin told him it was time to get dressed. Jose expected chainmail or something *Lord of the Ringsy*. Instead, he was given a simple tunic and comfortable shoes. Then they walked down a corridor and stopped in front of a door.
"What's in there?" Jose asked.
"Your battleground," Odin said, and opened the door.
Inside was a circle of wooden chairs. And in each chair sat a warrior. They were of all ages, races, faces. In one of the chairs, sat a massive man with fiery red hair. He had a look in his eyes that Jose had seen in the mirror far too many times. A hollow, haggard dejection.
One of the warriors, a dark-skinned man with the warmest smile Jose had ever seen, nodded to Odin and ushered Jose inside. Jose sat in an empty chair and watched. The warriors took turns introducing themselves and speaking not about battle or glory, but about things Jose understood. The darkness. The pain. The guilt. Even Thor. After a while, the room seemed to brighten, if only a bit. It was enough.
And when it was his turn, he spoke. "Hello. My name is Jose … Shadowbane." | Ahhh, is this it? I promised I would change next week, even if it wasn't the first time I proclaimed that, I could have reached it, I never was the child my parents wanted me to be, pretty shitty that I'll die a disappointment.
A large truck had run over me and now I lay on the path of asphalt with the driver's face being the last thing I'll see.
I could feel my innards out against the cold night breeze and my broken bones, I would have screamed in pain but I couldn't, I was done and far too weak.
Ahhh, shit, I'm losing consciousness. The dread feeling of pain was gone and my consciousness had seeped back in. I slowly opened my eyes to slits, Light! I suddenly opened them all the way as I was surprised. I thought death was a lot scarier.
" Ohhh! Young Man" a deep comfy voice from behind called.
His voice had pulled me back from the state of consternation I felt as I stared at the seemingly endless expanse of brightness.
I slowly turned and there he was, a tall burly man with quite an intricate beautiful helm, two long horns grew from each side, he had a simplistic kind face like that of Santa with a thick beard to match, his outfit strangely resembled that of barbaric men in shows that I have seen, I think they are called Vikings! His however was a lot more beautiful giving him some sort of majestic demeanor.
Behind him was a giant gate with glowing blue symbols all over, it just stayed afloat right behind him, come to think of it, he's afloat as well, I am too!
" Don't be like that son, look upright with life"
" Who are you? What do you know about me?" I muttered with my face cowered.
" I'm Odin, I certainly don't know much about you but I know that you have been brave and you are a kind young man"
Tears streaked down my face over his statement. The famous ruler of Asgard had told me the very thing I had always wanted to hear.
" Come join me and your fellow warriors," he said with his right hand stretched out like he wanted mine.
"Yes!"I went for his hand and the giant gate opened. | |
[WP] You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought. | I wrote a poem to honor my bff who lost the battle with depression a while back with this idea in my head.
Valhalla
Mighty Ares beams upon you
Wise Athena takes a knee
Welcomed in by Leonidas
Embraced by Heracles
It is said through Odin’s Halls
And in every house of gold;
The strongest warriors are beckoned in
And rewarded are the bold.
Battles are waged in every clime
And fields are soaked with blood.
The valiant blessed by Angels’ kiss,
Those who gave all that they could.
With sword and armor clashing
Entire armies wage their wars.
But what of those are who struggle always,
Behind closed and bolted doors?
Within the mind, in dark forgotten holes
Dwell massive beasts, stained endlessly in red.
They feed on hate, anger, sadness, and pain
None can escape the demons in their head.
A force nigh on invincible for those unlucky souls
Tearing, clawing, ripping, come the monsters from within.
With sword in hand, and every ounce of will
But alas, against Dragons we can not always win.
Though even as you fall, you shall not be alone.
The Valkyries take your hand, and lift you to your feet.
Tonight you dine with Heroes old,
Where the strongest warriors find release.
Who are those to judge your battles?
Who are they to tell you how to bleed?
Only the gods can know your trials.
And only they will judge your deeds.
Take heart you fallen heroes.
Take heart, those who can’t be saved.
Take heart and hold your head high,
For Valhalla awaits the Brave.
Mighty Ares beams upon you
Wise Athena takes a knee
Welcomed in by Leonidas
Embraced by Heracles | (1/2)
The scenery I found myself suddenly gawking at came right out of a dream. Wispy clouds floated against the backdrop of an endless azure and reflected the sun’s soothing rays across the landscape. But was I dreaming? I don’t remember falling asleep… My body, my memories, even my emotions… Everything felt so hazy and uncertain. The only constant and tangible construct within this foggy state was the grand structure jutting out of a gigantic mountain formation. Tall spires extended high into range of the clouds and were decorated with armoured women donning winged helmets, posing valiantly. Either side of the grand doors stood gargantuan statues of iron-clad warriors, swords gripped at the hilt with the blade pointing to the ground. Thoughts of just how anyone or anything could create something of this size added to my overall confusion. What I was experiencing was something beyond awe or marvel; any structure ever created by man was easily eclipsed by the intricate and grand architecture present here. The wonders of the modern or ancient world could only hope to compare to whatever this place was.
The rumbling beneath my feet briefly tore my attention away from mindlessly ogling. These vibrations resonated through my very being, akin to the feeling of heavy bass reverberating through one’s chest, albeit this was somehow *deeper*. I looked up once again to find those colossal doors slowly opening. Before I could even process why this was suddenly happening, I found myself instantly warped to the foot of them. Did I do this? Why me? How?
“It rattles you to the core, doesn’t it? I must say… It never ceases to amaze me.” spoke a soothing baritone voice, almost instantly nurturing the panic in my chest.
I snapped my head to my right, eyes meeting with obsidian armour, accented shimmering gold. I then had to step back and peer up with my jaw hanging at my feet to take in the sheer size of this being. A mature-looking man with an eerily divine youthfulness about him stood with folded arms, golden eyes locked onto the widening stone doors and twinkling with power, his silvery-white shoulder-length hair flowing in the subtle breeze. Merely standing in his presence made me feel green with envy, minuscule, undermined, ashamed, starstruck, filled with hope, and utterly bewildered. Never had I ever experienced such a cocktail of opposing emotions.
“You’re not dreaming, dear maiden. This is real. You’re finally alive now.” he stated now facing me, his words poised as if he could hear and sort through my thoughts and inner emotions even before I could. His eyes were rimmed with dark lines and gave the impression that he was wearing eyeliner.
“I… I don’t belong here…” I replied with eyes averting his powerful gaze, defaulting to look at the floor just as I always had.
A place like this was too brilliant–too radiant for a run-of-the-mill lass like me. Heck, I was even jealous of this man’s beauty. I could still feel his eyes on me. Somehow, the inadequacy racking my brain was overpowered by the shame I would potentially feel for not embracing this moment in its entirety; I mustered the courage to find his line of sight once again. And to my surprise, he smiled warmly. Not the fake smiles of reassurance I’d gotten used to seeing, but a sincere and knowing smile.
“That right there is exactly why.” coyly stated the approaching male, his overall size decreasing with every step until the height difference was considered normal. Standing at 5’6”, I’d estimate he was now no taller than 6’2” if my frazzled mind could compare accurately in the moment.
“Of course you belong here, I called for you. Are you saying I’m a poor judge of character?” he chimed, voice light and friendly. “Walk with me, Sera.” His steps softly pounded against the stone, heading for the steps to enter the grand hall.
Without even thinking my feet followed to briskly catch up and walk by his side. I couldn’t help but peer up and stare at his mysterious brilliance, almost tripping when the steps suddenly appeared at my feet. “W-Where are we…?”
“Valhalla, Hall of the Slain.” he answered nonchalantly, his effortless strides carrying him up the steps and into the vast interior of the hall. Meanwhile, I had to enter a brisk jog to get through this miniature trial.
The ceiling was partially translucent: sunbeams shone down through to illuminate rows of great statues on either side of the red-carpeted path down the middle. Many little blue orbs of light danced around individual statues, varying in size, number, and luster. Every new encounter in this place raised a set of questions, questions that I had no time to process or begin to utter. I didn’t have the gall for that.
“You’re… kidding. So, what? You must be Odin or something? Now I know this is a dre-”
“I am.” his voice calmly interjected while he marched on ahead. That’s all it took for my smart mouth to stop dead in its tracks, and apparently my feet too.
Odin, now several feet in front, also stopped to turn and face me. Without a single word he just looked and waited. No animosity, no disappointment, no… nothing. He just waited. All the routine thoughts and swirling emotions present at the beginning of my fairly frequent panic attacks began to gather, my chest tightening to make breathing seem impossible. I hated this. It never got any easier. This time it was different; it was as if these negative feelings of old were fleeting–they had nothing to latch onto, my body ethereal. To my great surprise, they faded just as quickly as they arrived. My eyes instinctively flickered up to my guide, Odin, finding him giving me that same smile as before. | |
[WP] You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought. | (reposting something I wrote ages ago from a similar prompt)
I do not understand how I came to be here. Just now I was at home listening to music. The nurse who sometimes checks on me put on some Vivaldi while I was in my chair by the fireplace. It was a nice way to spend a winter afternoon. This place... it's evening time and feels like summer. I'm not cold.
"Is anyone there?"
"Welcome, Reinventingmyself, to Valhalla! Join us now for a feast in your honor!"
"What? Who are you? What's going on?"
"I am Odin, Allfather, ruler of Asgard. Reinventingmyself, your time in Midgard is over; your mortal life is complete. Your battles fought and honor won have earned you a place here among the greatest warriors. Come now; feast, drink, and celebration await!"
"I don't understand! You're saying I'm dead? This is the afterlife? I must be dreaming."
"This is no dream, I assure you. Follow me and all will be clear."
I follow the man into an impossibly large hall. I have never seen such a table or so much food. Where is it all coming from? I don't see a kitchen. This can't be real.
"Your place is here at my side. Sit! Eat!"
"O--Odin? I still don't understa--"
"Oh, hush for a moment and eat something! We have until Ragnarok to satisfy your questions!"
He puts his hand on my shoulder and forces me into the chair. I nod silently and look at the food set before me. I don't see how I'm supposed to eat any of this without my dentures. Even if I could eat it, I'd surely be sick. I've been eating salads and bland chicken for fifteen years.
"Loki! Bring our new man some mead! And if you give him that damned cup Pythagoras made, I'll let Thor have a go at you!"
I know these names. Valhalla, Odin, Loki, Thor... these are the Norse myths. Am I really dead? Is there really an afterlife? Of all the different religions and myths, is this the real one?
A man sets a mug in front of me with a sly grin.
"Don't worry, even I wouldn't trick you on your first day."
"Thank you." I think...
The mug is lighter than it looks. I don't think I've ever had mead before. Ninety-three years and I never tried mead. What a waste. It's actually quite good. The way it flows over my teeth is pleasing. Wait, teeth?
"Warriors! Heroes! Offer welcome to our newest man, Reinventingmyself, whose deeds have earned him a place among us!"
Everyone cheers and raises their mugs. Most of them drink like I haven't seen since my college days. Looking around, not everyone seems to fit in. Most of these people are what I might expect in Valhalla. They look as if they could put an axe in my skull as easily as raise their mugs. Even the women look stronger than I was in my youth. Still, a few look like me. They're celebrating with the others, but they don't look like hardened warriors from hundreds of years ago. This doesn't make sense.
The warriors greet me.
"Well met, Reinventingmyself!" "Welcome to our table!" "You lived to ninety-three you say? You must have had a thick shield!"
I shouldn't be here. If I'm really dead, this isn't where I belong. I'm not a warrior. I wasn't even in the military.
Odin places his hand on my shoulder again, this time more gently. He leans in and whispers,
"Relax and enjoy yourself. We will speak once the feast is over."
I heed his advice. The food is amazing, and I don't have any difficulty eating. My strength has returned. It's no longer a struggle to lift food to my mouth. I don't have to worry about choking if I haven't chewed enough. I suppose that wouldn't be a problem here, anyway. I can't remember the last time I've had this much fun.
The warriors are telling stories of battles and feats. Some are their own, others are of fathers, mothers, clansmen, even some enemies. They have such a reverence for bravery and honor. Many of them died in battle defending their families and ways of life. Others died as old men after a lifetime of battle and struggle.
This is a mistake. I don't have any victories or deeds to speak of. I have done nothing noteworthy. When I was young, I stayed in while others went out and were adventurous. In early adulthood, I was unable to find work and had to rely on family for help while my most took jobs and became independent. When I finally found stable work, my peers were already in careers and starting families. I eventually found some stability in life, but I never did anything extraordinary. I never married. I lived a quiet life until I died in a chair. Why am I here?
Hours pass. After those gathered have had time to tell stories and drink their fill, Odin finally stands.
"Heroes, take your drinks outside and start a fire. Reinventingmyself and I will join you shortly."
The sound of cheer and laughter fades as the warriors leave the hall. Odin turns to me.
"Something troubles you. Speak."
"Odin, I don't think I belong here."
"Oh? Why is that?"
"I'm not a warrior. I never went to war. I wasn't brave or courageous. I lived a life of mediocrity. Why am I here?"
Odin sighs and pours each of us another drink.
"Such is the problem with the heroes of your age."
"What do you mean?"
"You learned to value only those forms of valor which are easiest to see. Tell me, Reinventingmyself--what battles did you fight during your life?"
"Odin, I told you. I never fought in any battles."
"You think only of battles in which people fight one another and die. It is true that many of the heroes in Valhalla earned their places here in that way, but they did not do so by swinging swords and axes into other men."
"I still don't understand."
"Countless men throughout the ages of Midgard have fought and died over land, gold, and all else that men desire. There were heroes among them, surely, but not all earn such distinction. You see, a hero isn't one who simply fights. A hero is one who fights for good reason, often for others, and does not yield. A hero stands before his enemy in the face of fear and doubt. A hero remains vigilant in victory and determined in defeat. A hero is willing to sacrifice himself for something he believes is greater than his own life. Keep in mind that not all heroic victories and defeats take place on battlefields of iron and blood. Not all sacrifices involve dying in a moment of glory."
"Odin, I appreciate the distinctions you are making, but I still don't understand how I could have earned a place here. I did not face any great enemies in life, literal or figurative."
"Perhaps I can help you to understand in another way. Reinventingmyself, what do you think the heroes you met tonight did once their battles had been won? Those who lived, anyway."
"I suppose they did their best to recover and go back to living their lives."
"For the most part, yes. They buried their dead, cleaned and bound their wounds, and went back to their works. The ages they lived in did not make their lives easy, but, when their battles were won, they no longer had to live in fear of their enemies. They were free to enjoy the happiness that comes with hard work, community, and family."
"I'm sorry Odin, but I still don't understand."
"Reinventingmyself, how have you felt since you arrived here?"
"Now that you mention it, I don't think I've ever felt better. I had blissful moments in life, but I have never felt so at peace. I felt a little out-of-place among the warriors from before my time, but I didn't feel awkward or anxious. Are those some of the benefits of being here?"
"To a degree, yes, but what you experienced tonight is different from most who come here."
"How so?"
"You said you've never felt better. You feel at peace. What has changed?"
"Oh, of course! I have teeth again! I could lift that heavy mug without anyone helping me. I ate foods that would normally make me ill, but I'm fine. I'm better than fine. I've had my youth restored."
"Restored youth and restored health. Every injury and ailment you have ever endured has been healed. Everyone enjoys those benefits, although some of the warriors miss their scars."
"Odin, if everyone receives these same benefits, then what makes my case different?"
"Those who came here aged and weak are now young are able. Those who came paralyzed now walk. Those who came with maladies of the mind..."
I can't believe I hadn't noticed the difference. The inhibition, the self-loathing, the anxiety, the doubt--it's all gone.
"My depression"
Odin nods.
"You feel a sense of peace here not because your body is free of physical pain and weakness, but because your mind is free of the burden it has borne since you were young. You are finally experiencing what others take for granted throughout their lives."
Don't cry in front of the Allfather. Don't cry in front of the Allfather.
"Odin, I'm grateful for being healed. My body, my mind... it's wonderful. Still, I don't understand what my former illness has to do with my being here."
"Reinventingmyself, you spent a lifetime in combat with an enemy who never rests. While other warriors fought and returned to their normal lives, your normal life was fighting. You suffered countless defeats and still rose to fight again. Where others with the same enemy accepted defeat and even took their own lives, you stood your ground. When your enemy made you feel helpless, you offered help to others who faced the same foe. You lived a life of loneliness, but you reached out to the lonely. You were not wealthy or powerful, but you used what little you had to make sure others had enough. You fought not for your own benefit, but because you knew you were needed by others. You kept fighting because it was the right path, not the easiest or most rewarding, knowing you could never win."
"Odin?"
"Yes?"
"I'll take another mead." | (1/2)
The scenery I found myself suddenly gawking at came right out of a dream. Wispy clouds floated against the backdrop of an endless azure and reflected the sun’s soothing rays across the landscape. But was I dreaming? I don’t remember falling asleep… My body, my memories, even my emotions… Everything felt so hazy and uncertain. The only constant and tangible construct within this foggy state was the grand structure jutting out of a gigantic mountain formation. Tall spires extended high into range of the clouds and were decorated with armoured women donning winged helmets, posing valiantly. Either side of the grand doors stood gargantuan statues of iron-clad warriors, swords gripped at the hilt with the blade pointing to the ground. Thoughts of just how anyone or anything could create something of this size added to my overall confusion. What I was experiencing was something beyond awe or marvel; any structure ever created by man was easily eclipsed by the intricate and grand architecture present here. The wonders of the modern or ancient world could only hope to compare to whatever this place was.
The rumbling beneath my feet briefly tore my attention away from mindlessly ogling. These vibrations resonated through my very being, akin to the feeling of heavy bass reverberating through one’s chest, albeit this was somehow *deeper*. I looked up once again to find those colossal doors slowly opening. Before I could even process why this was suddenly happening, I found myself instantly warped to the foot of them. Did I do this? Why me? How?
“It rattles you to the core, doesn’t it? I must say… It never ceases to amaze me.” spoke a soothing baritone voice, almost instantly nurturing the panic in my chest.
I snapped my head to my right, eyes meeting with obsidian armour, accented shimmering gold. I then had to step back and peer up with my jaw hanging at my feet to take in the sheer size of this being. A mature-looking man with an eerily divine youthfulness about him stood with folded arms, golden eyes locked onto the widening stone doors and twinkling with power, his silvery-white shoulder-length hair flowing in the subtle breeze. Merely standing in his presence made me feel green with envy, minuscule, undermined, ashamed, starstruck, filled with hope, and utterly bewildered. Never had I ever experienced such a cocktail of opposing emotions.
“You’re not dreaming, dear maiden. This is real. You’re finally alive now.” he stated now facing me, his words poised as if he could hear and sort through my thoughts and inner emotions even before I could. His eyes were rimmed with dark lines and gave the impression that he was wearing eyeliner.
“I… I don’t belong here…” I replied with eyes averting his powerful gaze, defaulting to look at the floor just as I always had.
A place like this was too brilliant–too radiant for a run-of-the-mill lass like me. Heck, I was even jealous of this man’s beauty. I could still feel his eyes on me. Somehow, the inadequacy racking my brain was overpowered by the shame I would potentially feel for not embracing this moment in its entirety; I mustered the courage to find his line of sight once again. And to my surprise, he smiled warmly. Not the fake smiles of reassurance I’d gotten used to seeing, but a sincere and knowing smile.
“That right there is exactly why.” coyly stated the approaching male, his overall size decreasing with every step until the height difference was considered normal. Standing at 5’6”, I’d estimate he was now no taller than 6’2” if my frazzled mind could compare accurately in the moment.
“Of course you belong here, I called for you. Are you saying I’m a poor judge of character?” he chimed, voice light and friendly. “Walk with me, Sera.” His steps softly pounded against the stone, heading for the steps to enter the grand hall.
Without even thinking my feet followed to briskly catch up and walk by his side. I couldn’t help but peer up and stare at his mysterious brilliance, almost tripping when the steps suddenly appeared at my feet. “W-Where are we…?”
“Valhalla, Hall of the Slain.” he answered nonchalantly, his effortless strides carrying him up the steps and into the vast interior of the hall. Meanwhile, I had to enter a brisk jog to get through this miniature trial.
The ceiling was partially translucent: sunbeams shone down through to illuminate rows of great statues on either side of the red-carpeted path down the middle. Many little blue orbs of light danced around individual statues, varying in size, number, and luster. Every new encounter in this place raised a set of questions, questions that I had no time to process or begin to utter. I didn’t have the gall for that.
“You’re… kidding. So, what? You must be Odin or something? Now I know this is a dre-”
“I am.” his voice calmly interjected while he marched on ahead. That’s all it took for my smart mouth to stop dead in its tracks, and apparently my feet too.
Odin, now several feet in front, also stopped to turn and face me. Without a single word he just looked and waited. No animosity, no disappointment, no… nothing. He just waited. All the routine thoughts and swirling emotions present at the beginning of my fairly frequent panic attacks began to gather, my chest tightening to make breathing seem impossible. I hated this. It never got any easier. This time it was different; it was as if these negative feelings of old were fleeting–they had nothing to latch onto, my body ethereal. To my great surprise, they faded just as quickly as they arrived. My eyes instinctively flickered up to my guide, Odin, finding him giving me that same smile as before. | |
[WP] You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought. | "Young warrior your fierce encounters with the demon of despair that has haunted you since birth is beyond admirable. It is the stuff of myths and legends. 'Depression' in your modern tongue is but a symptom of an ancient curse that has all but pushed the mortal world to Ragnarok. You are perhaps one of our finest warriors in the great battle to come!" Odin proclaimed, his laughter bellowing through the halls of Valhalla.
I was flabergasted, astonished and outright dumbfounded. Not the Christians, not the Hindus, not the Muslims - heck not even the Aztecs - It was the Vikings that got the reality of our making right? I suppose I had bigger things to contend right now.
"The great battle?" I asked clueless as to how and when I came to be a warrior, much less one of the 'finest'.
"Well, the battle before the world is made anew! Don't tell me they have forgotten the tales of Ragnarok in the mortal realm!" Odin's surprise showed through his stern, beard-clad face.
"Ragnarok is a very popular role-playing game in the modern age. I'm afraid the realities and nuances of the tale are lost to us new folk" I grinned sheepishly.
"I suppose then I must tell you the great demon of despair, the one prophesized to bring about the end of days - collapsing human civilization on itself and submerging the world in water" Odin continued, "The demon planted seeds of sorrow and madness into tribes of the human world - slowly corrupting the whole world into a destructive madness. A madness of greed, unnatural sustenance, and cancerous growth. Humankind is already twisting itself into a civilization destined to bring about its own doom. Corrupted by the demon apostle, it seems young warrior your world will fall. But in that era of darkness, the righteous - offered salvation in Valhalla - shall return to the earth realm and cleanse the great corruption." Odin finished looking into my eyes. His deep stare made me a bit uncomfortable.
"Can't we just kill this demon guy?" I said
"To kill the demon, we must first learn of its true name and then we must face it, head-on. But I'm afraid we can do neither of those things from Valhalla, not just yet. And even if you were to successfully disrupt the great cycle, you will only anger powers far greater than anything that has so far touched the mortal realms. There are gods greater than your understanding in our universe young warrior. There are prophecies that must be respected and rules that must be followed. And yet even inside its cruel tricks, our world's fate offers us a chance. The only question that remains is, do you heed its call?"
"And if I don't?" I asked, staring blankly back at the mighty allfather.
"It is not in your nature to not fight. It is not your fate to lose the fight against the corruption of sorrow. You have bested the demon despite its tricks. You pushed past every attempt to corrupt your soul. You made it to the end of your life without letting it get the best of you. You have won a battle that a billion souls lost. They lost it in their sleep, in their lowest moments, and in the time in between their thoughts. But not you. It is because you refused to submit that the corruption attacked you much harder, that it persisted further in your life." He explained, his eyes looking as though they expected me to ignite with the flames of passion.
"I'm no hero, allfather. I'm no warrior. I died before I could reach 34. I died at less than half the average lifespan of my grandfather's generation. I died walking to the store in the middle of a cold night. I died because I was dumb enough to slip on ice. I died because nobody cared enough to check on me for hours. I died alone and cold, a hundred feet from my house".
Odin only smirked in response. A short silence passed through the hallway.
"You are a warrior. You died older than Thor, who reached Valhalla fighting the endless barbarian hordes. You died twice the age of Baldr, whose light surpasses even that of Valhalla. You died risking the deadly chill of the warmthless winter on a night where you had but little strength, so that your neighbor Mrs.Pinkett may have hot soup. You died in service of others despite corruption inside your head. A corruption so vile and strong that earth's mightiest have been turned into mere husks or worse - twisted monstrous versions of their former selves." Odin said, looking deeper into my eyes.
I see for a second what looks like thunder and lightning passing within the allfather's eyes.
"And so I ask again, will you head the call?"
I felt a warmth ignite in the depths of my heart. I feel the strength of all the battles that I won. I feel the power to fight the chill of the night, the dread of the corruption, and the sorrow of my kind's curse.
"I do" I said. And at that moment, I realized the truth of the allfather's statement. I realized I was always going to heed the call. That even in my death, I won my battles against my demons. | (1/2)
The scenery I found myself suddenly gawking at came right out of a dream. Wispy clouds floated against the backdrop of an endless azure and reflected the sun’s soothing rays across the landscape. But was I dreaming? I don’t remember falling asleep… My body, my memories, even my emotions… Everything felt so hazy and uncertain. The only constant and tangible construct within this foggy state was the grand structure jutting out of a gigantic mountain formation. Tall spires extended high into range of the clouds and were decorated with armoured women donning winged helmets, posing valiantly. Either side of the grand doors stood gargantuan statues of iron-clad warriors, swords gripped at the hilt with the blade pointing to the ground. Thoughts of just how anyone or anything could create something of this size added to my overall confusion. What I was experiencing was something beyond awe or marvel; any structure ever created by man was easily eclipsed by the intricate and grand architecture present here. The wonders of the modern or ancient world could only hope to compare to whatever this place was.
The rumbling beneath my feet briefly tore my attention away from mindlessly ogling. These vibrations resonated through my very being, akin to the feeling of heavy bass reverberating through one’s chest, albeit this was somehow *deeper*. I looked up once again to find those colossal doors slowly opening. Before I could even process why this was suddenly happening, I found myself instantly warped to the foot of them. Did I do this? Why me? How?
“It rattles you to the core, doesn’t it? I must say… It never ceases to amaze me.” spoke a soothing baritone voice, almost instantly nurturing the panic in my chest.
I snapped my head to my right, eyes meeting with obsidian armour, accented shimmering gold. I then had to step back and peer up with my jaw hanging at my feet to take in the sheer size of this being. A mature-looking man with an eerily divine youthfulness about him stood with folded arms, golden eyes locked onto the widening stone doors and twinkling with power, his silvery-white shoulder-length hair flowing in the subtle breeze. Merely standing in his presence made me feel green with envy, minuscule, undermined, ashamed, starstruck, filled with hope, and utterly bewildered. Never had I ever experienced such a cocktail of opposing emotions.
“You’re not dreaming, dear maiden. This is real. You’re finally alive now.” he stated now facing me, his words poised as if he could hear and sort through my thoughts and inner emotions even before I could. His eyes were rimmed with dark lines and gave the impression that he was wearing eyeliner.
“I… I don’t belong here…” I replied with eyes averting his powerful gaze, defaulting to look at the floor just as I always had.
A place like this was too brilliant–too radiant for a run-of-the-mill lass like me. Heck, I was even jealous of this man’s beauty. I could still feel his eyes on me. Somehow, the inadequacy racking my brain was overpowered by the shame I would potentially feel for not embracing this moment in its entirety; I mustered the courage to find his line of sight once again. And to my surprise, he smiled warmly. Not the fake smiles of reassurance I’d gotten used to seeing, but a sincere and knowing smile.
“That right there is exactly why.” coyly stated the approaching male, his overall size decreasing with every step until the height difference was considered normal. Standing at 5’6”, I’d estimate he was now no taller than 6’2” if my frazzled mind could compare accurately in the moment.
“Of course you belong here, I called for you. Are you saying I’m a poor judge of character?” he chimed, voice light and friendly. “Walk with me, Sera.” His steps softly pounded against the stone, heading for the steps to enter the grand hall.
Without even thinking my feet followed to briskly catch up and walk by his side. I couldn’t help but peer up and stare at his mysterious brilliance, almost tripping when the steps suddenly appeared at my feet. “W-Where are we…?”
“Valhalla, Hall of the Slain.” he answered nonchalantly, his effortless strides carrying him up the steps and into the vast interior of the hall. Meanwhile, I had to enter a brisk jog to get through this miniature trial.
The ceiling was partially translucent: sunbeams shone down through to illuminate rows of great statues on either side of the red-carpeted path down the middle. Many little blue orbs of light danced around individual statues, varying in size, number, and luster. Every new encounter in this place raised a set of questions, questions that I had no time to process or begin to utter. I didn’t have the gall for that.
“You’re… kidding. So, what? You must be Odin or something? Now I know this is a dre-”
“I am.” his voice calmly interjected while he marched on ahead. That’s all it took for my smart mouth to stop dead in its tracks, and apparently my feet too.
Odin, now several feet in front, also stopped to turn and face me. Without a single word he just looked and waited. No animosity, no disappointment, no… nothing. He just waited. All the routine thoughts and swirling emotions present at the beginning of my fairly frequent panic attacks began to gather, my chest tightening to make breathing seem impossible. I hated this. It never got any easier. This time it was different; it was as if these negative feelings of old were fleeting–they had nothing to latch onto, my body ethereal. To my great surprise, they faded just as quickly as they arrived. My eyes instinctively flickered up to my guide, Odin, finding him giving me that same smile as before. | |
[WP] You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought. | As Jose lay dying, darkness slowly crept in from the edges of his vision. He welcomed it. Jose's son started shouting for the nurse, squeezing his father's bony hand tighter. But there was no point. This was what Jose wanted. Faintly, he heard the machines by his bedside start to screech and beep. *Good*, he thought. *I'll all be over soon*.
When Jose took his final, ragged breath, blinding light burned away the darkness and illuminated the shabby little room he'd spent the last few weeks of his long, haggard life. The woman that descended from the light was an oil painting. Her armor glittered, as if dappled with sunshine. And her horse was pure titanium white, even its wings. She was divine. And, somehow, Jose knew she'd come for him.
The woman cradled Jose in her arms, and her smile split the clouds, revealing the dawn.
\*\*\*
When Jose awoke, he was laying in a field. He rolled over and pushed himself up and stopped. There was no pain. No fatigue. His hands weren't wasted and skeletal. He held them up to his face. They were dark and strong and … young.
"Good," rumbled a voice like rocks tumbling. "You're awake."
Jose turned and found a man standing in the field with him. His beard came down to his chest and was gray and braided in places. He leaned on a gnarled wooden staff and wore a cracked leather patch over one of his eyes.
"Who are you? Where am I?" Jose asked. Towers rose in the distance, nothing like the New York City skyline. These towers were gilded and spiraled and, even from this distance, hummed.
"I go by many names," said the old man. "Spearman, Lord of the Undead, The Wanderer, The One Who is Many, God of the Hanged, The One Eyed Raven God, Terrible One, The All-Father, Wednesday … but you may call me Odin."
"Oh," said Jose. "I see. I thought I'd have my life flash before my eyes, but this seems better."
"You are not dying, Jose Shadowbane. You stand outside the Halls of Valhalla."
Jose barked a laugh. "First of all, I'm no Viking. My last name's Ortiz. And second, I'm -- was Catholic. I'm supposed to be in purgatory."
Odin stumped forward. "Viking is not a race, Shadowbane. It is an identity. And not to worry. Lamb's Blood is here as well. All who fall in battle are welcome, as my children."
"Battle? Alright, I think I've heard enough. Which way is purgatory? You know what -- never mind."
Jose turned to walk away but the old man, Odin, appeared there before him. Jose turned again, and there he was.
"You are welcome here, son," said Odin. "But I will not force you. There are no slaves in Valhalla."
"Enough with the Viking stuff!" Jose shouted. "I'm not a warrior. I've never swung a sword in my life. Only paint brushes." He looked down. "And bottles."
"Not every battlefield is a literal one--" Odin stroked his beard. "--some are a great deal more … nebulous."
"Oh fuck off. I'm not doing riddles."
Odin smiled sadly. "Your battle happened every day, Shadowbane, here--" He pointed to his heart. "--and here--" He pointed to his head. "Not even the Thunderer could hope to vanquish such a foe easily. Do you understand?"
"You--you're talking about my depression?" Anger shook him clear to his marrow. "How *dare* you make light of my suffering. My pain! You know nothing! Every day I woke up and clawed my way through a calcified wall of shame and guilt and regret. Some days I couldn't eat. Couldn't move. Couldn't tell my son I loved him. I drank myself into a hole for years. I--" He was crying now. "I'm not a warrior. I'm done."
Odin nodded knowingly. "But you fought, Shadowbane. You fought a battle that could not be won, for there was no foe to slay. You fought a battle that could only be survived. There is great honor in such a feat."
Jose laughed bitterly. "Survived? I asked my son to pull the plug. I made my boy put his father down like a lame horse and I was glad. And not because of the cancer, but because I couldn't finally, finally stop fighting. I gave up. Where's the honor in that, *Odin*?"
Odin stumped closer and placed a hand on Jose's shoulder. He flinched, and Odin pulled his hand back. "Yes, you chose death. But you spared your boy the pain of watching his father waste away. You chose mercy. I do not know if I could have done the same, Shadowbane."
Jose looked up and stared into Odin's face. His one eye glittered, tearing up. Jose's shoulders slumped, and he said, "I didn't win."
"But you fought. You fought. And so, I welcome you, my son."
Jose and Odin walked through the lush grass toward the towering doors of the Shining Hall. Outside, warriors trained, sparring with sword and shield. Inside, they drank and ate at long tables stretching impossibly long. Odin told him it was time to get dressed. Jose expected chainmail or something *Lord of the Ringsy*. Instead, he was given a simple tunic and comfortable shoes. Then they walked down a corridor and stopped in front of a door.
"What's in there?" Jose asked.
"Your battleground," Odin said, and opened the door.
Inside was a circle of wooden chairs. And in each chair sat a warrior. They were of all ages, races, faces. In one of the chairs, sat a massive man with fiery red hair. He had a look in his eyes that Jose had seen in the mirror far too many times. A hollow, haggard dejection.
One of the warriors, a dark-skinned man with the warmest smile Jose had ever seen, nodded to Odin and ushered Jose inside. Jose sat in an empty chair and watched. The warriors took turns introducing themselves and speaking not about battle or glory, but about things Jose understood. The darkness. The pain. The guilt. Even Thor. After a while, the room seemed to brighten, if only a bit. It was enough.
And when it was his turn, he spoke. "Hello. My name is Jose … Shadowbane." | (1/2)
The scenery I found myself suddenly gawking at came right out of a dream. Wispy clouds floated against the backdrop of an endless azure and reflected the sun’s soothing rays across the landscape. But was I dreaming? I don’t remember falling asleep… My body, my memories, even my emotions… Everything felt so hazy and uncertain. The only constant and tangible construct within this foggy state was the grand structure jutting out of a gigantic mountain formation. Tall spires extended high into range of the clouds and were decorated with armoured women donning winged helmets, posing valiantly. Either side of the grand doors stood gargantuan statues of iron-clad warriors, swords gripped at the hilt with the blade pointing to the ground. Thoughts of just how anyone or anything could create something of this size added to my overall confusion. What I was experiencing was something beyond awe or marvel; any structure ever created by man was easily eclipsed by the intricate and grand architecture present here. The wonders of the modern or ancient world could only hope to compare to whatever this place was.
The rumbling beneath my feet briefly tore my attention away from mindlessly ogling. These vibrations resonated through my very being, akin to the feeling of heavy bass reverberating through one’s chest, albeit this was somehow *deeper*. I looked up once again to find those colossal doors slowly opening. Before I could even process why this was suddenly happening, I found myself instantly warped to the foot of them. Did I do this? Why me? How?
“It rattles you to the core, doesn’t it? I must say… It never ceases to amaze me.” spoke a soothing baritone voice, almost instantly nurturing the panic in my chest.
I snapped my head to my right, eyes meeting with obsidian armour, accented shimmering gold. I then had to step back and peer up with my jaw hanging at my feet to take in the sheer size of this being. A mature-looking man with an eerily divine youthfulness about him stood with folded arms, golden eyes locked onto the widening stone doors and twinkling with power, his silvery-white shoulder-length hair flowing in the subtle breeze. Merely standing in his presence made me feel green with envy, minuscule, undermined, ashamed, starstruck, filled with hope, and utterly bewildered. Never had I ever experienced such a cocktail of opposing emotions.
“You’re not dreaming, dear maiden. This is real. You’re finally alive now.” he stated now facing me, his words poised as if he could hear and sort through my thoughts and inner emotions even before I could. His eyes were rimmed with dark lines and gave the impression that he was wearing eyeliner.
“I… I don’t belong here…” I replied with eyes averting his powerful gaze, defaulting to look at the floor just as I always had.
A place like this was too brilliant–too radiant for a run-of-the-mill lass like me. Heck, I was even jealous of this man’s beauty. I could still feel his eyes on me. Somehow, the inadequacy racking my brain was overpowered by the shame I would potentially feel for not embracing this moment in its entirety; I mustered the courage to find his line of sight once again. And to my surprise, he smiled warmly. Not the fake smiles of reassurance I’d gotten used to seeing, but a sincere and knowing smile.
“That right there is exactly why.” coyly stated the approaching male, his overall size decreasing with every step until the height difference was considered normal. Standing at 5’6”, I’d estimate he was now no taller than 6’2” if my frazzled mind could compare accurately in the moment.
“Of course you belong here, I called for you. Are you saying I’m a poor judge of character?” he chimed, voice light and friendly. “Walk with me, Sera.” His steps softly pounded against the stone, heading for the steps to enter the grand hall.
Without even thinking my feet followed to briskly catch up and walk by his side. I couldn’t help but peer up and stare at his mysterious brilliance, almost tripping when the steps suddenly appeared at my feet. “W-Where are we…?”
“Valhalla, Hall of the Slain.” he answered nonchalantly, his effortless strides carrying him up the steps and into the vast interior of the hall. Meanwhile, I had to enter a brisk jog to get through this miniature trial.
The ceiling was partially translucent: sunbeams shone down through to illuminate rows of great statues on either side of the red-carpeted path down the middle. Many little blue orbs of light danced around individual statues, varying in size, number, and luster. Every new encounter in this place raised a set of questions, questions that I had no time to process or begin to utter. I didn’t have the gall for that.
“You’re… kidding. So, what? You must be Odin or something? Now I know this is a dre-”
“I am.” his voice calmly interjected while he marched on ahead. That’s all it took for my smart mouth to stop dead in its tracks, and apparently my feet too.
Odin, now several feet in front, also stopped to turn and face me. Without a single word he just looked and waited. No animosity, no disappointment, no… nothing. He just waited. All the routine thoughts and swirling emotions present at the beginning of my fairly frequent panic attacks began to gather, my chest tightening to make breathing seem impossible. I hated this. It never got any easier. This time it was different; it was as if these negative feelings of old were fleeting–they had nothing to latch onto, my body ethereal. To my great surprise, they faded just as quickly as they arrived. My eyes instinctively flickered up to my guide, Odin, finding him giving me that same smile as before. | |
[WP] You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought. | Arriving in Valhalla you are gifted the garments of battle you were most familiar with during your conflicts.
"And here we have the holy garments with which you battled nearly every day of your life. Gaze upon the battle garb that kept you safe and steadfast in your continued fight against the great 'meh' as you call it in your time."
"Dude that's just my housecoat and my pajama pants."
"Do not be so quick to dismiss these relics, they are a part of what earned you a place here - especially the way you wielded your trusty weapons and mount!"
"I really appreciate that you brought my computer and futon here but I'm not sure this is where I belong..."
"Nonsense friend this is a place where we've chosen to engage in a raucous party and incredible battle until the end of everything forever..."
"So therapy doesn't work here either huh?" | (1/2)
The scenery I found myself suddenly gawking at came right out of a dream. Wispy clouds floated against the backdrop of an endless azure and reflected the sun’s soothing rays across the landscape. But was I dreaming? I don’t remember falling asleep… My body, my memories, even my emotions… Everything felt so hazy and uncertain. The only constant and tangible construct within this foggy state was the grand structure jutting out of a gigantic mountain formation. Tall spires extended high into range of the clouds and were decorated with armoured women donning winged helmets, posing valiantly. Either side of the grand doors stood gargantuan statues of iron-clad warriors, swords gripped at the hilt with the blade pointing to the ground. Thoughts of just how anyone or anything could create something of this size added to my overall confusion. What I was experiencing was something beyond awe or marvel; any structure ever created by man was easily eclipsed by the intricate and grand architecture present here. The wonders of the modern or ancient world could only hope to compare to whatever this place was.
The rumbling beneath my feet briefly tore my attention away from mindlessly ogling. These vibrations resonated through my very being, akin to the feeling of heavy bass reverberating through one’s chest, albeit this was somehow *deeper*. I looked up once again to find those colossal doors slowly opening. Before I could even process why this was suddenly happening, I found myself instantly warped to the foot of them. Did I do this? Why me? How?
“It rattles you to the core, doesn’t it? I must say… It never ceases to amaze me.” spoke a soothing baritone voice, almost instantly nurturing the panic in my chest.
I snapped my head to my right, eyes meeting with obsidian armour, accented shimmering gold. I then had to step back and peer up with my jaw hanging at my feet to take in the sheer size of this being. A mature-looking man with an eerily divine youthfulness about him stood with folded arms, golden eyes locked onto the widening stone doors and twinkling with power, his silvery-white shoulder-length hair flowing in the subtle breeze. Merely standing in his presence made me feel green with envy, minuscule, undermined, ashamed, starstruck, filled with hope, and utterly bewildered. Never had I ever experienced such a cocktail of opposing emotions.
“You’re not dreaming, dear maiden. This is real. You’re finally alive now.” he stated now facing me, his words poised as if he could hear and sort through my thoughts and inner emotions even before I could. His eyes were rimmed with dark lines and gave the impression that he was wearing eyeliner.
“I… I don’t belong here…” I replied with eyes averting his powerful gaze, defaulting to look at the floor just as I always had.
A place like this was too brilliant–too radiant for a run-of-the-mill lass like me. Heck, I was even jealous of this man’s beauty. I could still feel his eyes on me. Somehow, the inadequacy racking my brain was overpowered by the shame I would potentially feel for not embracing this moment in its entirety; I mustered the courage to find his line of sight once again. And to my surprise, he smiled warmly. Not the fake smiles of reassurance I’d gotten used to seeing, but a sincere and knowing smile.
“That right there is exactly why.” coyly stated the approaching male, his overall size decreasing with every step until the height difference was considered normal. Standing at 5’6”, I’d estimate he was now no taller than 6’2” if my frazzled mind could compare accurately in the moment.
“Of course you belong here, I called for you. Are you saying I’m a poor judge of character?” he chimed, voice light and friendly. “Walk with me, Sera.” His steps softly pounded against the stone, heading for the steps to enter the grand hall.
Without even thinking my feet followed to briskly catch up and walk by his side. I couldn’t help but peer up and stare at his mysterious brilliance, almost tripping when the steps suddenly appeared at my feet. “W-Where are we…?”
“Valhalla, Hall of the Slain.” he answered nonchalantly, his effortless strides carrying him up the steps and into the vast interior of the hall. Meanwhile, I had to enter a brisk jog to get through this miniature trial.
The ceiling was partially translucent: sunbeams shone down through to illuminate rows of great statues on either side of the red-carpeted path down the middle. Many little blue orbs of light danced around individual statues, varying in size, number, and luster. Every new encounter in this place raised a set of questions, questions that I had no time to process or begin to utter. I didn’t have the gall for that.
“You’re… kidding. So, what? You must be Odin or something? Now I know this is a dre-”
“I am.” his voice calmly interjected while he marched on ahead. That’s all it took for my smart mouth to stop dead in its tracks, and apparently my feet too.
Odin, now several feet in front, also stopped to turn and face me. Without a single word he just looked and waited. No animosity, no disappointment, no… nothing. He just waited. All the routine thoughts and swirling emotions present at the beginning of my fairly frequent panic attacks began to gather, my chest tightening to make breathing seem impossible. I hated this. It never got any easier. This time it was different; it was as if these negative feelings of old were fleeting–they had nothing to latch onto, my body ethereal. To my great surprise, they faded just as quickly as they arrived. My eyes instinctively flickered up to my guide, Odin, finding him giving me that same smile as before. | |
[WP] You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought. | (reposting something I wrote ages ago from a similar prompt)
I do not understand how I came to be here. Just now I was at home listening to music. The nurse who sometimes checks on me put on some Vivaldi while I was in my chair by the fireplace. It was a nice way to spend a winter afternoon. This place... it's evening time and feels like summer. I'm not cold.
"Is anyone there?"
"Welcome, Reinventingmyself, to Valhalla! Join us now for a feast in your honor!"
"What? Who are you? What's going on?"
"I am Odin, Allfather, ruler of Asgard. Reinventingmyself, your time in Midgard is over; your mortal life is complete. Your battles fought and honor won have earned you a place here among the greatest warriors. Come now; feast, drink, and celebration await!"
"I don't understand! You're saying I'm dead? This is the afterlife? I must be dreaming."
"This is no dream, I assure you. Follow me and all will be clear."
I follow the man into an impossibly large hall. I have never seen such a table or so much food. Where is it all coming from? I don't see a kitchen. This can't be real.
"Your place is here at my side. Sit! Eat!"
"O--Odin? I still don't understa--"
"Oh, hush for a moment and eat something! We have until Ragnarok to satisfy your questions!"
He puts his hand on my shoulder and forces me into the chair. I nod silently and look at the food set before me. I don't see how I'm supposed to eat any of this without my dentures. Even if I could eat it, I'd surely be sick. I've been eating salads and bland chicken for fifteen years.
"Loki! Bring our new man some mead! And if you give him that damned cup Pythagoras made, I'll let Thor have a go at you!"
I know these names. Valhalla, Odin, Loki, Thor... these are the Norse myths. Am I really dead? Is there really an afterlife? Of all the different religions and myths, is this the real one?
A man sets a mug in front of me with a sly grin.
"Don't worry, even I wouldn't trick you on your first day."
"Thank you." I think...
The mug is lighter than it looks. I don't think I've ever had mead before. Ninety-three years and I never tried mead. What a waste. It's actually quite good. The way it flows over my teeth is pleasing. Wait, teeth?
"Warriors! Heroes! Offer welcome to our newest man, Reinventingmyself, whose deeds have earned him a place among us!"
Everyone cheers and raises their mugs. Most of them drink like I haven't seen since my college days. Looking around, not everyone seems to fit in. Most of these people are what I might expect in Valhalla. They look as if they could put an axe in my skull as easily as raise their mugs. Even the women look stronger than I was in my youth. Still, a few look like me. They're celebrating with the others, but they don't look like hardened warriors from hundreds of years ago. This doesn't make sense.
The warriors greet me.
"Well met, Reinventingmyself!" "Welcome to our table!" "You lived to ninety-three you say? You must have had a thick shield!"
I shouldn't be here. If I'm really dead, this isn't where I belong. I'm not a warrior. I wasn't even in the military.
Odin places his hand on my shoulder again, this time more gently. He leans in and whispers,
"Relax and enjoy yourself. We will speak once the feast is over."
I heed his advice. The food is amazing, and I don't have any difficulty eating. My strength has returned. It's no longer a struggle to lift food to my mouth. I don't have to worry about choking if I haven't chewed enough. I suppose that wouldn't be a problem here, anyway. I can't remember the last time I've had this much fun.
The warriors are telling stories of battles and feats. Some are their own, others are of fathers, mothers, clansmen, even some enemies. They have such a reverence for bravery and honor. Many of them died in battle defending their families and ways of life. Others died as old men after a lifetime of battle and struggle.
This is a mistake. I don't have any victories or deeds to speak of. I have done nothing noteworthy. When I was young, I stayed in while others went out and were adventurous. In early adulthood, I was unable to find work and had to rely on family for help while my most took jobs and became independent. When I finally found stable work, my peers were already in careers and starting families. I eventually found some stability in life, but I never did anything extraordinary. I never married. I lived a quiet life until I died in a chair. Why am I here?
Hours pass. After those gathered have had time to tell stories and drink their fill, Odin finally stands.
"Heroes, take your drinks outside and start a fire. Reinventingmyself and I will join you shortly."
The sound of cheer and laughter fades as the warriors leave the hall. Odin turns to me.
"Something troubles you. Speak."
"Odin, I don't think I belong here."
"Oh? Why is that?"
"I'm not a warrior. I never went to war. I wasn't brave or courageous. I lived a life of mediocrity. Why am I here?"
Odin sighs and pours each of us another drink.
"Such is the problem with the heroes of your age."
"What do you mean?"
"You learned to value only those forms of valor which are easiest to see. Tell me, Reinventingmyself--what battles did you fight during your life?"
"Odin, I told you. I never fought in any battles."
"You think only of battles in which people fight one another and die. It is true that many of the heroes in Valhalla earned their places here in that way, but they did not do so by swinging swords and axes into other men."
"I still don't understand."
"Countless men throughout the ages of Midgard have fought and died over land, gold, and all else that men desire. There were heroes among them, surely, but not all earn such distinction. You see, a hero isn't one who simply fights. A hero is one who fights for good reason, often for others, and does not yield. A hero stands before his enemy in the face of fear and doubt. A hero remains vigilant in victory and determined in defeat. A hero is willing to sacrifice himself for something he believes is greater than his own life. Keep in mind that not all heroic victories and defeats take place on battlefields of iron and blood. Not all sacrifices involve dying in a moment of glory."
"Odin, I appreciate the distinctions you are making, but I still don't understand how I could have earned a place here. I did not face any great enemies in life, literal or figurative."
"Perhaps I can help you to understand in another way. Reinventingmyself, what do you think the heroes you met tonight did once their battles had been won? Those who lived, anyway."
"I suppose they did their best to recover and go back to living their lives."
"For the most part, yes. They buried their dead, cleaned and bound their wounds, and went back to their works. The ages they lived in did not make their lives easy, but, when their battles were won, they no longer had to live in fear of their enemies. They were free to enjoy the happiness that comes with hard work, community, and family."
"I'm sorry Odin, but I still don't understand."
"Reinventingmyself, how have you felt since you arrived here?"
"Now that you mention it, I don't think I've ever felt better. I had blissful moments in life, but I have never felt so at peace. I felt a little out-of-place among the warriors from before my time, but I didn't feel awkward or anxious. Are those some of the benefits of being here?"
"To a degree, yes, but what you experienced tonight is different from most who come here."
"How so?"
"You said you've never felt better. You feel at peace. What has changed?"
"Oh, of course! I have teeth again! I could lift that heavy mug without anyone helping me. I ate foods that would normally make me ill, but I'm fine. I'm better than fine. I've had my youth restored."
"Restored youth and restored health. Every injury and ailment you have ever endured has been healed. Everyone enjoys those benefits, although some of the warriors miss their scars."
"Odin, if everyone receives these same benefits, then what makes my case different?"
"Those who came here aged and weak are now young are able. Those who came paralyzed now walk. Those who came with maladies of the mind..."
I can't believe I hadn't noticed the difference. The inhibition, the self-loathing, the anxiety, the doubt--it's all gone.
"My depression"
Odin nods.
"You feel a sense of peace here not because your body is free of physical pain and weakness, but because your mind is free of the burden it has borne since you were young. You are finally experiencing what others take for granted throughout their lives."
Don't cry in front of the Allfather. Don't cry in front of the Allfather.
"Odin, I'm grateful for being healed. My body, my mind... it's wonderful. Still, I don't understand what my former illness has to do with my being here."
"Reinventingmyself, you spent a lifetime in combat with an enemy who never rests. While other warriors fought and returned to their normal lives, your normal life was fighting. You suffered countless defeats and still rose to fight again. Where others with the same enemy accepted defeat and even took their own lives, you stood your ground. When your enemy made you feel helpless, you offered help to others who faced the same foe. You lived a life of loneliness, but you reached out to the lonely. You were not wealthy or powerful, but you used what little you had to make sure others had enough. You fought not for your own benefit, but because you knew you were needed by others. You kept fighting because it was the right path, not the easiest or most rewarding, knowing you could never win."
"Odin?"
"Yes?"
"I'll take another mead." | I wrote a poem to honor my bff who lost the battle with depression a while back with this idea in my head.
Valhalla
Mighty Ares beams upon you
Wise Athena takes a knee
Welcomed in by Leonidas
Embraced by Heracles
It is said through Odin’s Halls
And in every house of gold;
The strongest warriors are beckoned in
And rewarded are the bold.
Battles are waged in every clime
And fields are soaked with blood.
The valiant blessed by Angels’ kiss,
Those who gave all that they could.
With sword and armor clashing
Entire armies wage their wars.
But what of those are who struggle always,
Behind closed and bolted doors?
Within the mind, in dark forgotten holes
Dwell massive beasts, stained endlessly in red.
They feed on hate, anger, sadness, and pain
None can escape the demons in their head.
A force nigh on invincible for those unlucky souls
Tearing, clawing, ripping, come the monsters from within.
With sword in hand, and every ounce of will
But alas, against Dragons we can not always win.
Though even as you fall, you shall not be alone.
The Valkyries take your hand, and lift you to your feet.
Tonight you dine with Heroes old,
Where the strongest warriors find release.
Who are those to judge your battles?
Who are they to tell you how to bleed?
Only the gods can know your trials.
And only they will judge your deeds.
Take heart you fallen heroes.
Take heart, those who can’t be saved.
Take heart and hold your head high,
For Valhalla awaits the Brave.
Mighty Ares beams upon you
Wise Athena takes a knee
Welcomed in by Leonidas
Embraced by Heracles | |
[WP] You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought. | "Young warrior your fierce encounters with the demon of despair that has haunted you since birth is beyond admirable. It is the stuff of myths and legends. 'Depression' in your modern tongue is but a symptom of an ancient curse that has all but pushed the mortal world to Ragnarok. You are perhaps one of our finest warriors in the great battle to come!" Odin proclaimed, his laughter bellowing through the halls of Valhalla.
I was flabergasted, astonished and outright dumbfounded. Not the Christians, not the Hindus, not the Muslims - heck not even the Aztecs - It was the Vikings that got the reality of our making right? I suppose I had bigger things to contend right now.
"The great battle?" I asked clueless as to how and when I came to be a warrior, much less one of the 'finest'.
"Well, the battle before the world is made anew! Don't tell me they have forgotten the tales of Ragnarok in the mortal realm!" Odin's surprise showed through his stern, beard-clad face.
"Ragnarok is a very popular role-playing game in the modern age. I'm afraid the realities and nuances of the tale are lost to us new folk" I grinned sheepishly.
"I suppose then I must tell you the great demon of despair, the one prophesized to bring about the end of days - collapsing human civilization on itself and submerging the world in water" Odin continued, "The demon planted seeds of sorrow and madness into tribes of the human world - slowly corrupting the whole world into a destructive madness. A madness of greed, unnatural sustenance, and cancerous growth. Humankind is already twisting itself into a civilization destined to bring about its own doom. Corrupted by the demon apostle, it seems young warrior your world will fall. But in that era of darkness, the righteous - offered salvation in Valhalla - shall return to the earth realm and cleanse the great corruption." Odin finished looking into my eyes. His deep stare made me a bit uncomfortable.
"Can't we just kill this demon guy?" I said
"To kill the demon, we must first learn of its true name and then we must face it, head-on. But I'm afraid we can do neither of those things from Valhalla, not just yet. And even if you were to successfully disrupt the great cycle, you will only anger powers far greater than anything that has so far touched the mortal realms. There are gods greater than your understanding in our universe young warrior. There are prophecies that must be respected and rules that must be followed. And yet even inside its cruel tricks, our world's fate offers us a chance. The only question that remains is, do you heed its call?"
"And if I don't?" I asked, staring blankly back at the mighty allfather.
"It is not in your nature to not fight. It is not your fate to lose the fight against the corruption of sorrow. You have bested the demon despite its tricks. You pushed past every attempt to corrupt your soul. You made it to the end of your life without letting it get the best of you. You have won a battle that a billion souls lost. They lost it in their sleep, in their lowest moments, and in the time in between their thoughts. But not you. It is because you refused to submit that the corruption attacked you much harder, that it persisted further in your life." He explained, his eyes looking as though they expected me to ignite with the flames of passion.
"I'm no hero, allfather. I'm no warrior. I died before I could reach 34. I died at less than half the average lifespan of my grandfather's generation. I died walking to the store in the middle of a cold night. I died because I was dumb enough to slip on ice. I died because nobody cared enough to check on me for hours. I died alone and cold, a hundred feet from my house".
Odin only smirked in response. A short silence passed through the hallway.
"You are a warrior. You died older than Thor, who reached Valhalla fighting the endless barbarian hordes. You died twice the age of Baldr, whose light surpasses even that of Valhalla. You died risking the deadly chill of the warmthless winter on a night where you had but little strength, so that your neighbor Mrs.Pinkett may have hot soup. You died in service of others despite corruption inside your head. A corruption so vile and strong that earth's mightiest have been turned into mere husks or worse - twisted monstrous versions of their former selves." Odin said, looking deeper into my eyes.
I see for a second what looks like thunder and lightning passing within the allfather's eyes.
"And so I ask again, will you head the call?"
I felt a warmth ignite in the depths of my heart. I feel the strength of all the battles that I won. I feel the power to fight the chill of the night, the dread of the corruption, and the sorrow of my kind's curse.
"I do" I said. And at that moment, I realized the truth of the allfather's statement. I realized I was always going to heed the call. That even in my death, I won my battles against my demons. | I wrote a poem to honor my bff who lost the battle with depression a while back with this idea in my head.
Valhalla
Mighty Ares beams upon you
Wise Athena takes a knee
Welcomed in by Leonidas
Embraced by Heracles
It is said through Odin’s Halls
And in every house of gold;
The strongest warriors are beckoned in
And rewarded are the bold.
Battles are waged in every clime
And fields are soaked with blood.
The valiant blessed by Angels’ kiss,
Those who gave all that they could.
With sword and armor clashing
Entire armies wage their wars.
But what of those are who struggle always,
Behind closed and bolted doors?
Within the mind, in dark forgotten holes
Dwell massive beasts, stained endlessly in red.
They feed on hate, anger, sadness, and pain
None can escape the demons in their head.
A force nigh on invincible for those unlucky souls
Tearing, clawing, ripping, come the monsters from within.
With sword in hand, and every ounce of will
But alas, against Dragons we can not always win.
Though even as you fall, you shall not be alone.
The Valkyries take your hand, and lift you to your feet.
Tonight you dine with Heroes old,
Where the strongest warriors find release.
Who are those to judge your battles?
Who are they to tell you how to bleed?
Only the gods can know your trials.
And only they will judge your deeds.
Take heart you fallen heroes.
Take heart, those who can’t be saved.
Take heart and hold your head high,
For Valhalla awaits the Brave.
Mighty Ares beams upon you
Wise Athena takes a knee
Welcomed in by Leonidas
Embraced by Heracles | |
[WP] You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought. | As Jose lay dying, darkness slowly crept in from the edges of his vision. He welcomed it. Jose's son started shouting for the nurse, squeezing his father's bony hand tighter. But there was no point. This was what Jose wanted. Faintly, he heard the machines by his bedside start to screech and beep. *Good*, he thought. *I'll all be over soon*.
When Jose took his final, ragged breath, blinding light burned away the darkness and illuminated the shabby little room he'd spent the last few weeks of his long, haggard life. The woman that descended from the light was an oil painting. Her armor glittered, as if dappled with sunshine. And her horse was pure titanium white, even its wings. She was divine. And, somehow, Jose knew she'd come for him.
The woman cradled Jose in her arms, and her smile split the clouds, revealing the dawn.
\*\*\*
When Jose awoke, he was laying in a field. He rolled over and pushed himself up and stopped. There was no pain. No fatigue. His hands weren't wasted and skeletal. He held them up to his face. They were dark and strong and … young.
"Good," rumbled a voice like rocks tumbling. "You're awake."
Jose turned and found a man standing in the field with him. His beard came down to his chest and was gray and braided in places. He leaned on a gnarled wooden staff and wore a cracked leather patch over one of his eyes.
"Who are you? Where am I?" Jose asked. Towers rose in the distance, nothing like the New York City skyline. These towers were gilded and spiraled and, even from this distance, hummed.
"I go by many names," said the old man. "Spearman, Lord of the Undead, The Wanderer, The One Who is Many, God of the Hanged, The One Eyed Raven God, Terrible One, The All-Father, Wednesday … but you may call me Odin."
"Oh," said Jose. "I see. I thought I'd have my life flash before my eyes, but this seems better."
"You are not dying, Jose Shadowbane. You stand outside the Halls of Valhalla."
Jose barked a laugh. "First of all, I'm no Viking. My last name's Ortiz. And second, I'm -- was Catholic. I'm supposed to be in purgatory."
Odin stumped forward. "Viking is not a race, Shadowbane. It is an identity. And not to worry. Lamb's Blood is here as well. All who fall in battle are welcome, as my children."
"Battle? Alright, I think I've heard enough. Which way is purgatory? You know what -- never mind."
Jose turned to walk away but the old man, Odin, appeared there before him. Jose turned again, and there he was.
"You are welcome here, son," said Odin. "But I will not force you. There are no slaves in Valhalla."
"Enough with the Viking stuff!" Jose shouted. "I'm not a warrior. I've never swung a sword in my life. Only paint brushes." He looked down. "And bottles."
"Not every battlefield is a literal one--" Odin stroked his beard. "--some are a great deal more … nebulous."
"Oh fuck off. I'm not doing riddles."
Odin smiled sadly. "Your battle happened every day, Shadowbane, here--" He pointed to his heart. "--and here--" He pointed to his head. "Not even the Thunderer could hope to vanquish such a foe easily. Do you understand?"
"You--you're talking about my depression?" Anger shook him clear to his marrow. "How *dare* you make light of my suffering. My pain! You know nothing! Every day I woke up and clawed my way through a calcified wall of shame and guilt and regret. Some days I couldn't eat. Couldn't move. Couldn't tell my son I loved him. I drank myself into a hole for years. I--" He was crying now. "I'm not a warrior. I'm done."
Odin nodded knowingly. "But you fought, Shadowbane. You fought a battle that could not be won, for there was no foe to slay. You fought a battle that could only be survived. There is great honor in such a feat."
Jose laughed bitterly. "Survived? I asked my son to pull the plug. I made my boy put his father down like a lame horse and I was glad. And not because of the cancer, but because I couldn't finally, finally stop fighting. I gave up. Where's the honor in that, *Odin*?"
Odin stumped closer and placed a hand on Jose's shoulder. He flinched, and Odin pulled his hand back. "Yes, you chose death. But you spared your boy the pain of watching his father waste away. You chose mercy. I do not know if I could have done the same, Shadowbane."
Jose looked up and stared into Odin's face. His one eye glittered, tearing up. Jose's shoulders slumped, and he said, "I didn't win."
"But you fought. You fought. And so, I welcome you, my son."
Jose and Odin walked through the lush grass toward the towering doors of the Shining Hall. Outside, warriors trained, sparring with sword and shield. Inside, they drank and ate at long tables stretching impossibly long. Odin told him it was time to get dressed. Jose expected chainmail or something *Lord of the Ringsy*. Instead, he was given a simple tunic and comfortable shoes. Then they walked down a corridor and stopped in front of a door.
"What's in there?" Jose asked.
"Your battleground," Odin said, and opened the door.
Inside was a circle of wooden chairs. And in each chair sat a warrior. They were of all ages, races, faces. In one of the chairs, sat a massive man with fiery red hair. He had a look in his eyes that Jose had seen in the mirror far too many times. A hollow, haggard dejection.
One of the warriors, a dark-skinned man with the warmest smile Jose had ever seen, nodded to Odin and ushered Jose inside. Jose sat in an empty chair and watched. The warriors took turns introducing themselves and speaking not about battle or glory, but about things Jose understood. The darkness. The pain. The guilt. Even Thor. After a while, the room seemed to brighten, if only a bit. It was enough.
And when it was his turn, he spoke. "Hello. My name is Jose … Shadowbane." | I wrote a poem to honor my bff who lost the battle with depression a while back with this idea in my head.
Valhalla
Mighty Ares beams upon you
Wise Athena takes a knee
Welcomed in by Leonidas
Embraced by Heracles
It is said through Odin’s Halls
And in every house of gold;
The strongest warriors are beckoned in
And rewarded are the bold.
Battles are waged in every clime
And fields are soaked with blood.
The valiant blessed by Angels’ kiss,
Those who gave all that they could.
With sword and armor clashing
Entire armies wage their wars.
But what of those are who struggle always,
Behind closed and bolted doors?
Within the mind, in dark forgotten holes
Dwell massive beasts, stained endlessly in red.
They feed on hate, anger, sadness, and pain
None can escape the demons in their head.
A force nigh on invincible for those unlucky souls
Tearing, clawing, ripping, come the monsters from within.
With sword in hand, and every ounce of will
But alas, against Dragons we can not always win.
Though even as you fall, you shall not be alone.
The Valkyries take your hand, and lift you to your feet.
Tonight you dine with Heroes old,
Where the strongest warriors find release.
Who are those to judge your battles?
Who are they to tell you how to bleed?
Only the gods can know your trials.
And only they will judge your deeds.
Take heart you fallen heroes.
Take heart, those who can’t be saved.
Take heart and hold your head high,
For Valhalla awaits the Brave.
Mighty Ares beams upon you
Wise Athena takes a knee
Welcomed in by Leonidas
Embraced by Heracles | |
[WP] You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought. | As Jose lay dying, darkness slowly crept in from the edges of his vision. He welcomed it. Jose's son started shouting for the nurse, squeezing his father's bony hand tighter. But there was no point. This was what Jose wanted. Faintly, he heard the machines by his bedside start to screech and beep. *Good*, he thought. *I'll all be over soon*.
When Jose took his final, ragged breath, blinding light burned away the darkness and illuminated the shabby little room he'd spent the last few weeks of his long, haggard life. The woman that descended from the light was an oil painting. Her armor glittered, as if dappled with sunshine. And her horse was pure titanium white, even its wings. She was divine. And, somehow, Jose knew she'd come for him.
The woman cradled Jose in her arms, and her smile split the clouds, revealing the dawn.
\*\*\*
When Jose awoke, he was laying in a field. He rolled over and pushed himself up and stopped. There was no pain. No fatigue. His hands weren't wasted and skeletal. He held them up to his face. They were dark and strong and … young.
"Good," rumbled a voice like rocks tumbling. "You're awake."
Jose turned and found a man standing in the field with him. His beard came down to his chest and was gray and braided in places. He leaned on a gnarled wooden staff and wore a cracked leather patch over one of his eyes.
"Who are you? Where am I?" Jose asked. Towers rose in the distance, nothing like the New York City skyline. These towers were gilded and spiraled and, even from this distance, hummed.
"I go by many names," said the old man. "Spearman, Lord of the Undead, The Wanderer, The One Who is Many, God of the Hanged, The One Eyed Raven God, Terrible One, The All-Father, Wednesday … but you may call me Odin."
"Oh," said Jose. "I see. I thought I'd have my life flash before my eyes, but this seems better."
"You are not dying, Jose Shadowbane. You stand outside the Halls of Valhalla."
Jose barked a laugh. "First of all, I'm no Viking. My last name's Ortiz. And second, I'm -- was Catholic. I'm supposed to be in purgatory."
Odin stumped forward. "Viking is not a race, Shadowbane. It is an identity. And not to worry. Lamb's Blood is here as well. All who fall in battle are welcome, as my children."
"Battle? Alright, I think I've heard enough. Which way is purgatory? You know what -- never mind."
Jose turned to walk away but the old man, Odin, appeared there before him. Jose turned again, and there he was.
"You are welcome here, son," said Odin. "But I will not force you. There are no slaves in Valhalla."
"Enough with the Viking stuff!" Jose shouted. "I'm not a warrior. I've never swung a sword in my life. Only paint brushes." He looked down. "And bottles."
"Not every battlefield is a literal one--" Odin stroked his beard. "--some are a great deal more … nebulous."
"Oh fuck off. I'm not doing riddles."
Odin smiled sadly. "Your battle happened every day, Shadowbane, here--" He pointed to his heart. "--and here--" He pointed to his head. "Not even the Thunderer could hope to vanquish such a foe easily. Do you understand?"
"You--you're talking about my depression?" Anger shook him clear to his marrow. "How *dare* you make light of my suffering. My pain! You know nothing! Every day I woke up and clawed my way through a calcified wall of shame and guilt and regret. Some days I couldn't eat. Couldn't move. Couldn't tell my son I loved him. I drank myself into a hole for years. I--" He was crying now. "I'm not a warrior. I'm done."
Odin nodded knowingly. "But you fought, Shadowbane. You fought a battle that could not be won, for there was no foe to slay. You fought a battle that could only be survived. There is great honor in such a feat."
Jose laughed bitterly. "Survived? I asked my son to pull the plug. I made my boy put his father down like a lame horse and I was glad. And not because of the cancer, but because I couldn't finally, finally stop fighting. I gave up. Where's the honor in that, *Odin*?"
Odin stumped closer and placed a hand on Jose's shoulder. He flinched, and Odin pulled his hand back. "Yes, you chose death. But you spared your boy the pain of watching his father waste away. You chose mercy. I do not know if I could have done the same, Shadowbane."
Jose looked up and stared into Odin's face. His one eye glittered, tearing up. Jose's shoulders slumped, and he said, "I didn't win."
"But you fought. You fought. And so, I welcome you, my son."
Jose and Odin walked through the lush grass toward the towering doors of the Shining Hall. Outside, warriors trained, sparring with sword and shield. Inside, they drank and ate at long tables stretching impossibly long. Odin told him it was time to get dressed. Jose expected chainmail or something *Lord of the Ringsy*. Instead, he was given a simple tunic and comfortable shoes. Then they walked down a corridor and stopped in front of a door.
"What's in there?" Jose asked.
"Your battleground," Odin said, and opened the door.
Inside was a circle of wooden chairs. And in each chair sat a warrior. They were of all ages, races, faces. In one of the chairs, sat a massive man with fiery red hair. He had a look in his eyes that Jose had seen in the mirror far too many times. A hollow, haggard dejection.
One of the warriors, a dark-skinned man with the warmest smile Jose had ever seen, nodded to Odin and ushered Jose inside. Jose sat in an empty chair and watched. The warriors took turns introducing themselves and speaking not about battle or glory, but about things Jose understood. The darkness. The pain. The guilt. Even Thor. After a while, the room seemed to brighten, if only a bit. It was enough.
And when it was his turn, he spoke. "Hello. My name is Jose … Shadowbane." | (reposting something I wrote ages ago from a similar prompt)
I do not understand how I came to be here. Just now I was at home listening to music. The nurse who sometimes checks on me put on some Vivaldi while I was in my chair by the fireplace. It was a nice way to spend a winter afternoon. This place... it's evening time and feels like summer. I'm not cold.
"Is anyone there?"
"Welcome, Reinventingmyself, to Valhalla! Join us now for a feast in your honor!"
"What? Who are you? What's going on?"
"I am Odin, Allfather, ruler of Asgard. Reinventingmyself, your time in Midgard is over; your mortal life is complete. Your battles fought and honor won have earned you a place here among the greatest warriors. Come now; feast, drink, and celebration await!"
"I don't understand! You're saying I'm dead? This is the afterlife? I must be dreaming."
"This is no dream, I assure you. Follow me and all will be clear."
I follow the man into an impossibly large hall. I have never seen such a table or so much food. Where is it all coming from? I don't see a kitchen. This can't be real.
"Your place is here at my side. Sit! Eat!"
"O--Odin? I still don't understa--"
"Oh, hush for a moment and eat something! We have until Ragnarok to satisfy your questions!"
He puts his hand on my shoulder and forces me into the chair. I nod silently and look at the food set before me. I don't see how I'm supposed to eat any of this without my dentures. Even if I could eat it, I'd surely be sick. I've been eating salads and bland chicken for fifteen years.
"Loki! Bring our new man some mead! And if you give him that damned cup Pythagoras made, I'll let Thor have a go at you!"
I know these names. Valhalla, Odin, Loki, Thor... these are the Norse myths. Am I really dead? Is there really an afterlife? Of all the different religions and myths, is this the real one?
A man sets a mug in front of me with a sly grin.
"Don't worry, even I wouldn't trick you on your first day."
"Thank you." I think...
The mug is lighter than it looks. I don't think I've ever had mead before. Ninety-three years and I never tried mead. What a waste. It's actually quite good. The way it flows over my teeth is pleasing. Wait, teeth?
"Warriors! Heroes! Offer welcome to our newest man, Reinventingmyself, whose deeds have earned him a place among us!"
Everyone cheers and raises their mugs. Most of them drink like I haven't seen since my college days. Looking around, not everyone seems to fit in. Most of these people are what I might expect in Valhalla. They look as if they could put an axe in my skull as easily as raise their mugs. Even the women look stronger than I was in my youth. Still, a few look like me. They're celebrating with the others, but they don't look like hardened warriors from hundreds of years ago. This doesn't make sense.
The warriors greet me.
"Well met, Reinventingmyself!" "Welcome to our table!" "You lived to ninety-three you say? You must have had a thick shield!"
I shouldn't be here. If I'm really dead, this isn't where I belong. I'm not a warrior. I wasn't even in the military.
Odin places his hand on my shoulder again, this time more gently. He leans in and whispers,
"Relax and enjoy yourself. We will speak once the feast is over."
I heed his advice. The food is amazing, and I don't have any difficulty eating. My strength has returned. It's no longer a struggle to lift food to my mouth. I don't have to worry about choking if I haven't chewed enough. I suppose that wouldn't be a problem here, anyway. I can't remember the last time I've had this much fun.
The warriors are telling stories of battles and feats. Some are their own, others are of fathers, mothers, clansmen, even some enemies. They have such a reverence for bravery and honor. Many of them died in battle defending their families and ways of life. Others died as old men after a lifetime of battle and struggle.
This is a mistake. I don't have any victories or deeds to speak of. I have done nothing noteworthy. When I was young, I stayed in while others went out and were adventurous. In early adulthood, I was unable to find work and had to rely on family for help while my most took jobs and became independent. When I finally found stable work, my peers were already in careers and starting families. I eventually found some stability in life, but I never did anything extraordinary. I never married. I lived a quiet life until I died in a chair. Why am I here?
Hours pass. After those gathered have had time to tell stories and drink their fill, Odin finally stands.
"Heroes, take your drinks outside and start a fire. Reinventingmyself and I will join you shortly."
The sound of cheer and laughter fades as the warriors leave the hall. Odin turns to me.
"Something troubles you. Speak."
"Odin, I don't think I belong here."
"Oh? Why is that?"
"I'm not a warrior. I never went to war. I wasn't brave or courageous. I lived a life of mediocrity. Why am I here?"
Odin sighs and pours each of us another drink.
"Such is the problem with the heroes of your age."
"What do you mean?"
"You learned to value only those forms of valor which are easiest to see. Tell me, Reinventingmyself--what battles did you fight during your life?"
"Odin, I told you. I never fought in any battles."
"You think only of battles in which people fight one another and die. It is true that many of the heroes in Valhalla earned their places here in that way, but they did not do so by swinging swords and axes into other men."
"I still don't understand."
"Countless men throughout the ages of Midgard have fought and died over land, gold, and all else that men desire. There were heroes among them, surely, but not all earn such distinction. You see, a hero isn't one who simply fights. A hero is one who fights for good reason, often for others, and does not yield. A hero stands before his enemy in the face of fear and doubt. A hero remains vigilant in victory and determined in defeat. A hero is willing to sacrifice himself for something he believes is greater than his own life. Keep in mind that not all heroic victories and defeats take place on battlefields of iron and blood. Not all sacrifices involve dying in a moment of glory."
"Odin, I appreciate the distinctions you are making, but I still don't understand how I could have earned a place here. I did not face any great enemies in life, literal or figurative."
"Perhaps I can help you to understand in another way. Reinventingmyself, what do you think the heroes you met tonight did once their battles had been won? Those who lived, anyway."
"I suppose they did their best to recover and go back to living their lives."
"For the most part, yes. They buried their dead, cleaned and bound their wounds, and went back to their works. The ages they lived in did not make their lives easy, but, when their battles were won, they no longer had to live in fear of their enemies. They were free to enjoy the happiness that comes with hard work, community, and family."
"I'm sorry Odin, but I still don't understand."
"Reinventingmyself, how have you felt since you arrived here?"
"Now that you mention it, I don't think I've ever felt better. I had blissful moments in life, but I have never felt so at peace. I felt a little out-of-place among the warriors from before my time, but I didn't feel awkward or anxious. Are those some of the benefits of being here?"
"To a degree, yes, but what you experienced tonight is different from most who come here."
"How so?"
"You said you've never felt better. You feel at peace. What has changed?"
"Oh, of course! I have teeth again! I could lift that heavy mug without anyone helping me. I ate foods that would normally make me ill, but I'm fine. I'm better than fine. I've had my youth restored."
"Restored youth and restored health. Every injury and ailment you have ever endured has been healed. Everyone enjoys those benefits, although some of the warriors miss their scars."
"Odin, if everyone receives these same benefits, then what makes my case different?"
"Those who came here aged and weak are now young are able. Those who came paralyzed now walk. Those who came with maladies of the mind..."
I can't believe I hadn't noticed the difference. The inhibition, the self-loathing, the anxiety, the doubt--it's all gone.
"My depression"
Odin nods.
"You feel a sense of peace here not because your body is free of physical pain and weakness, but because your mind is free of the burden it has borne since you were young. You are finally experiencing what others take for granted throughout their lives."
Don't cry in front of the Allfather. Don't cry in front of the Allfather.
"Odin, I'm grateful for being healed. My body, my mind... it's wonderful. Still, I don't understand what my former illness has to do with my being here."
"Reinventingmyself, you spent a lifetime in combat with an enemy who never rests. While other warriors fought and returned to their normal lives, your normal life was fighting. You suffered countless defeats and still rose to fight again. Where others with the same enemy accepted defeat and even took their own lives, you stood your ground. When your enemy made you feel helpless, you offered help to others who faced the same foe. You lived a life of loneliness, but you reached out to the lonely. You were not wealthy or powerful, but you used what little you had to make sure others had enough. You fought not for your own benefit, but because you knew you were needed by others. You kept fighting because it was the right path, not the easiest or most rewarding, knowing you could never win."
"Odin?"
"Yes?"
"I'll take another mead." | |
[WP] You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought. | As Jose lay dying, darkness slowly crept in from the edges of his vision. He welcomed it. Jose's son started shouting for the nurse, squeezing his father's bony hand tighter. But there was no point. This was what Jose wanted. Faintly, he heard the machines by his bedside start to screech and beep. *Good*, he thought. *I'll all be over soon*.
When Jose took his final, ragged breath, blinding light burned away the darkness and illuminated the shabby little room he'd spent the last few weeks of his long, haggard life. The woman that descended from the light was an oil painting. Her armor glittered, as if dappled with sunshine. And her horse was pure titanium white, even its wings. She was divine. And, somehow, Jose knew she'd come for him.
The woman cradled Jose in her arms, and her smile split the clouds, revealing the dawn.
\*\*\*
When Jose awoke, he was laying in a field. He rolled over and pushed himself up and stopped. There was no pain. No fatigue. His hands weren't wasted and skeletal. He held them up to his face. They were dark and strong and … young.
"Good," rumbled a voice like rocks tumbling. "You're awake."
Jose turned and found a man standing in the field with him. His beard came down to his chest and was gray and braided in places. He leaned on a gnarled wooden staff and wore a cracked leather patch over one of his eyes.
"Who are you? Where am I?" Jose asked. Towers rose in the distance, nothing like the New York City skyline. These towers were gilded and spiraled and, even from this distance, hummed.
"I go by many names," said the old man. "Spearman, Lord of the Undead, The Wanderer, The One Who is Many, God of the Hanged, The One Eyed Raven God, Terrible One, The All-Father, Wednesday … but you may call me Odin."
"Oh," said Jose. "I see. I thought I'd have my life flash before my eyes, but this seems better."
"You are not dying, Jose Shadowbane. You stand outside the Halls of Valhalla."
Jose barked a laugh. "First of all, I'm no Viking. My last name's Ortiz. And second, I'm -- was Catholic. I'm supposed to be in purgatory."
Odin stumped forward. "Viking is not a race, Shadowbane. It is an identity. And not to worry. Lamb's Blood is here as well. All who fall in battle are welcome, as my children."
"Battle? Alright, I think I've heard enough. Which way is purgatory? You know what -- never mind."
Jose turned to walk away but the old man, Odin, appeared there before him. Jose turned again, and there he was.
"You are welcome here, son," said Odin. "But I will not force you. There are no slaves in Valhalla."
"Enough with the Viking stuff!" Jose shouted. "I'm not a warrior. I've never swung a sword in my life. Only paint brushes." He looked down. "And bottles."
"Not every battlefield is a literal one--" Odin stroked his beard. "--some are a great deal more … nebulous."
"Oh fuck off. I'm not doing riddles."
Odin smiled sadly. "Your battle happened every day, Shadowbane, here--" He pointed to his heart. "--and here--" He pointed to his head. "Not even the Thunderer could hope to vanquish such a foe easily. Do you understand?"
"You--you're talking about my depression?" Anger shook him clear to his marrow. "How *dare* you make light of my suffering. My pain! You know nothing! Every day I woke up and clawed my way through a calcified wall of shame and guilt and regret. Some days I couldn't eat. Couldn't move. Couldn't tell my son I loved him. I drank myself into a hole for years. I--" He was crying now. "I'm not a warrior. I'm done."
Odin nodded knowingly. "But you fought, Shadowbane. You fought a battle that could not be won, for there was no foe to slay. You fought a battle that could only be survived. There is great honor in such a feat."
Jose laughed bitterly. "Survived? I asked my son to pull the plug. I made my boy put his father down like a lame horse and I was glad. And not because of the cancer, but because I couldn't finally, finally stop fighting. I gave up. Where's the honor in that, *Odin*?"
Odin stumped closer and placed a hand on Jose's shoulder. He flinched, and Odin pulled his hand back. "Yes, you chose death. But you spared your boy the pain of watching his father waste away. You chose mercy. I do not know if I could have done the same, Shadowbane."
Jose looked up and stared into Odin's face. His one eye glittered, tearing up. Jose's shoulders slumped, and he said, "I didn't win."
"But you fought. You fought. And so, I welcome you, my son."
Jose and Odin walked through the lush grass toward the towering doors of the Shining Hall. Outside, warriors trained, sparring with sword and shield. Inside, they drank and ate at long tables stretching impossibly long. Odin told him it was time to get dressed. Jose expected chainmail or something *Lord of the Ringsy*. Instead, he was given a simple tunic and comfortable shoes. Then they walked down a corridor and stopped in front of a door.
"What's in there?" Jose asked.
"Your battleground," Odin said, and opened the door.
Inside was a circle of wooden chairs. And in each chair sat a warrior. They were of all ages, races, faces. In one of the chairs, sat a massive man with fiery red hair. He had a look in his eyes that Jose had seen in the mirror far too many times. A hollow, haggard dejection.
One of the warriors, a dark-skinned man with the warmest smile Jose had ever seen, nodded to Odin and ushered Jose inside. Jose sat in an empty chair and watched. The warriors took turns introducing themselves and speaking not about battle or glory, but about things Jose understood. The darkness. The pain. The guilt. Even Thor. After a while, the room seemed to brighten, if only a bit. It was enough.
And when it was his turn, he spoke. "Hello. My name is Jose … Shadowbane." | "Young warrior your fierce encounters with the demon of despair that has haunted you since birth is beyond admirable. It is the stuff of myths and legends. 'Depression' in your modern tongue is but a symptom of an ancient curse that has all but pushed the mortal world to Ragnarok. You are perhaps one of our finest warriors in the great battle to come!" Odin proclaimed, his laughter bellowing through the halls of Valhalla.
I was flabergasted, astonished and outright dumbfounded. Not the Christians, not the Hindus, not the Muslims - heck not even the Aztecs - It was the Vikings that got the reality of our making right? I suppose I had bigger things to contend right now.
"The great battle?" I asked clueless as to how and when I came to be a warrior, much less one of the 'finest'.
"Well, the battle before the world is made anew! Don't tell me they have forgotten the tales of Ragnarok in the mortal realm!" Odin's surprise showed through his stern, beard-clad face.
"Ragnarok is a very popular role-playing game in the modern age. I'm afraid the realities and nuances of the tale are lost to us new folk" I grinned sheepishly.
"I suppose then I must tell you the great demon of despair, the one prophesized to bring about the end of days - collapsing human civilization on itself and submerging the world in water" Odin continued, "The demon planted seeds of sorrow and madness into tribes of the human world - slowly corrupting the whole world into a destructive madness. A madness of greed, unnatural sustenance, and cancerous growth. Humankind is already twisting itself into a civilization destined to bring about its own doom. Corrupted by the demon apostle, it seems young warrior your world will fall. But in that era of darkness, the righteous - offered salvation in Valhalla - shall return to the earth realm and cleanse the great corruption." Odin finished looking into my eyes. His deep stare made me a bit uncomfortable.
"Can't we just kill this demon guy?" I said
"To kill the demon, we must first learn of its true name and then we must face it, head-on. But I'm afraid we can do neither of those things from Valhalla, not just yet. And even if you were to successfully disrupt the great cycle, you will only anger powers far greater than anything that has so far touched the mortal realms. There are gods greater than your understanding in our universe young warrior. There are prophecies that must be respected and rules that must be followed. And yet even inside its cruel tricks, our world's fate offers us a chance. The only question that remains is, do you heed its call?"
"And if I don't?" I asked, staring blankly back at the mighty allfather.
"It is not in your nature to not fight. It is not your fate to lose the fight against the corruption of sorrow. You have bested the demon despite its tricks. You pushed past every attempt to corrupt your soul. You made it to the end of your life without letting it get the best of you. You have won a battle that a billion souls lost. They lost it in their sleep, in their lowest moments, and in the time in between their thoughts. But not you. It is because you refused to submit that the corruption attacked you much harder, that it persisted further in your life." He explained, his eyes looking as though they expected me to ignite with the flames of passion.
"I'm no hero, allfather. I'm no warrior. I died before I could reach 34. I died at less than half the average lifespan of my grandfather's generation. I died walking to the store in the middle of a cold night. I died because I was dumb enough to slip on ice. I died because nobody cared enough to check on me for hours. I died alone and cold, a hundred feet from my house".
Odin only smirked in response. A short silence passed through the hallway.
"You are a warrior. You died older than Thor, who reached Valhalla fighting the endless barbarian hordes. You died twice the age of Baldr, whose light surpasses even that of Valhalla. You died risking the deadly chill of the warmthless winter on a night where you had but little strength, so that your neighbor Mrs.Pinkett may have hot soup. You died in service of others despite corruption inside your head. A corruption so vile and strong that earth's mightiest have been turned into mere husks or worse - twisted monstrous versions of their former selves." Odin said, looking deeper into my eyes.
I see for a second what looks like thunder and lightning passing within the allfather's eyes.
"And so I ask again, will you head the call?"
I felt a warmth ignite in the depths of my heart. I feel the strength of all the battles that I won. I feel the power to fight the chill of the night, the dread of the corruption, and the sorrow of my kind's curse.
"I do" I said. And at that moment, I realized the truth of the allfather's statement. I realized I was always going to heed the call. That even in my death, I won my battles against my demons. | |
[WP] You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought. | "Warrior! One who would not stay hidden, one who fought against the horde, one who sought wisdom to gain strength, may your back be strong as you stand in these halls" the voice boomed.
The feeling of hard cold stone under my feet lurched me from the sweet warmth of the void. I was naked, and clutching a folding knife in my hand. In front of me I saw a figure wearing a cloak and a large hat, he held a staff with both hands. The light coming in from the windows cut in the wall behind him cast his shadow over me.
"You have been called here, to train for the glory of ragnarok, any who fight before me must join willingly, the Aesir do not share the glory of battle with slaves."
A raven flew down and landed on the man's staff, it leaned forward and whispered in his ear. Swiftly the man turned and said "follow me".
He walked with slow surefooted strides, the regal gate of a warrior king, I intuitively followed a step behind him.
"My friend has informed me of your inquisitive nature, without giving you the knowledge you seek you will never be able to pledge your blade. These halls stand on the edge of time, in the very veins of yggdrasil itself, speak now warrior, drink of my wisdom that it may quench your thirst"
He navigated the maze of corridors as we walked.
"Who are you? What happened? Am i..."
"I have many names" he said quickly before I could finish my sentence.
"The one eyed, Grimnier, the sure footed, the delighter of friggya, the wise, Ginarr, the wanderer, the thunderer, the God of the gallows, God of men, the leader, the All father, the terrible one"
He stopped and looked at me, removing his hat, a patch covered one of his eyes but I felt both staring deeply into my soul.
"You however would know me best as Odin."
He turned and opened a door on the wall behind him, as I stepped inside I saw an axe and sheild along with leather sandals and armor next to a basin.
Odin began murmuring something i did not understand as he stepped forth and washed my skin. He then helped me dress with the armor, at last strapping the shield to my arm. Finally he looked to my right hand and gestured for my knife.
"While this may have secured your passage there is no need for it here" I handed it to him willingly and he thrust the axe in my hand.
"There, now that you are dressed as you were meant to be come with me, I will show you the hall"
We left the room and continued down the corridor, I began to hear screaming and the clashing of swords.
"Here we train, one day my blood brother will betray us, he will pay for his crime, but will think my ruling unjust."
The sounds grew louder, I could see a large door coming into view at the end of the corridor.
"We train here to do battle with his children and kin. Those who were valiant warriors are brought here to fight and feast, to share the glory of the final battle."
"Why was I brought here then? I was pi..."
"YOU" he snapped cutting me off again.
"You waged battle every moment of your life. A warrior who fights only man or giant can return to his home and rest, but you fought the wolves inside of you. Day in and day out, you rose and fought without any quarter, you stood against pain from inside and out. For that, you have earned your right to enter this hall."
He stopped in front of the door.
"So I ask of you will you pledge your axe to me?"
I thought for a moment about the pain I had felt. About the times as a child when I had cried about wanting to go home while sitting in my room. About the feelings of dread and anxiety that would come throughout my life at a moments notice. I was always on edge, always miserable, always tired, always hearing so many voices putting me down in my head or stressing me out. I could not deny that I had fought for as long as I could remember. Perhaps this was the afterlife meant for me.
"I will all father, but I need to ask one more question"
"Of course" he said, I could tell he already knew what I was going to ask.
"I remember my life, but I don't know how I died, what happened?"
The sound of swords clashing and screaming grew louder behind the doors, he frowned slightly and said:
"Valhalla is a place for warriors, only those who die in battle may walk these halls, only those who are overcome by their enemy may share in this glory."
And at that he pushed the doors open. | I awoke in what appeared to be the entrance to a colossal structure that my subconscious told me was a mead hall. This was set on an endless plain with no major features beyond this hall.
The door in front of me opened revealing a jolly, large man bristling with muscles, dressed in traditional Viking attire, and sporting several battle scars and bruises. The sound of cheering came out with him.
“Been a while since we’ve had a new face around here!” The man boasted. “I am Odin, welcome to Valhalla!”
“V-Valhalla?” I stammered “But I didn’t fall in battle!”
“Battles don’t have to be physical, my boy!” Odin stated. “You’ve been fighting a fierce battle for decades right up until your final breath!”
“Wait, struggling with depression counts as a battle?”
“Of course! Now get in here and join the feasting, we just loaded a fresh cow onto the rotisserie!” | |
[WP] You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought. | "Warrior! One who would not stay hidden, one who fought against the horde, one who sought wisdom to gain strength, may your back be strong as you stand in these halls" the voice boomed.
The feeling of hard cold stone under my feet lurched me from the sweet warmth of the void. I was naked, and clutching a folding knife in my hand. In front of me I saw a figure wearing a cloak and a large hat, he held a staff with both hands. The light coming in from the windows cut in the wall behind him cast his shadow over me.
"You have been called here, to train for the glory of ragnarok, any who fight before me must join willingly, the Aesir do not share the glory of battle with slaves."
A raven flew down and landed on the man's staff, it leaned forward and whispered in his ear. Swiftly the man turned and said "follow me".
He walked with slow surefooted strides, the regal gate of a warrior king, I intuitively followed a step behind him.
"My friend has informed me of your inquisitive nature, without giving you the knowledge you seek you will never be able to pledge your blade. These halls stand on the edge of time, in the very veins of yggdrasil itself, speak now warrior, drink of my wisdom that it may quench your thirst"
He navigated the maze of corridors as we walked.
"Who are you? What happened? Am i..."
"I have many names" he said quickly before I could finish my sentence.
"The one eyed, Grimnier, the sure footed, the delighter of friggya, the wise, Ginarr, the wanderer, the thunderer, the God of the gallows, God of men, the leader, the All father, the terrible one"
He stopped and looked at me, removing his hat, a patch covered one of his eyes but I felt both staring deeply into my soul.
"You however would know me best as Odin."
He turned and opened a door on the wall behind him, as I stepped inside I saw an axe and sheild along with leather sandals and armor next to a basin.
Odin began murmuring something i did not understand as he stepped forth and washed my skin. He then helped me dress with the armor, at last strapping the shield to my arm. Finally he looked to my right hand and gestured for my knife.
"While this may have secured your passage there is no need for it here" I handed it to him willingly and he thrust the axe in my hand.
"There, now that you are dressed as you were meant to be come with me, I will show you the hall"
We left the room and continued down the corridor, I began to hear screaming and the clashing of swords.
"Here we train, one day my blood brother will betray us, he will pay for his crime, but will think my ruling unjust."
The sounds grew louder, I could see a large door coming into view at the end of the corridor.
"We train here to do battle with his children and kin. Those who were valiant warriors are brought here to fight and feast, to share the glory of the final battle."
"Why was I brought here then? I was pi..."
"YOU" he snapped cutting me off again.
"You waged battle every moment of your life. A warrior who fights only man or giant can return to his home and rest, but you fought the wolves inside of you. Day in and day out, you rose and fought without any quarter, you stood against pain from inside and out. For that, you have earned your right to enter this hall."
He stopped in front of the door.
"So I ask of you will you pledge your axe to me?"
I thought for a moment about the pain I had felt. About the times as a child when I had cried about wanting to go home while sitting in my room. About the feelings of dread and anxiety that would come throughout my life at a moments notice. I was always on edge, always miserable, always tired, always hearing so many voices putting me down in my head or stressing me out. I could not deny that I had fought for as long as I could remember. Perhaps this was the afterlife meant for me.
"I will all father, but I need to ask one more question"
"Of course" he said, I could tell he already knew what I was going to ask.
"I remember my life, but I don't know how I died, what happened?"
The sound of swords clashing and screaming grew louder behind the doors, he frowned slightly and said:
"Valhalla is a place for warriors, only those who die in battle may walk these halls, only those who are overcome by their enemy may share in this glory."
And at that he pushed the doors open. | # Soulmage
**I'd always assumed that I would be the reason why I died.** I'd muddled through life by hiding in corners and hoping that whatever monster I'd pissed off this time wouldn't try to finish the job.
But as it turned out, that wasn't how it started. I wasn't sent to Odin at the hands of a sadistic elf or an arrogant witch.
I met Odin thanks to a poorly-timed gust of wind.
It had been such a nice evening, too. I'd spent the night dragon-watching with a kind and lonely girl my age atop an ancient clock tower. The cold was biting through our clothes, and even though Lucet was an ice witch it was getting a bit much for both of us, so with a gesture and a spell she created the precarious icy handholds that we used to climb down the tower.
And as the wind picked up and the slippery ice shifted, I fell.
I hardly had time to think *Really?* before I slammed into the courtyard below and blacked out.
When I awoke, the world had the eerie, black-and-white quality of the shifting sparks I saw when I closed my eyes and rubbed them hard. I tried opening my eyes, found they were already open, and tried closing them instead. Nothing changed.
"We're in your soulspace, kid. Eyes aren't what you see with here," a man's amused voice said from behind me.
I tried to spin around, but even though I could swear my body was moving, nothing changed. The man walked into my field of view, and he was tall and barrel-chested and draped in Redlands furs.
I frowned at him. "Am I... dreaming?"
"You could call it that."
The memory of the fall replayed in my mind, and I bit my lip. "Am I... dead?"
His lips quirked up infinitesimally. "You could call it that," he repeated. "I'm Odin."
He paused, as if expecting me to... I don't know, bow? Squeal in excitement? Truth be told, I had no clue who the barrel-chested man was, and I told him as much. "I have no idea who you are," I said.
His eyes flashed in irritation, but he reined himself in. "You could have the rest of your life to learn," he said.
An odd turn of phrase for someone who was maybe-dead, but that sounded like he wanted something from me. I was used to that. I could play that role. "I could also tell you to go jump in a rift," I said on reflex. Something about the man set me on edge.
"There it is," the man said, a satisfied smirk on his face. "That self-destructive instinct that you've been choked by your whole life. Look at you. You're completely at my mercy, and yet you still insist on threatening your only chance at salvation in order to spit in my eye."
"I don't want any salvation you're offering—"
"The Academy," Odin interrupted, walking to one side. Idly, he studied the black, sticky thorns that seemed to grow from nothing in the soulspace. "They took you from your homeland and taught you the art of using emotions to fuel magic. Happiness to create light. Passion to create heat. Freedom to make wind."
"Odin to make bullshit," I muttered, but the man proceeded as if he hadn't heard.
"But you have such glorious reserves of the fell emotions," Odin continued, wrapping the thorns in my soul around his fist. "Your self-hatred. The enemy you've battled all your life. It can be a tool, a *weapon*, instead of something to be locked away and ignored."
Odin walked forwards and put a single hand on my shoulder. "I want you to become one of mine. Swear to find me in Valhalla, and I shall restore you to health. The Academy has done you no favors. See what me and mine can do for you instead."
I met Odin's eyes, and... well. I'd be lying if I said he didn't have a point. I did hate myself. I did hate the Academy. And there were some days that I felt like burning it all down, shrinking it into a point and crushing it in the palm of my hand.
But I didn't hate everyone.
*"Hold on, Cienne! The nurse is coming!"*
And not everyone hated me.
Odin's eyes narrowed as... something else... entered my soulspace. Crystals, blossoming from nowhere and shoving aside the thorns of self-hatred.
*"I've got you. Keep breathing. Ice. Ice is good for after."*
"Thanks for the offer, old man," I said. "But you forgot one th—"
My eyes flew open, and I was in the Academy infirmary, Lucet white as a sheet to my left, a stern nurse to my right.
They'd brought me back from the brink of death before I could deliver my one-liner to Odin. Ah well. I meant what I would have said, and that was what mattered.
My self-hatred is *mine.* Not a weapon for you to use. You cannot take this from me.
"Are you okay, Cienne?" Lucet asked.
"His heart *stopped.* Legally, he died back there." I noticed I was undressed, sat up to try and grab my binder, but the nurse firmly shoved me back down. "And he *would've* died if you hadn't cooled him down as quickly and evenly as you did. He should recover with rest and magical therapy."
Lucet weakly smiled, and I caught her eye. "Hey," I said.
"Hey," she replied, relieved.
I hesitated, then lowered my voice, and asked, "Can I ask you a question?"
She shrugged. "Go ahead."
"Who... or *what*... is Odin?"
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me. | |
[WP] You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought. | "Warrior! One who would not stay hidden, one who fought against the horde, one who sought wisdom to gain strength, may your back be strong as you stand in these halls" the voice boomed.
The feeling of hard cold stone under my feet lurched me from the sweet warmth of the void. I was naked, and clutching a folding knife in my hand. In front of me I saw a figure wearing a cloak and a large hat, he held a staff with both hands. The light coming in from the windows cut in the wall behind him cast his shadow over me.
"You have been called here, to train for the glory of ragnarok, any who fight before me must join willingly, the Aesir do not share the glory of battle with slaves."
A raven flew down and landed on the man's staff, it leaned forward and whispered in his ear. Swiftly the man turned and said "follow me".
He walked with slow surefooted strides, the regal gate of a warrior king, I intuitively followed a step behind him.
"My friend has informed me of your inquisitive nature, without giving you the knowledge you seek you will never be able to pledge your blade. These halls stand on the edge of time, in the very veins of yggdrasil itself, speak now warrior, drink of my wisdom that it may quench your thirst"
He navigated the maze of corridors as we walked.
"Who are you? What happened? Am i..."
"I have many names" he said quickly before I could finish my sentence.
"The one eyed, Grimnier, the sure footed, the delighter of friggya, the wise, Ginarr, the wanderer, the thunderer, the God of the gallows, God of men, the leader, the All father, the terrible one"
He stopped and looked at me, removing his hat, a patch covered one of his eyes but I felt both staring deeply into my soul.
"You however would know me best as Odin."
He turned and opened a door on the wall behind him, as I stepped inside I saw an axe and sheild along with leather sandals and armor next to a basin.
Odin began murmuring something i did not understand as he stepped forth and washed my skin. He then helped me dress with the armor, at last strapping the shield to my arm. Finally he looked to my right hand and gestured for my knife.
"While this may have secured your passage there is no need for it here" I handed it to him willingly and he thrust the axe in my hand.
"There, now that you are dressed as you were meant to be come with me, I will show you the hall"
We left the room and continued down the corridor, I began to hear screaming and the clashing of swords.
"Here we train, one day my blood brother will betray us, he will pay for his crime, but will think my ruling unjust."
The sounds grew louder, I could see a large door coming into view at the end of the corridor.
"We train here to do battle with his children and kin. Those who were valiant warriors are brought here to fight and feast, to share the glory of the final battle."
"Why was I brought here then? I was pi..."
"YOU" he snapped cutting me off again.
"You waged battle every moment of your life. A warrior who fights only man or giant can return to his home and rest, but you fought the wolves inside of you. Day in and day out, you rose and fought without any quarter, you stood against pain from inside and out. For that, you have earned your right to enter this hall."
He stopped in front of the door.
"So I ask of you will you pledge your axe to me?"
I thought for a moment about the pain I had felt. About the times as a child when I had cried about wanting to go home while sitting in my room. About the feelings of dread and anxiety that would come throughout my life at a moments notice. I was always on edge, always miserable, always tired, always hearing so many voices putting me down in my head or stressing me out. I could not deny that I had fought for as long as I could remember. Perhaps this was the afterlife meant for me.
"I will all father, but I need to ask one more question"
"Of course" he said, I could tell he already knew what I was going to ask.
"I remember my life, but I don't know how I died, what happened?"
The sound of swords clashing and screaming grew louder behind the doors, he frowned slightly and said:
"Valhalla is a place for warriors, only those who die in battle may walk these halls, only those who are overcome by their enemy may share in this glory."
And at that he pushed the doors open. | Part 1 of 2
"I'm in the wrong place, I'm afraid," Carolyne points out, dressed in her everyday clothes, amidst warriors decked with furs and jewelry.
"I make no mistake," thunders Odin, who has no such thing as an indoor voice. Every time he speaks, the nearest einherjar or valkyrie has to drop the mug and hold ears closed, lest it rings for a full minute after silence has come back.
They walked between houses made of wood, decorated with flowers and tapestries, the path was made of flat stones. Simple, yet the art of the craftsmen could not be denied. Carolyne was in no mood to join the revelries though.
Younger, she struggled to make friends, as it happened to so many others. She worked hard, in school and to better herself. One day, she thought, she would find her place, her group, her home, and she would say "this is where I belong".
It never happened. She became independent, had her place to live, but she always felt off. Her artistic ambition, one she worked on for decades, never came to fruition. Her love life remained shaky, and she remained the stranger, the weirdo. The worst was going to sleep at night, she turned and turned and took hours to fall asleep only for the alarm clock to sound the end of her short sleep.
She asked for help, for doctors, for medication, and she got it. It helped, if only to dull the pain and give her fuel to move on. That had been her life. A tired drag through the mud, hoping to find a meadow down the way, never glimpsing it, never experiencing a good night's rest.
"I'm in the wrong place," she repeats, louder, sharper. People around her turn silent, some take a step back. Odin turns slowly.
"Where was I wrong?" It could be genuine curiosity or poison, Carolyne can't say what drips from his words.
"Look at them," she gestures around her, encompassing warriors and heroes, each more courageous and skilled than the last, "look at me. I have no great deeds to my name. I don't even have a great life to boast about."
The silence is loud.
"Fuck!" her swearword cuts through the air like the sharpest of blade, "I don't even know if there's a single thing I'm to be proud of! I hoped religions were wrong, all of them. I wanted oblivion, for it to end for good. Instead I get to keep going, can't I have some rest just for once in my existence? Can't I just vanish and be done with it?"
Odin, looming high above her, remains emotionless for a full minute. Then he walks away from the path, to sit on a low bank against a house overlooking a lush garden.
"Sit with me," says Odin, with an unexpectedly gentle tone.
She does so.
"Look at the gardener."
A lean old man, with simple clothes, content with taking care of his little garden lost in the universe of the afterlife.
"What else is there about him?"
A notable absence of scars.
"Exactly. Tom is his name. He's never seen a battle, or a fistfight, as far as I know. Compare that to me, I kept punching my brothers and sisters when I was little. Then I punched other things, harder. Then I tasked other people to punch them for me, because there are a lot of things to punch when you're the top dog of your pantheon."
"I haven't punched anything, I won't start now."
"You won't have to. Ragnarok is long past. My world destroyed, and from the ashes, rebuilt. I welcomed warriors again, but what for?" Odin looks at the evening sky, lost in contemplation, "there were no more battles to fight, I had nothing left to prevail over. I felt empty. You know the feeling."
That, she does.
"Now Tom here felt like he hadn't achieved his purpose. He worked hard, earned a fortune and the admiration of his peers. Women, fancy house, anything he wanted. Yet he felt lacking. He lived healthy and long, and he realized late he chased the wrong tail for most of his life. An old man turned to philosophy, an old man decided to rethink his life. And an old man found happiness tending for a little garden.
"He didn't fight a beast, he fought his own history and worldview. And he won. What greater mastery is there than to achieve victory over yourself?"
Carolyne gives a sad smile. A caravan dragged by a donkey goes down the street, people attach trinkets or dried food or letters of well-wishes. The caravan leaves town towards an endless meadow, hills and dale roll in the distance. On top of a hill, lights, where the path would lead the caravan to.
"He won," says Carolyn as a matter of fact, "I haven't."
"Really?"
"I was lying in the hospital and just wanted it to end, my life was a joke, and it ended as one. Can't you just make me disappear? Kill me again? Maybe I could finally rest, for a change." she has deep, dark circles under her teared-up eyes.
"You're no less deserving than Tom."
"Spare me the pep talk," Carolyne stands up, suddenly angry, "I heard the well-wishes my *entire* life, and I can't stand them anymore. *It will come when you least expect it, everyone has a path for himself in life.* You want more? I have a thousand like these. Life is fucking chaotic and makes no sense. If you're lucky and very good, you can make a place for yourself, and that's as far as it goes. But please, now that I'm dead, at least drop the platitudes."
Tom hears the words and chuckles to himself, before going back to that spot of ground that has his entire attention.
"Then why didn't you lay down and die?" asks Odin, leaning against the house behind him.
"As in?"
"As in, you better than anyone know how life is unfair and senseless. You know the words are just here to reassure people, and most manage to fool themselves into believing them to live with a little more purpose. You were too smart for that, have seen entropy and emptiness. So why didn't you just off yourself?"
Carolyne met his gaze, seething.
"Oh, I wanted to, believe me, and I'm thinking about it right now." | |
[WP] A portal to hell has been opened, and the demon armies invade our world. However, this is the Victorian era, and now Great Britain has new lands to colonize for Her Majesty. | Dear Mary,
Mary my dear, it has only been 6 months since I went through the dreaded portal, but it feels like an eternity since I’ve last seen you. Our officer has been running us rampant down here and I’ve deeply considered joining the side of the demons if they didn’t smell so awful.
I fear death Isn’t even the end of things. Harold got picked off by one of those flying demons a few weeks ago, dreadful thing being splattered like that, but anyways a few days afterwards we found him again and put him right back to work. “Not even death can save you from duty to the queen,” our officer said. Can you believe it? Didn’t even give the poor lad a break, went right back to working the sails like nothing happened.
Thankfully it always isn’t always so hellish down here. The Ale down here is just to die for. Something about the air making everything more poisonous, not good for food, but it gives the drinks helluva kick.
But enough about me. I hope you and our boy are still in good health. How has our cozy little hamlet fared since I was shipped off to the front? Is that old man larry still screaming about the end of the world around the corner? Or am I gonna have to look around down here for him. He still owes me five pence for that beer I bought him.
Oh by the way I found your mother down here too. Running the poor demons ragged when we found her. I never thought I would see one of those arrogant pricks so tired. It was an amazing sight to behold. Oh and she said you better not have sold her mini teacup set or she’d work you even worse then the demons. Didn’t have the heart to tell her our boy was the one that broke it. She’d probably whip me worse than those demons.
I hope everything is going alright uptop. Captain says if we gather enough souls for the queen we’ll be uptop in less than 4 months. I can’t wait to see you.
God save the queen
Love, Bartholomew | In the calm tranquil English countryside a lone Shepard is herding his sheep while watching th sunset. Suddenly he hears his dog bark and runs up to him, only to be blinded by circle filled with light . He could hear screams and hoofs running at him so he ran carrying his dog in hand never to look back. He ran all the way to the castle screaming for help . When he is caught by a young knight
Knight: what's the matter young man . Do you need help?
Shepard tells the knight all that had happened and takes him to the field.
When they get there all the sheep are gone and the field is covered in ashes while an army of half men half goats pours out of the hole . They seem to walking towards the city.
The knight shocked by this site runs back to the castle with a smile on his face. For he finally know how he will become the king by gifting the queen whatever land was on the other side of the circle.
Suddenly he hears someone scream
"Arthur you are in the wrong time, come with me you have a bigger destiny". He looks back and sees a man in a three piece suite standing next to a blue telephone box. | |
[WP] A portal to hell has been opened, and the demon armies invade our world. However, this is the Victorian era, and now Great Britain has new lands to colonize for Her Majesty. | "Well I didn't think they'd invade. After all it's Hell! I mean the whole point was to get out." The Balrog's explanation fell on Satan's deaf ears as his sharp tongue flashed in retort.
"General, you sent every able bodied soldier we have on this invasion and left us defenseless. Inside of two weeks our forces had all divided or deserted. I received a "Wish you were here" post card from Hitler in Cancun this morning. Would you like to see a picture of Adolph Hitler in a Speedo? Because I have a picture of Adolph Hitler in a Speedo now! You're damned right this is Hell. All we get are the traitors and cowards down here. Where you expecting loyalty? They're all assholes! But I'd traid them all back over this lot."
The disgraced General stood alone with Satan himself in a great hall once filled with saber rattling soldiers who had sworn allegiance to the dark master. The realm of the living would be theirs and the dark world of Hell would would run red with the blood of the living. But with it's soldiers fled and its gates unguarded it was overrun with an even greater evil. The United Kingdom.
"Its all Harry Potter, Monty Pyton and drunks with bad food and worse teeth now. Half the reason I wanted out of here is knowing most of these guys were coming for eternity soon enough. But Brexit up there means entrance down here and we're powerless to stop it. I used my most terrifying illusions to force their retreat. I showed an old woman turning into dust before them and half just said "hi mum." I gored one worker at tea time with my own horns and tore him in half with my bare hands and they just looked at each other and said "still better than Boris Johnson... and the weather is better" and then lit a pipe in the poisoned sulpher mines and returned to their efforts to colonize the place."
Satan looked out his balcony where he once ordered dark legions to do his bidding and his head sank at the sight. "Giant clocks, tiny pubs, separate hot and cold water taps.... it's just weird man. They're building a cricket pitch in every circle of the place. Greed plays Sloth tomorrow. I want my Hell back. I'd leave too but of this is all that's up there they can have it!"
OP-yeah I did modern Britain, sorry | In the calm tranquil English countryside a lone Shepard is herding his sheep while watching th sunset. Suddenly he hears his dog bark and runs up to him, only to be blinded by circle filled with light . He could hear screams and hoofs running at him so he ran carrying his dog in hand never to look back. He ran all the way to the castle screaming for help . When he is caught by a young knight
Knight: what's the matter young man . Do you need help?
Shepard tells the knight all that had happened and takes him to the field.
When they get there all the sheep are gone and the field is covered in ashes while an army of half men half goats pours out of the hole . They seem to walking towards the city.
The knight shocked by this site runs back to the castle with a smile on his face. For he finally know how he will become the king by gifting the queen whatever land was on the other side of the circle.
Suddenly he hears someone scream
"Arthur you are in the wrong time, come with me you have a bigger destiny". He looks back and sees a man in a three piece suite standing next to a blue telephone box. | |
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality. | Holding his tongue, trying not to use foul language “What the heck” he shouted to other coffin, it opens and a figure sits upright, “gees, this is the third coffin that is falling apart”, “as soon as night falls, we’ll have to go pay a visit to you know who”, nodding in agreement, closes the coffin and tries to settle back in, annoyed, he flips over to rest face down, “we’ll get him back on track.”
Jack runs to the backroom, “dam phone, need to get an answering machine, hello”, nodding his head, “I’ll be leaving here shortly, ok, ok, yeah love to too.” Looking around, he thinks to himself, “it’s time I retire and let this dump go.” He hasn’t had his heart into it anymore, especially since the day they came for one more, and another, and then one more, the one that they said would even the score. Frustrated, he kicks the side of the most recent coffin he made, “Why do I continue to make these things”, he says, “they just fill them up, it never ends.”
There was a time before the endless war, where he would console grieving families, build them the finest coffins for their loved ones final rest, not anymore, the atrocities of war, “one man’s pain is the others gain”, he says to himself, endless death, a demand he doesn’t want to keep up with, he’s had it, his craftsmanship gone, he’s just become an assembly line that builds them quickly, cheaply, and carelessly, “war sucks” he mutters, knowing these poor soldiers and casualties deserve better.
Grabbing his hat, Jack heads home for the night, as he is locking up, he hears a voice “Jim now” felling a chill run up his spine, he turns around, but sees no one, only the cool frosty air, “must be the weather”, after all its late October, the weather can be tricky, one day warm, next cool, he loved it though, especially the harvest moon, lighting up the night sky, quite the spectacle, loved taking his late wife on moonlight walks, enjoying the cool night air, but that was a while ago, his thoughts turn to her demise, driving back from a showing buyers a few homes, the bridge gave out from under her, the constant bombardment loosened the structure, causing her to crash, her suffering, makes his eyes well up with tears, “will I ever feel alive again” he thinks as he is reminded of his grandson, his daughter they need him, hiking up his collar to shield his neck from the chill around his neck, proceeds back home.
Waking up, he glances at his Rolex, a gift his wife bought hm years ago for Christmas, he was stunned he had one, and he couldn’t believe she saved her commissions to buy it for him, she was so loving, “crap, its 5:00 PM, what the he…”, “Dad, you home, are you ok…, Dad”, “yeah, I’m up here, I overslept..”, “OMG, the shop is empty, and the army guy, is looking for you, they need coffins..”, “I’ll be right there..” hopping out of bed, quickly cleaning up, he heads downstairs. Seeing his beautiful daughter... “I guess time is catching up with me.., I can’t do this....”, "I know dad, I know…, the news says the bombings are slowing…, and talks of peace..”, “that’s what they said last Christmas…” looking at his watch, he remembers how she wrapped it, stylish paper, a perfectly placed bow, she was so talented, smiling at the memory, the door slams behind him, startling him, his thoughts turn to the events a week later and she was gone, seeing his mind elsewhere, thinking "why wouldn’t it be, its horrible time right now", “dad, dad…, the shop”, snapping out of it, “ok, I’m going” he kisses her on the forehead, and off he goes.
The next day he awakes late again, “dam, this is not good”, hurries thru his routine and heads to the shop, thinking…, “I should just sleep there, I mean.., I could just make the coffin a bed, I got some of the best liners in the back, and goose down filling, Hehe…” chuckling at the thought of it, and then thinking seriously, “Hmm, yup, that’s what I’m gonna do”, as he begins opening up the shop, he’s surprised to find it clean and organized, scratching his head, “how the heck…, when did I…” trying to remember how or when he did this, he flips on the lights, feeling good, he grabs his tolls and bangs out three high quality coffins, “wow, it would take me all day to do one, and now I have three, one for me to sleep in, and two extras” smiling at his accomplishment, he remembers how much he enjoyed the process of hand carving the wood, adding walnut inlays, lining it in the finest fabric, and installing beautiful hardware, the kind found only in the wealthiest mansions, the ones located in the eastern part of town, saying to himself, "amazing how they never get bombed, like some kind if shield around it", its home to people of high society, owners of the world famous beet farm, paper companies, high tech, and pharmaceuticals, the kind of folks that make the world rotate, looking at his Rolex, “Whoa, almost sunrise, can’t believe I was here all night”, as he prepares his new bed, the coffin he made earlier today, he draws the curtains closed, while doing so, he hears a whisper, “Dwight your turn”, he feels that chill again, right up his spine to his neck, pops his collar up to stop the chill, and heads to his new bed, passing a mirror, he glances, sees his reflection, his collar raised, liking what he sees, raises his eyebrows, “wow I look distinguished”, jumps into the coffin, closes the lid.
“Now that was comfortable”, as he opens the lid, “its dusk already”, rubbing neck, “hmm, why is it sore", he passes by the mirror, sees no bruises, "must be old age setting in”, just as turns from the mirror, there are two figures standing right behind him, startled… “who the hell are you guys…?”, stoic looks on their face, and glaring into his eyes, “oh my…, God…,” he sees their dark hallow soulless eyes, he reaches for the wall phone, the same one installed decades ago, old reliable, always worked, storms, earthquakes, even during the great cell phone outage of 2023, the one the Chinese and Russians concocted to show their strength in disabling societies, a warning to western civilizations and their dependance on technology, “where’s the dam phone…., I’m gonna call the police”, it’s not there, pinned against the wall, still locked eyes with them, he manages to snap the spell, looking frantically, he finds wires, follows them, they’re frayed, and there it is, dangling, ripped open as if an animal had its way with it, shaking, he grabs the receiver, tapping it up and down, “hello.., hello…” no dial tone, nothing, its dead, then he feels that chill run up his spine as it did the night before, but this time he has no collar to shield his neck, “ouch” the pressure on the side of his neck causes him to fall on his hands and knees, “are you here to kill me”, laughter erupts, the kind you hear in vampire movies… “no, no, we’re here to suck your blood”, without a second thought, they pounce on him, biting his neck.
Opening the coffin, Jack hops out, “wow I feel springy”, flicks on the light, “whoa that’s bright”, dims it, rubs his eyes, and as he refocuses, the two figures reappear, but this time he recognizes them, but not sure from where, figure one steps forward and motions him to sit… “Have a seat Jack” sitting and confused, he starts to explain…. “I’ll explain why we’re here, you see, when Jim was bitten by a bat…” titling his head, wondering why this sounds familiar, then he remembers he’s referencing Season 3 Episode 17 of ‘The Office’, the figure continues, “ I had to kill him, by impaling him with a wooden stake, however, Jim managed to avoid his fate, by getting me to think a bear was eating my beets….” Jack now realizes this is Dwight, the Dwight Shrute, The Beet Farmer from the show The Office, and next to him is Jim, Jim Halpert, the paper salesman from the show as well, “what the hell is going on” he shouts out, stepping in closer, Jim places his hand on his shoulder, raises his fingers across his lips, signaling him to be quiet, “shh, let Dwight finish”, Dwight goes on, “Thank you Jim, but I don’t need you, hmm, let’s see, I was about to kill Jim…” , Jim interrupts…“Um, no you weren’t…”, “ok Jim, if you know it so well, then you tell him why we’re here”, stepping in front of Dwight.. “Well, Jack, it all started when a bat got loose in the office, and Dwight was determined to kill it, but little did he know, he was the one who got bitten, you see, it happened when he was arguing with me about bears and beets, and how bears don’t eat beets….” , ‘No Jim, that’s not true , everyone knows bears love beets, FACT, bears eat beats more than they eat meat..”, Jim looking at Jack, raises his eye brow, “there you have it, that’s how Dwight became a vampire, and I had kill him, as I was driving the stake thru his heart, his cousin Moe, jumped me, bit my neck, and now we’re both vampires, and we need to sleep, and you’re the only one who knows coffins, the ones, were you can sleep all day and party all night”, Dwight stepping in front of Jim, “Nice one Jim, but it was my idea to come here and get your passion back, the most recent ones we got, barely lasted days, so we decided to make you a vampire, this way you can make these coffins forever…”, Jack gets up from his seat, “dam you, dam you, I don’t want to live forever”, the phone starts ringing, “hello”, the voice on the other end says in a soft voice… “hello honey”, grabbing the receiver with both hands, lips trembling…. “is that you, is that you Janet?” looking at them, then back to the phone.... “I miss you baby…”, “me too, turn around” he turns and there she is, glowing, smiling, revealing her new white fangs… “how.., is this really happening” , Jim places his hand on his shoulder… “we found her at the crash site, bleeding, on the verge of dying, I bit her, knowing we would need the wife of the finest coffin maker one day, and that day is today” Jack runs into her arms, hugging, turns back to Jim and Dwight … “Looks like I need to make one more coffin” | “Mister Devon is here to see you, sir,” Alex said softly from the doorway.
I waved my hand in acknowledgement, not taking my eyes off the photo I was looking at. Some moments passed in silence. I’ll give Devon his due, he was an extraordinarily patient customer, one that I tolerated more than others. The lost loved ones were patient, infinitely so, it was the living that were impatient and insufferable. Devon had always seemed to be the former. Quiet. Patient. Understanding. Sufferable.
“My dear Devon, how are you today?”
“I am better than you look, my Lord Erik. How fares you this day?” Devon responded softly. A pompous sufferable asshole.
“Much worse than I loo…” I broke into a coughing fit. “Excuse me, I am a bit worse than I look. Old age and all.” I set my photo down and turned to Devon. The only long time customer I’ve ever had, a curious one at that. Most people come for a casket a few times over a few years or decades, but not Devon. Devon came… frequently. Early on in my career, I assumed he was a purchaser for some foreign funeral service. These days, however, I’ve had my doubts. “Do you know how I got into this business, Devon?”
“I am not familiar with this story, my Lord Erik. I would be delighted to be shared this part of your history.”
I waved my hand at him with disdain. “Eh, cut the bullshit, you pompous prick. And for the last time, I am not a fuckin’ lord. Ya fuckin’ asswipe.” As always, Devon gave a polite smile and a chuckle. Grabbing my cane, I force my creaking bones onto my feet, I swear I heard my joints cracking. Too fuckin’ old for this shit. With a wave of my hand, I instruct Devon to follow me. We meander through the showroom with caskets on display into the back room where my shop is. I had several caskets I was working on, one of a very plain design, but several quite ornate. Even in my old age, I am extraordinarily smooth and youthful when I am work my craft. As we walk through my shop, I smile at my creations. These are the beds for the dearly departed. They have honored us in life and so I honor them in death. At the back of the shop, I stop at an unfinished casket. It was so far simple, yet elegant. The scent of maple drifted from the work table. “Mum passed away before I left school,” I muttered as I stroked the wood. As always, Devon was quiet and attentive, always eager to listen to the stories and ramblings I was prone to. “We had a maple tree in our garden. Mum always loved the colours in the fall. Indeed, it was beautiful.” I lapsed into a moment of memory. A tear rolled down my cheek. “Mum was sick. We all knew she didn’t have long to live. The local lumber store, oddly enough, had maple wood in stock. I saw this as a sign. I bought a bunch of it and I got to work. I didn’t know what I was doing…” A coughing fit overtook me. “I went to work. I built. I created. I didn’t know what it was. I was angry. I was sad. I can’t tell you the amount of tears spilled onto it. Mum found out what I was doing. Surprisingly, she wasn’t angry. She absolutely loved the work I put into it and told me that it would be the best bed she could ever dream of for her long sleep. And she held me for the longest time ever.” Devon placed a hand on my shoulder. In the fifty plus years I have known this man, never once have I have seen him show a single shred of comfort. I laid my hand on the wood, a measure of remembrance. “This casket is mine, Devon. I am making it in advance, like I did with mum. My time is coming soon, Devon. I am ready. Like Mum. Mum knew she was dying. She never hid it. She just accepted it. And the love she showed when she saw what I was doing stayed with me whole life. So now, I make beds for the dearly departed.”
There was a moment of silence as we looked at my future casket together. “You have indeed made the best beds for the dearly departed anyone could ever ask for, Lord Erik. For that, countless are eternally grateful. Your craftsmanship knows no equal.”
“Thank you.”
“I presume you plan to retire once you have completed your task.”
I let out a sigh. “Yea, I have a few commissions to complete while I am working on that I want to complete. I have the same cancer that mum had and I don’t have long left. So I’ll be leaving the company with Alex. He has learned well and does good work. I will be retiring once I’m done with my casket. Not long before I’m dead.”
“Would the though of immortality change your mind?” Devon asked.
I burst into laughter which turned into a fit of coughing. After several long minutes of coughing and laughing, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cigarettes. I lit my cancer stick and took a pleasurable and needed drag. “Bitch, I ain’t no immortal and I don’t want to be no immortal,” I said after a long, pleasurable drag of the cigarette.
“What if I told you that you could be cured of your cancer?” Devon inquired.
I chuckled. “You can’t do shit for me.”
“I can provide you with an avenue for immortality. A way to cheat death.”
I laid a hand on Devon’s shoulder. “The only way you can do that is if you are a god, a vampire, or a zombie. You’re obviously not a zombie, you’re not so arrogantly conceded to be a god, so that leaves a vampire. Thanks, but no thanks.”
“You… but… wha… how… huh?” Devon stammered
“Come on, Devon! It’s obvious, though, your reactions does confirm it. Super posh bloke, always prim and proper, never aging in the fifty bloody years that I’ve been doing business with you while I get old as fuck, coming back over and over for a ‘lost loved one’, only coming in at the very end of business for an ‘urgent order’ as I’m bloody ready to close shop. Even if you are working for a foreign funeral home, shit only adds up to one thing. Bloody vampires. Only question I have, is why in Sam Hill do you keep coming to me for all your damn caskets?”
Devon lowered his head for moment. “It’s that obvious isn’t it?”
“Uh… Yea… You should have someone else be your spokesperson after the first couple of decades.”
“We really like your caskets. They are far superior to anyone we have ever purchased from before.” Devon took a look around the shop. “My clan has offered to make you one of us, grant you immortality, I bring this offer to you as a good friend. We love your service and wish to continue business with you. Though, hearing your story and seeing you work on your casket, I am to presume there is no way I could change your mind?”
I patted Devon’s shoulder gently then turned to my casket. “No. Not really. Death becomes us all one day. I’ve already spent a lifetime without me mum, but me wife passed on last year. I am ready to go. I could not bear another lifetime without Marry. My time is coming very soon. My children are prepared.” A severe coughing fit left me bent over in pain. Devon laid a comforting hand on my shoulder once my I recovered from my fit. I turned and gave Devon a deep hug, a hug that was long overdue. “Thank you for being a friend, Devon.”
Devon was taken aback, unused to the contact and emotion I dumped on him. With hesitation, he returned the hug. “Uh… Thank you for… everything… Erik.”
When we broke hug, I added on, “I’ve been training Alex to take over for me. His work is good. You may have better luck with keeping him for making your beds. Ask him to join you on your way out. He does good work. And I taught him personally. I’ll vouch for his shit.”
“You are an excellent craftsman and an honorable man, Erik. We shall miss you when you go. Anything you ever want, let me know and my people will make it happen. If you have trained your apprentice in your ways, we shall honor him as we honor you.”
With the departing, Devon embraced me once more and left with a long, heartfelt kiss upon my cheek. I may have lost much in my life, but I have also gained much and left a legacy that has oddly enough, transcended the ages through those around me that live a really long fucking life as well as the skill that I have passed to others. At one point, I figured that I’d die a destroyed man. Devon changed that. With the passing of my mother, I have brought comfort to hundreds of people, though all in death. | |
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality. | Holding his tongue, trying not to use foul language “What the heck” he shouted to other coffin, it opens and a figure sits upright, “gees, this is the third coffin that is falling apart”, “as soon as night falls, we’ll have to go pay a visit to you know who”, nodding in agreement, closes the coffin and tries to settle back in, annoyed, he flips over to rest face down, “we’ll get him back on track.”
Jack runs to the backroom, “dam phone, need to get an answering machine, hello”, nodding his head, “I’ll be leaving here shortly, ok, ok, yeah love to too.” Looking around, he thinks to himself, “it’s time I retire and let this dump go.” He hasn’t had his heart into it anymore, especially since the day they came for one more, and another, and then one more, the one that they said would even the score. Frustrated, he kicks the side of the most recent coffin he made, “Why do I continue to make these things”, he says, “they just fill them up, it never ends.”
There was a time before the endless war, where he would console grieving families, build them the finest coffins for their loved ones final rest, not anymore, the atrocities of war, “one man’s pain is the others gain”, he says to himself, endless death, a demand he doesn’t want to keep up with, he’s had it, his craftsmanship gone, he’s just become an assembly line that builds them quickly, cheaply, and carelessly, “war sucks” he mutters, knowing these poor soldiers and casualties deserve better.
Grabbing his hat, Jack heads home for the night, as he is locking up, he hears a voice “Jim now” felling a chill run up his spine, he turns around, but sees no one, only the cool frosty air, “must be the weather”, after all its late October, the weather can be tricky, one day warm, next cool, he loved it though, especially the harvest moon, lighting up the night sky, quite the spectacle, loved taking his late wife on moonlight walks, enjoying the cool night air, but that was a while ago, his thoughts turn to her demise, driving back from a showing buyers a few homes, the bridge gave out from under her, the constant bombardment loosened the structure, causing her to crash, her suffering, makes his eyes well up with tears, “will I ever feel alive again” he thinks as he is reminded of his grandson, his daughter they need him, hiking up his collar to shield his neck from the chill around his neck, proceeds back home.
Waking up, he glances at his Rolex, a gift his wife bought hm years ago for Christmas, he was stunned he had one, and he couldn’t believe she saved her commissions to buy it for him, she was so loving, “crap, its 5:00 PM, what the he…”, “Dad, you home, are you ok…, Dad”, “yeah, I’m up here, I overslept..”, “OMG, the shop is empty, and the army guy, is looking for you, they need coffins..”, “I’ll be right there..” hopping out of bed, quickly cleaning up, he heads downstairs. Seeing his beautiful daughter... “I guess time is catching up with me.., I can’t do this....”, "I know dad, I know…, the news says the bombings are slowing…, and talks of peace..”, “that’s what they said last Christmas…” looking at his watch, he remembers how she wrapped it, stylish paper, a perfectly placed bow, she was so talented, smiling at the memory, the door slams behind him, startling him, his thoughts turn to the events a week later and she was gone, seeing his mind elsewhere, thinking "why wouldn’t it be, its horrible time right now", “dad, dad…, the shop”, snapping out of it, “ok, I’m going” he kisses her on the forehead, and off he goes.
The next day he awakes late again, “dam, this is not good”, hurries thru his routine and heads to the shop, thinking…, “I should just sleep there, I mean.., I could just make the coffin a bed, I got some of the best liners in the back, and goose down filling, Hehe…” chuckling at the thought of it, and then thinking seriously, “Hmm, yup, that’s what I’m gonna do”, as he begins opening up the shop, he’s surprised to find it clean and organized, scratching his head, “how the heck…, when did I…” trying to remember how or when he did this, he flips on the lights, feeling good, he grabs his tolls and bangs out three high quality coffins, “wow, it would take me all day to do one, and now I have three, one for me to sleep in, and two extras” smiling at his accomplishment, he remembers how much he enjoyed the process of hand carving the wood, adding walnut inlays, lining it in the finest fabric, and installing beautiful hardware, the kind found only in the wealthiest mansions, the ones located in the eastern part of town, saying to himself, "amazing how they never get bombed, like some kind if shield around it", its home to people of high society, owners of the world famous beet farm, paper companies, high tech, and pharmaceuticals, the kind of folks that make the world rotate, looking at his Rolex, “Whoa, almost sunrise, can’t believe I was here all night”, as he prepares his new bed, the coffin he made earlier today, he draws the curtains closed, while doing so, he hears a whisper, “Dwight your turn”, he feels that chill again, right up his spine to his neck, pops his collar up to stop the chill, and heads to his new bed, passing a mirror, he glances, sees his reflection, his collar raised, liking what he sees, raises his eyebrows, “wow I look distinguished”, jumps into the coffin, closes the lid.
“Now that was comfortable”, as he opens the lid, “its dusk already”, rubbing neck, “hmm, why is it sore", he passes by the mirror, sees no bruises, "must be old age setting in”, just as turns from the mirror, there are two figures standing right behind him, startled… “who the hell are you guys…?”, stoic looks on their face, and glaring into his eyes, “oh my…, God…,” he sees their dark hallow soulless eyes, he reaches for the wall phone, the same one installed decades ago, old reliable, always worked, storms, earthquakes, even during the great cell phone outage of 2023, the one the Chinese and Russians concocted to show their strength in disabling societies, a warning to western civilizations and their dependance on technology, “where’s the dam phone…., I’m gonna call the police”, it’s not there, pinned against the wall, still locked eyes with them, he manages to snap the spell, looking frantically, he finds wires, follows them, they’re frayed, and there it is, dangling, ripped open as if an animal had its way with it, shaking, he grabs the receiver, tapping it up and down, “hello.., hello…” no dial tone, nothing, its dead, then he feels that chill run up his spine as it did the night before, but this time he has no collar to shield his neck, “ouch” the pressure on the side of his neck causes him to fall on his hands and knees, “are you here to kill me”, laughter erupts, the kind you hear in vampire movies… “no, no, we’re here to suck your blood”, without a second thought, they pounce on him, biting his neck.
Opening the coffin, Jack hops out, “wow I feel springy”, flicks on the light, “whoa that’s bright”, dims it, rubs his eyes, and as he refocuses, the two figures reappear, but this time he recognizes them, but not sure from where, figure one steps forward and motions him to sit… “Have a seat Jack” sitting and confused, he starts to explain…. “I’ll explain why we’re here, you see, when Jim was bitten by a bat…” titling his head, wondering why this sounds familiar, then he remembers he’s referencing Season 3 Episode 17 of ‘The Office’, the figure continues, “ I had to kill him, by impaling him with a wooden stake, however, Jim managed to avoid his fate, by getting me to think a bear was eating my beets….” Jack now realizes this is Dwight, the Dwight Shrute, The Beet Farmer from the show The Office, and next to him is Jim, Jim Halpert, the paper salesman from the show as well, “what the hell is going on” he shouts out, stepping in closer, Jim places his hand on his shoulder, raises his fingers across his lips, signaling him to be quiet, “shh, let Dwight finish”, Dwight goes on, “Thank you Jim, but I don’t need you, hmm, let’s see, I was about to kill Jim…” , Jim interrupts…“Um, no you weren’t…”, “ok Jim, if you know it so well, then you tell him why we’re here”, stepping in front of Dwight.. “Well, Jack, it all started when a bat got loose in the office, and Dwight was determined to kill it, but little did he know, he was the one who got bitten, you see, it happened when he was arguing with me about bears and beets, and how bears don’t eat beets….” , ‘No Jim, that’s not true , everyone knows bears love beets, FACT, bears eat beats more than they eat meat..”, Jim looking at Jack, raises his eye brow, “there you have it, that’s how Dwight became a vampire, and I had kill him, as I was driving the stake thru his heart, his cousin Moe, jumped me, bit my neck, and now we’re both vampires, and we need to sleep, and you’re the only one who knows coffins, the ones, were you can sleep all day and party all night”, Dwight stepping in front of Jim, “Nice one Jim, but it was my idea to come here and get your passion back, the most recent ones we got, barely lasted days, so we decided to make you a vampire, this way you can make these coffins forever…”, Jack gets up from his seat, “dam you, dam you, I don’t want to live forever”, the phone starts ringing, “hello”, the voice on the other end says in a soft voice… “hello honey”, grabbing the receiver with both hands, lips trembling…. “is that you, is that you Janet?” looking at them, then back to the phone.... “I miss you baby…”, “me too, turn around” he turns and there she is, glowing, smiling, revealing her new white fangs… “how.., is this really happening” , Jim places his hand on his shoulder… “we found her at the crash site, bleeding, on the verge of dying, I bit her, knowing we would need the wife of the finest coffin maker one day, and that day is today” Jack runs into her arms, hugging, turns back to Jim and Dwight … “Looks like I need to make one more coffin” | "How old are you, exactly?" I asked, as the dark eyed creature slowly walked along my workbench, its thin hands drifting over my tools. Even through its guarded expression, I sensed that they foreign to it, the strange ritual objects of a strange land. Its offer had struck me the same way.
It gave a polite smile. "I just passed my first century." To its credit, there was only the faintest wisp of superiority in its voice. It looked maybe thirty.
The scoff was involuntary. "So what do you know of life and death, then?" I said, half amused at what seemed to me as a rather young immortal. I saw its eyes linger on the coffin I had nearly finished as it hesitated, fingers tracing the whorls of flame and bird's eyes in the grain.
"Do you know where that figure comes from?" I asked pointedly. It looked up at me, silently questioning both the nature of the wood and my intention.
"Age. The figure of the wood comes from age. That tree was far older than you, and not simply in years. The figure comes from the stresses of a life long-lived. The force of the winds, the heat and frost, the twisting growth of struggle. Things you will never know, and the source of all art."
"But my people take great pride in things of beauty," the creature almost protested. "Otherwise why would we have spent all these years paying you handsomely for your work?"
This time the snort was intentional. "And ravens will snatch a broken silver link from the mud and add them to their hoard."
"But that's the point of art," it insisted, haughty in its self-assured knowledge of the world. "Objects of beauty to be gazed upon. Otherwise why seek them? They have no use, but to be seen and admired."
"You're like those fools at the museum with their collections," I said, shaking my head. "Amassing objects from all over the world, carved with languages they will never understand, thinking themselves wise. But they will never know the true meanings of this things, in the eyes of the people that made them. Without the context of suffering, there is no meaning to peace, without the knowledge of death, no relief in a breath of mountain air."
It pondered this for a moment, its eyes boring into me. "So is art a product of evil, then? Simply an elegantly woven lie that all creatures tell to make their suffering seem worthwhile?" Its eyes told of it's own pain that I hadn't considered.
"Perhaps it is," I nodded calmly. "But if it is, is that not a worthy pursuit? If a mere story can inspire one to welcome the end with dignity, if a sculpture can inspire the awe that creates a belief in something greater, aren't these lies worth telling? That is why the context is needed. Art without the context of despair is as empty as death without the hope that art provides.'
It seemed to understand this, its face an expression of weariness, and acceptance of both my need for mortality and the knowledge that it would always be lacking something I had. That it would always be a half-thing, never a complete being.
"Can I make a request, master carpenter?" Its hand fell onto a piece of straight pine, the grain straight from unhurried, painless growth. This it set on its coffin, thoughtfully. "A stake, if you would." | |
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality. | Holding his tongue, trying not to use foul language “What the heck” he shouted to other coffin, it opens and a figure sits upright, “gees, this is the third coffin that is falling apart”, “as soon as night falls, we’ll have to go pay a visit to you know who”, nodding in agreement, closes the coffin and tries to settle back in, annoyed, he flips over to rest face down, “we’ll get him back on track.”
Jack runs to the backroom, “dam phone, need to get an answering machine, hello”, nodding his head, “I’ll be leaving here shortly, ok, ok, yeah love to too.” Looking around, he thinks to himself, “it’s time I retire and let this dump go.” He hasn’t had his heart into it anymore, especially since the day they came for one more, and another, and then one more, the one that they said would even the score. Frustrated, he kicks the side of the most recent coffin he made, “Why do I continue to make these things”, he says, “they just fill them up, it never ends.”
There was a time before the endless war, where he would console grieving families, build them the finest coffins for their loved ones final rest, not anymore, the atrocities of war, “one man’s pain is the others gain”, he says to himself, endless death, a demand he doesn’t want to keep up with, he’s had it, his craftsmanship gone, he’s just become an assembly line that builds them quickly, cheaply, and carelessly, “war sucks” he mutters, knowing these poor soldiers and casualties deserve better.
Grabbing his hat, Jack heads home for the night, as he is locking up, he hears a voice “Jim now” felling a chill run up his spine, he turns around, but sees no one, only the cool frosty air, “must be the weather”, after all its late October, the weather can be tricky, one day warm, next cool, he loved it though, especially the harvest moon, lighting up the night sky, quite the spectacle, loved taking his late wife on moonlight walks, enjoying the cool night air, but that was a while ago, his thoughts turn to her demise, driving back from a showing buyers a few homes, the bridge gave out from under her, the constant bombardment loosened the structure, causing her to crash, her suffering, makes his eyes well up with tears, “will I ever feel alive again” he thinks as he is reminded of his grandson, his daughter they need him, hiking up his collar to shield his neck from the chill around his neck, proceeds back home.
Waking up, he glances at his Rolex, a gift his wife bought hm years ago for Christmas, he was stunned he had one, and he couldn’t believe she saved her commissions to buy it for him, she was so loving, “crap, its 5:00 PM, what the he…”, “Dad, you home, are you ok…, Dad”, “yeah, I’m up here, I overslept..”, “OMG, the shop is empty, and the army guy, is looking for you, they need coffins..”, “I’ll be right there..” hopping out of bed, quickly cleaning up, he heads downstairs. Seeing his beautiful daughter... “I guess time is catching up with me.., I can’t do this....”, "I know dad, I know…, the news says the bombings are slowing…, and talks of peace..”, “that’s what they said last Christmas…” looking at his watch, he remembers how she wrapped it, stylish paper, a perfectly placed bow, she was so talented, smiling at the memory, the door slams behind him, startling him, his thoughts turn to the events a week later and she was gone, seeing his mind elsewhere, thinking "why wouldn’t it be, its horrible time right now", “dad, dad…, the shop”, snapping out of it, “ok, I’m going” he kisses her on the forehead, and off he goes.
The next day he awakes late again, “dam, this is not good”, hurries thru his routine and heads to the shop, thinking…, “I should just sleep there, I mean.., I could just make the coffin a bed, I got some of the best liners in the back, and goose down filling, Hehe…” chuckling at the thought of it, and then thinking seriously, “Hmm, yup, that’s what I’m gonna do”, as he begins opening up the shop, he’s surprised to find it clean and organized, scratching his head, “how the heck…, when did I…” trying to remember how or when he did this, he flips on the lights, feeling good, he grabs his tolls and bangs out three high quality coffins, “wow, it would take me all day to do one, and now I have three, one for me to sleep in, and two extras” smiling at his accomplishment, he remembers how much he enjoyed the process of hand carving the wood, adding walnut inlays, lining it in the finest fabric, and installing beautiful hardware, the kind found only in the wealthiest mansions, the ones located in the eastern part of town, saying to himself, "amazing how they never get bombed, like some kind if shield around it", its home to people of high society, owners of the world famous beet farm, paper companies, high tech, and pharmaceuticals, the kind of folks that make the world rotate, looking at his Rolex, “Whoa, almost sunrise, can’t believe I was here all night”, as he prepares his new bed, the coffin he made earlier today, he draws the curtains closed, while doing so, he hears a whisper, “Dwight your turn”, he feels that chill again, right up his spine to his neck, pops his collar up to stop the chill, and heads to his new bed, passing a mirror, he glances, sees his reflection, his collar raised, liking what he sees, raises his eyebrows, “wow I look distinguished”, jumps into the coffin, closes the lid.
“Now that was comfortable”, as he opens the lid, “its dusk already”, rubbing neck, “hmm, why is it sore", he passes by the mirror, sees no bruises, "must be old age setting in”, just as turns from the mirror, there are two figures standing right behind him, startled… “who the hell are you guys…?”, stoic looks on their face, and glaring into his eyes, “oh my…, God…,” he sees their dark hallow soulless eyes, he reaches for the wall phone, the same one installed decades ago, old reliable, always worked, storms, earthquakes, even during the great cell phone outage of 2023, the one the Chinese and Russians concocted to show their strength in disabling societies, a warning to western civilizations and their dependance on technology, “where’s the dam phone…., I’m gonna call the police”, it’s not there, pinned against the wall, still locked eyes with them, he manages to snap the spell, looking frantically, he finds wires, follows them, they’re frayed, and there it is, dangling, ripped open as if an animal had its way with it, shaking, he grabs the receiver, tapping it up and down, “hello.., hello…” no dial tone, nothing, its dead, then he feels that chill run up his spine as it did the night before, but this time he has no collar to shield his neck, “ouch” the pressure on the side of his neck causes him to fall on his hands and knees, “are you here to kill me”, laughter erupts, the kind you hear in vampire movies… “no, no, we’re here to suck your blood”, without a second thought, they pounce on him, biting his neck.
Opening the coffin, Jack hops out, “wow I feel springy”, flicks on the light, “whoa that’s bright”, dims it, rubs his eyes, and as he refocuses, the two figures reappear, but this time he recognizes them, but not sure from where, figure one steps forward and motions him to sit… “Have a seat Jack” sitting and confused, he starts to explain…. “I’ll explain why we’re here, you see, when Jim was bitten by a bat…” titling his head, wondering why this sounds familiar, then he remembers he’s referencing Season 3 Episode 17 of ‘The Office’, the figure continues, “ I had to kill him, by impaling him with a wooden stake, however, Jim managed to avoid his fate, by getting me to think a bear was eating my beets….” Jack now realizes this is Dwight, the Dwight Shrute, The Beet Farmer from the show The Office, and next to him is Jim, Jim Halpert, the paper salesman from the show as well, “what the hell is going on” he shouts out, stepping in closer, Jim places his hand on his shoulder, raises his fingers across his lips, signaling him to be quiet, “shh, let Dwight finish”, Dwight goes on, “Thank you Jim, but I don’t need you, hmm, let’s see, I was about to kill Jim…” , Jim interrupts…“Um, no you weren’t…”, “ok Jim, if you know it so well, then you tell him why we’re here”, stepping in front of Dwight.. “Well, Jack, it all started when a bat got loose in the office, and Dwight was determined to kill it, but little did he know, he was the one who got bitten, you see, it happened when he was arguing with me about bears and beets, and how bears don’t eat beets….” , ‘No Jim, that’s not true , everyone knows bears love beets, FACT, bears eat beats more than they eat meat..”, Jim looking at Jack, raises his eye brow, “there you have it, that’s how Dwight became a vampire, and I had kill him, as I was driving the stake thru his heart, his cousin Moe, jumped me, bit my neck, and now we’re both vampires, and we need to sleep, and you’re the only one who knows coffins, the ones, were you can sleep all day and party all night”, Dwight stepping in front of Jim, “Nice one Jim, but it was my idea to come here and get your passion back, the most recent ones we got, barely lasted days, so we decided to make you a vampire, this way you can make these coffins forever…”, Jack gets up from his seat, “dam you, dam you, I don’t want to live forever”, the phone starts ringing, “hello”, the voice on the other end says in a soft voice… “hello honey”, grabbing the receiver with both hands, lips trembling…. “is that you, is that you Janet?” looking at them, then back to the phone.... “I miss you baby…”, “me too, turn around” he turns and there she is, glowing, smiling, revealing her new white fangs… “how.., is this really happening” , Jim places his hand on his shoulder… “we found her at the crash site, bleeding, on the verge of dying, I bit her, knowing we would need the wife of the finest coffin maker one day, and that day is today” Jack runs into her arms, hugging, turns back to Jim and Dwight … “Looks like I need to make one more coffin” | "This is the best coffin," said Monroe, I have inspected thus far. How is the man responsible for my satisfaction birthed by such fine craftsmanship?"
"He is not doing well Sir, replied the butler. It seems he has contracted a disease and has only but a few years of life remaining."
"This cannot be, said Monroe. Who else will build coffins up to par by the society of the moonlighters? Summon this man at once."
"Right away Sir," stated the butler.
At that moment the butler pulled out his phone but since the reception was palpitating, decided to contact the worshiped carpenter in person. He left the domain and was on his way to fulfill his master's wishes. He left the home and his master to be alone in peace. Or so he thought because right before he was able to seal the entrance one of the master's dearly beloved mates stepped into the irregularly large home and greeted its owner with a loose wave and a simple smile.
"How are things Monroe, said the stranger. I was in the neighborhood and thought I would drop in for a friendly game of cricket.
The well dressed stranger saw that Monroe sported a frown that stretched past his face.
"What's the matter counterpart? Don't tell me someone has challenged your position as president in the moonlighters. But this assumption must be incorrect since the Moonlighters have yet to find a president as capable as thee. The butler's service seems to be on point so it could not be because of that. So what could be the reason for my brother's overwhelming turmoil. If you do not tell me what is the matter then I will be forced to believe I am the cause of your depression. Well Comrade, is anyone going to tell me what is wrong or should I depart and return another day in hopes of greener moods?"
The president of the Moonlighters decided to swallow the ready saliva in his mouth. He went up to his counter part and greeted him with the same affection.
"The truth is Counterpart, said Monroe, that no matter how many matches of cricket you play or how persistent you become in your practice the day you beat me in a match will never come. It does not matter that you try and befriend victory time and time again. My skills will always just be a tad bit better than yours. If only you and your instructor came to terms with this reality then we would all be better off.
Monroe and his friend competed in a stare off until they both bursted with laughter.
"How are you, asked Monroe, ol chum? It feels like its been decades since you blessed my home with your presence. Is everything alright? If its a cricket match you yearn for then you have come to the wrong place because all good players of the game enjoy the sport for a sole reason and that is to outwit his opponent. But you and I both know that it has been ages since you've beaten in a game of cricket."
Once again they stared at each other with intensity until the butler came bursting through the door. It was as if the butler was sent by the laughing police to impede our counterparts from enjoying each other's sense of humor.
"Master, announced the butler, the carpenter refuses to leave his home. He is convinced that if he were to leave his workshop someone might come in and lay hands on his belongings. I questioned him in hopes of retrieving any other information about the matter but he said if he kept talking on the topic he's surely appear a madman."
"Well, said Monroe, if that is the case I will visit him in person. I have yet to find a carpenter to match the skill of Chado and I refuse to believe such a person exists. Onward then!"
The counterparts said their goodbyes and decided to postpone their cricket match until the following week; meanwhile the butler warmed up the car. They made excellent time because the traffic that would have extended their trip by eleven minutes was skipped by taking the streets instead of the highway. The butler took pride in knowing that one key factor why he remained employed, by a being who expected perfection from all his subordinates, was his vast knowledge of the streets and highways of Lomania. They arrived to the carpenter's house eleven minutes early. They knocked on the door and the person who answered looked like a worn down version of a man.
"Hello Chado, said Monroe, how are things? Don't tell me that the fish have not been biting. You look as strong as an ox comrade. What is this I hear about you having to write your will sooner than later.
"It is true, replied Chado. I have been diagnosed with an incurable disease and given a short time frame to live. I really appreciate the visit and the concern but I am afraid I am going to have to ask you to leave. I cannot waste any precious time reminiscing about the past if i ever hope to sort out my belonging to the rightful people before i close my eyes for the final time."
"Do not worry chum, said Monroe, I have been brought up to speed by my butler. I have given you my business over the past few decades because of your craftsmanship and attention to detail. I have seen many carpenter's so called masterpieces and I have yet to see one that would serve as a good comparison to yours."
Listen, said Chado, I really do not have the time to discuss my work right now. I am sure you understand. I have a ton of things I have to get done if I don't want any of my belongings going to the wrong people. Now if you excuse me; I ......
"How would you reply, said Monroe, if I told you I held the power to grant you immortality. And the process would be as simple as a caveman satisfying his urges."
"I would say, stirred Monroe, that you must have had one too many drinks while your driver secured the road." But if any of this is true I guess it would be worth a listen. Come in and wipe your feet before you enter."
The servant left the beings alone to park the car and the two gentleman entered a house the size of Monroe's garage. Monroe gently laid a hand on the carpenter's shoulder, entered the home and commenced to inform the layman of his power. | |
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality. | The bell jangled to the old coffin makers shop. It was late and Winston wasn't surprised. He'd been in this game for well over 30 years and he seemed to make a lot of trade after the sun set. Oh sure he had his suspicions about his clientele but they always paid well and on time, "Never turn away a good customer" as his dear departed papa used to say. He'd of course inherited the business from him and somehow inherited a lot of his customers too.
So when he looked up in the firelight to see Lady Sophia and her young boy Albert, he was not surprised. He tried to keep the thought that young Albert never seemed to age out of his mind, come to think of it Lady Sophia never seemed to age either. It had niggled at his mind for months like a far away siren. He stood uneasily using his cane
"Evenin' your Ladyship and Young Master Albert. What can I do for you this evening?" Winston inquired.
Lady Sophia smiled, "Master Winston, you have served our family well as did your father before you, and his father before that. You may have your suspicions about our family, and I would like to put those suspicions to rest and make you an offer." Albert was restless while holding his mother's hand. He seemed excited.
Winston sighed. He was getting in and suspected something like this would happen. His father had warned him about it on his death bed but he'd always assumed it was just ramblings before death took him. "You see, Winston, we are in fact vampires." Winston gave a small chuckle. "You don't seem surprised?" She inquired.
"No offense meant, your Ladyship, but as you an' the lad only come out after dark, you come down this way with no guards, you have no reflection in that window there, an' then the boy, bless 'im, doesn't seem to grow or age, it seemed quite likely the case."
"Ah," said Lady Sophia quite taken aback. "Well, I'll get right down to it. We've grown quite accustomed to the fine coffins that you have provided us over the past few decades, *stay still Albert!* and we'd like to offer you immortality in exchange for being our exclusive coffin maker. We are aware of unavoidable circumstances that you and your wife never had any children to pass on your trade to and we are concerned as to what would happen should you pass. Of course, this offer is open to your wife as well, she has always been so welcoming and well meaning. The apples pies she made us were always appreciated, but as I'm sure you can gather, we never did eat any of them. *Albert will you please stop squirming!* We would like to help any way we can. Becoming immortal would remove all ailments and bring back your youth."
Winston thought for a moment. Regaining his youth and getting Margie of that horrible disease that turned his loving wife into a sad, unmoving, shell of her former self? It seemed too good to be true. And that was exactly the problem.
"I do thank you kindly for your offer, and I am most flattered, but I'm afraid I'll have to decline. I can provide you with the addresses of some of the apprentices I trained over the years and they should be able to help you out." Winston replied sadly.
Lady Sophia smiled, "Of course. Thank you for your time this evening, *Albert stop it!* I do apologize but the boy has been quite troublesome lately. If you could get those addresses, I would be most appreciative."
As Winston turned his back to his files to obtain the addresses, Albert sprang out of his mother's grasp and flew at Winston's neck biting down hard. "Albert! Stop that this instant! He refused! We cannot go against his wishes!" Lady Sophia cried while trying to prise her son off Winston's neck. Winston screamed and then stopped abruptly falling to the floor dropping his cane in the process. Albert let go looking quite pleased with himself with part of Winston's shirt collar in his mouth. Lady Sophia turned over Winston's fallen body and sighed. "I'm so sorry about this." Winston got shakily to his feet and lady Sophia handed his cane back to him. He inspected his neck in the mirror. Not a scratch.
"It's quite alright, your Ladyship, no harm done."
"What a relief! Please, if there is anything we can do to make up for this idiot boys malevolence..." Lady Sophia started.
"Oh it's no trouble, your Ladyship," Winston interjected, "I'm guessing vampire children go through teething like non-vampire children, just got to bite something." Albert stood there with the collar piece still in his mouth, growling happily.
"Yes, sadly they do," lady Sophia sighed as she looked down at her boy who looked up at her proud as punch, cloth still in teeth, "we'll leave you be. If you do change your mind about my offer, please take my card." She slipped a small ornate card ordained with lavish gold writing on his desk and left. She was scolding her boy in the street when Winston locked the door chuckling to himself. "Little scamp," he thought. He stretched his old back and put out the candles.
He remembered he was supposed to give lady Sophia the addresses for his apprentices. He grabbed a handful from his desk, unlocked his door and tottered out the door waving his cane in the air. "Lady Sophia! Wait! The addresses!" Something hit him and everything went black for a few moments.
He got up feeling very annoyed at the world. That was twice something attacked him in one night. What was this world coming to? As he was getting up he realised his hands, once calloused by the decades of woodworking were now smooth. His cane was still on the floor. His joints no longer ached, and his teeth, well his teeth definitely felt sharper than they ever had. "God dammit!" He exclaimed to the world in general, "I said no!"
He looked about. Lady Sophia was going to get an earful about this. Except he could see her holding someone by the scruff of their neck and hitting them with her umbrella. "He *whack* said *whack* no! *whack*" Winston walked over slowly to see it was not Albert but was what appeared to be one of the vagabonds that sometimes hid in his alley for warmth. The vagabond ran off, hissing into the night. Lady Sophia looked forlornly at her umbrella, Albert was hiding behind her terrified.
"Are you alright, your Ladyship?" Winston asked tentatively. Her hair was askew and her umbrella in pieces, her face was drawn into a snarl, yet seemed on the verge of tears. This is not how she wanted this night to go at all.
"I just need a moment to compose myself," she managed. A few deep breaths later, she seemed back to normal. "My apologies for that outburst," she looked back to her umbrella and sighed, "guess I'll need to get another one."
Winston cleared his throat. "If it's all the same to you, you Ladyship, I have one back at the flat above my shop. You gifted one to Margie just before her turn an she's never got to use it. Maybe we could all pop in and pay her a kindness, if you get my meaning."
The three of them walked back to the shop. Winston looked at the stained and bloodied cards in his hand. "Guess they weren't needed after all," he thought as he tossed them into the fireplace before heading upstairs. | "This is the best coffin," said Monroe, I have inspected thus far. How is the man responsible for my satisfaction birthed by such fine craftsmanship?"
"He is not doing well Sir, replied the butler. It seems he has contracted a disease and has only but a few years of life remaining."
"This cannot be, said Monroe. Who else will build coffins up to par by the society of the moonlighters? Summon this man at once."
"Right away Sir," stated the butler.
At that moment the butler pulled out his phone but since the reception was palpitating, decided to contact the worshiped carpenter in person. He left the domain and was on his way to fulfill his master's wishes. He left the home and his master to be alone in peace. Or so he thought because right before he was able to seal the entrance one of the master's dearly beloved mates stepped into the irregularly large home and greeted its owner with a loose wave and a simple smile.
"How are things Monroe, said the stranger. I was in the neighborhood and thought I would drop in for a friendly game of cricket.
The well dressed stranger saw that Monroe sported a frown that stretched past his face.
"What's the matter counterpart? Don't tell me someone has challenged your position as president in the moonlighters. But this assumption must be incorrect since the Moonlighters have yet to find a president as capable as thee. The butler's service seems to be on point so it could not be because of that. So what could be the reason for my brother's overwhelming turmoil. If you do not tell me what is the matter then I will be forced to believe I am the cause of your depression. Well Comrade, is anyone going to tell me what is wrong or should I depart and return another day in hopes of greener moods?"
The president of the Moonlighters decided to swallow the ready saliva in his mouth. He went up to his counter part and greeted him with the same affection.
"The truth is Counterpart, said Monroe, that no matter how many matches of cricket you play or how persistent you become in your practice the day you beat me in a match will never come. It does not matter that you try and befriend victory time and time again. My skills will always just be a tad bit better than yours. If only you and your instructor came to terms with this reality then we would all be better off.
Monroe and his friend competed in a stare off until they both bursted with laughter.
"How are you, asked Monroe, ol chum? It feels like its been decades since you blessed my home with your presence. Is everything alright? If its a cricket match you yearn for then you have come to the wrong place because all good players of the game enjoy the sport for a sole reason and that is to outwit his opponent. But you and I both know that it has been ages since you've beaten in a game of cricket."
Once again they stared at each other with intensity until the butler came bursting through the door. It was as if the butler was sent by the laughing police to impede our counterparts from enjoying each other's sense of humor.
"Master, announced the butler, the carpenter refuses to leave his home. He is convinced that if he were to leave his workshop someone might come in and lay hands on his belongings. I questioned him in hopes of retrieving any other information about the matter but he said if he kept talking on the topic he's surely appear a madman."
"Well, said Monroe, if that is the case I will visit him in person. I have yet to find a carpenter to match the skill of Chado and I refuse to believe such a person exists. Onward then!"
The counterparts said their goodbyes and decided to postpone their cricket match until the following week; meanwhile the butler warmed up the car. They made excellent time because the traffic that would have extended their trip by eleven minutes was skipped by taking the streets instead of the highway. The butler took pride in knowing that one key factor why he remained employed, by a being who expected perfection from all his subordinates, was his vast knowledge of the streets and highways of Lomania. They arrived to the carpenter's house eleven minutes early. They knocked on the door and the person who answered looked like a worn down version of a man.
"Hello Chado, said Monroe, how are things? Don't tell me that the fish have not been biting. You look as strong as an ox comrade. What is this I hear about you having to write your will sooner than later.
"It is true, replied Chado. I have been diagnosed with an incurable disease and given a short time frame to live. I really appreciate the visit and the concern but I am afraid I am going to have to ask you to leave. I cannot waste any precious time reminiscing about the past if i ever hope to sort out my belonging to the rightful people before i close my eyes for the final time."
"Do not worry chum, said Monroe, I have been brought up to speed by my butler. I have given you my business over the past few decades because of your craftsmanship and attention to detail. I have seen many carpenter's so called masterpieces and I have yet to see one that would serve as a good comparison to yours."
Listen, said Chado, I really do not have the time to discuss my work right now. I am sure you understand. I have a ton of things I have to get done if I don't want any of my belongings going to the wrong people. Now if you excuse me; I ......
"How would you reply, said Monroe, if I told you I held the power to grant you immortality. And the process would be as simple as a caveman satisfying his urges."
"I would say, stirred Monroe, that you must have had one too many drinks while your driver secured the road." But if any of this is true I guess it would be worth a listen. Come in and wipe your feet before you enter."
The servant left the beings alone to park the car and the two gentleman entered a house the size of Monroe's garage. Monroe gently laid a hand on the carpenter's shoulder, entered the home and commenced to inform the layman of his power. | |
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality. | “You…you knew?”
For the first time in the better part of a century, Sylvan stammered.
The elderly woman pointed to a bushed steel piano hinge on the lid of her latest work. Even with the softened finish, her finger’s reflection cast a splash of color over the metal. Sylvan’s face peering at the hinge did not.
Sylvan thought back to the first time he met Estrella Pérez over three decades before. She wore a high-necked shirt with long sleeves then, the same as today. There was a pitcher of water on a table to her left, the same as today. She wore silver stud earrings, the same as today. There was a crust of bread on a little plate next to the pitcher and *fucking hell she has holy water and the transubstantiated body of Christ on her workbench right in front of me.*
Sylvan took a step back. If he could sweat, he would.
“Relax, Mr. Green. This is business.” Mrs. Pérez wiped some fingerprints off the finish of the coffin in front of her. “We all know about protection rackets here. You’ve always been gentlemanly, and Madame Cecile has always been scrupulously polite—“
Madame Cecile, who survived an attack of French soldiers in Haiti by hiding in a cave, only to be trapped inside during a hurricane, was one of the oldest and most powerful vampires on the continent. She was rescued at the edge of death by a French vampire who wanted to get the hell out of Haiti on the eve of the Revolution. In exchange for her freedom and that of her mother, Cecile carried him to his ship in a canvas bag and sailed to New Amsterdam. Léopold turned her some years later. Nobody in the New York vampire community dared cross either of them, and this woman kept the body of Christ on a table where Madame Cecile could see.
“—but you’re still vampires,” she continued, jolting him out of his head. “I’m not going to leave myself defenseless.”
Sylvan realized with a start that the high-neck blouse was almost certainly hiding a crucifix. He bit his lip, and his left upper fang caught on it. This wasn’t going as he planned.
The skin around Señora Pérez’ eyes crinkled. “Relax. Really. I’m the same person you’ve always hired to build your ultraviolet light-blocking beds.” With a flick of her fingers, she popped a latch on the coffin, which opened up on its soft-close hinges. An elegant touch, befitting of the maker.
“Um,” Sylvan said.
“Yes?” Señora Pérez focused her gaze on him, and though her eyes were weaker, there was clearly nothing wrong with her mind.
“I, uh,” and he stammered again. “Several of us, including Madame Cecile, want to know if you would like us to turn you. Into a vampire.”
“That’s kind of you, but no thank you.” Señora Pérez’ voice was firm. “I have had a good life. I don’t need to live in the shadows of other peoples’ lives. And I don’t want to live as a predator.”
Sylvan squirmed. “We don’t take humans anymore—“
“Here,” she interrupted. “You don’t hunt humans here in Brooklyn. We won’t talk about Rikers. Or Governor’s Island.”
How did she know about that? The vampire imprisoned on Rikers Island in 1953, or the Society ball on Governor’s Island in 1928 where the daughters of a rich man were more or less offered as human sacrifices to secure a business deal for their robber-baron of a grandfather?
The daughters who were saved by an outraged Madame Cecile, who were smuggled to Puerto Rico to escape their grandfather’s influence…
“Gertrude van Heemst was my mother,” Señora Pérez said gently. “Madame Cecile asked me to build her a coffin when I was just starting as a carpenter in 1953, back when women didn’t do that.” Her eyes lit with pride. “I didn’t want to be a charity case.”
She made such beautiful furniture. Now that he knew that she knew, design features that Sylvan had thought to be good style were obviously engineered for the comfort and safety of vampires. Curved tubes to allow air exchange without light penetration. Minimal reflective surfaces. Headrests that angled the head and neck to minimize biting one’s tongue when sleeping. It would be a huge shame and a huge loss if she vanished into nothingness like the ephemeral creature she was.
“If you know about Riker’s Island, you’ll know that Mathias was insane and tortured,” Sylvan retorted firmly, “and that old Van Heemst lived just long enough to see his wealth and power crumble before dying alone in his bedroom. We’re monsters, but not murderers.”
“I’m still not interested.”
This definitely wasn’t going to plan. Sylvan had never turned anyone in all two hundred ten years of his existence, he had never felt like anyone had earned it, and the one person who would make a fantastic new addition to the vampire community in New York point-blank refused. “Can you at least tell me why not?”
Señora Pérez rolled her eyes. Before he could react, she bit the cuticle on her thumb until a bit of blood leaked out, dipped it in the pitcher of holy water, and swiped the holy water and blood across Sylvan’s lower lip.
“What—wait, no, what have you done?” As he recoiled in shock, shattered by the broken trust, horrified by what could be his unmaking, a strange taste entered his mouth. Sylvan frowned, then gaped. It was acid. Stomach acid. And his palms were wet. And his feet were cold. He felt afraid, he felt nervous, he felt *alive—*
Alive.
He breathed cold, sweet air into his lungs for a fleeting heartbeat—just one—and the sensation ebbed away, leaving behind an aching hole of regret and loss mixed with the metallic tang of human blood and the grey haze of life in the shadows.
God damn it, he wanted to cry, and that was gone too.
“I don’t want to live that way,” she repeated. “I‘ve had my time. It was a good time. But when it’s my time to go, I’ll go.” Señora Pérez shrugged. “Besides, I miss my mama.” | "This is the best coffin," said Monroe, I have inspected thus far. How is the man responsible for my satisfaction birthed by such fine craftsmanship?"
"He is not doing well Sir, replied the butler. It seems he has contracted a disease and has only but a few years of life remaining."
"This cannot be, said Monroe. Who else will build coffins up to par by the society of the moonlighters? Summon this man at once."
"Right away Sir," stated the butler.
At that moment the butler pulled out his phone but since the reception was palpitating, decided to contact the worshiped carpenter in person. He left the domain and was on his way to fulfill his master's wishes. He left the home and his master to be alone in peace. Or so he thought because right before he was able to seal the entrance one of the master's dearly beloved mates stepped into the irregularly large home and greeted its owner with a loose wave and a simple smile.
"How are things Monroe, said the stranger. I was in the neighborhood and thought I would drop in for a friendly game of cricket.
The well dressed stranger saw that Monroe sported a frown that stretched past his face.
"What's the matter counterpart? Don't tell me someone has challenged your position as president in the moonlighters. But this assumption must be incorrect since the Moonlighters have yet to find a president as capable as thee. The butler's service seems to be on point so it could not be because of that. So what could be the reason for my brother's overwhelming turmoil. If you do not tell me what is the matter then I will be forced to believe I am the cause of your depression. Well Comrade, is anyone going to tell me what is wrong or should I depart and return another day in hopes of greener moods?"
The president of the Moonlighters decided to swallow the ready saliva in his mouth. He went up to his counter part and greeted him with the same affection.
"The truth is Counterpart, said Monroe, that no matter how many matches of cricket you play or how persistent you become in your practice the day you beat me in a match will never come. It does not matter that you try and befriend victory time and time again. My skills will always just be a tad bit better than yours. If only you and your instructor came to terms with this reality then we would all be better off.
Monroe and his friend competed in a stare off until they both bursted with laughter.
"How are you, asked Monroe, ol chum? It feels like its been decades since you blessed my home with your presence. Is everything alright? If its a cricket match you yearn for then you have come to the wrong place because all good players of the game enjoy the sport for a sole reason and that is to outwit his opponent. But you and I both know that it has been ages since you've beaten in a game of cricket."
Once again they stared at each other with intensity until the butler came bursting through the door. It was as if the butler was sent by the laughing police to impede our counterparts from enjoying each other's sense of humor.
"Master, announced the butler, the carpenter refuses to leave his home. He is convinced that if he were to leave his workshop someone might come in and lay hands on his belongings. I questioned him in hopes of retrieving any other information about the matter but he said if he kept talking on the topic he's surely appear a madman."
"Well, said Monroe, if that is the case I will visit him in person. I have yet to find a carpenter to match the skill of Chado and I refuse to believe such a person exists. Onward then!"
The counterparts said their goodbyes and decided to postpone their cricket match until the following week; meanwhile the butler warmed up the car. They made excellent time because the traffic that would have extended their trip by eleven minutes was skipped by taking the streets instead of the highway. The butler took pride in knowing that one key factor why he remained employed, by a being who expected perfection from all his subordinates, was his vast knowledge of the streets and highways of Lomania. They arrived to the carpenter's house eleven minutes early. They knocked on the door and the person who answered looked like a worn down version of a man.
"Hello Chado, said Monroe, how are things? Don't tell me that the fish have not been biting. You look as strong as an ox comrade. What is this I hear about you having to write your will sooner than later.
"It is true, replied Chado. I have been diagnosed with an incurable disease and given a short time frame to live. I really appreciate the visit and the concern but I am afraid I am going to have to ask you to leave. I cannot waste any precious time reminiscing about the past if i ever hope to sort out my belonging to the rightful people before i close my eyes for the final time."
"Do not worry chum, said Monroe, I have been brought up to speed by my butler. I have given you my business over the past few decades because of your craftsmanship and attention to detail. I have seen many carpenter's so called masterpieces and I have yet to see one that would serve as a good comparison to yours."
Listen, said Chado, I really do not have the time to discuss my work right now. I am sure you understand. I have a ton of things I have to get done if I don't want any of my belongings going to the wrong people. Now if you excuse me; I ......
"How would you reply, said Monroe, if I told you I held the power to grant you immortality. And the process would be as simple as a caveman satisfying his urges."
"I would say, stirred Monroe, that you must have had one too many drinks while your driver secured the road." But if any of this is true I guess it would be worth a listen. Come in and wipe your feet before you enter."
The servant left the beings alone to park the car and the two gentleman entered a house the size of Monroe's garage. Monroe gently laid a hand on the carpenter's shoulder, entered the home and commenced to inform the layman of his power. | |
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality. | When the vampires had walked into his shop Samuel believed his plan had been uncovered. He thought they had come to end him then and there, but instead they had propositioned him.
The tallest vampire said, “Mr. Telgar you have created wonderful works for us over these last many decades. We have decided you should know we are all vampires, very much like the stories tell.”
They all flashed their fangs as if that was all the proof he needed. The leader continued, “Now we come to offer you the chance to join our ranks as recompense for all you’ve done. We would be delighted to have your skills among us forever.”
Samuel did his best to feign shock with just the right sprinkle of fear as if this revelation had left him speechless. He looked between them with wide eyes and when he spoke he gave his voice a slight quiver, “I-I am honored that you would consider this, but I am just a simple craftsman. I love to work and create, but since my wife passed away I’ve longed to be with her again. To spend millennia without her would be impossible. I’m afraid I must refuse your gift, I hope that I do not offend.”
His words hung in the air between them for a long moment, and he waited for them to pounce. Instead they put on sad faces and the leader said, “We understand. Immortality is not for everyone. Know that your work will be missed when you are gone. I trust our secret will be safe with you. We’d hate for our relationship to go sour after all these years.”
With that the trio walked out of his shop and into the night. It took a while for his nerves to calm. Of all the nights for them to offer they had chosen the night of his plan’s ultimate culmination. Perhaps the Gods were simply having a go at him.
He spent the rest of the night working in the shop doing basic work in case anyone was monitoring him. The chances were unlikely, but he couldn’t risk everything now when he was so close. His anticipation kept him buzzing the entire night.
After dawn broke he spent some time cleaning up before reaching under his workbench and pulling a hidden lever underneath. A door popped open in the center of his shop floor revealing a set of stairs descending into darkness. He sauntered down the stairs making a conscious effort to control his breathing and clear his mind.
A switch on the wall at the bottom of the stairs turned on soft yellow lights that illuminated a single room with a large stone coffin in the center. Silver runes interlaced the entire surface appearing like veins and arteries that grew up from the floor and consumed the coffin. All of the runes converged upon a single, massive ruby set in the center of the coffin lid glowing with a deep bloody light.
Samuel made his way over to the coffin and ran his hand over the surface. These runes projected an imperceptible sphere of influence over the entire city. Vampires all over the city would be turning in for the day to rest inside of coffins that resonated with that power unbeknownst to their occupants.
For the last few decades this has been happening, and each night a tiny piece of their life force has been harvested and collected here in Samuel’s ruby. He pushed the lid and it slid smoothly open. Samuel climbed inside and pulled it shut.
Now he would reap the rewards of his labors. Power flowed into him, filling him with pain and ecstasy. Throughout the city vampires would feel something similar but be powerless to stop it. Soon they would all be enthralled to Samuel and he would become the most powerful being in the city. | "This is the best coffin," said Monroe, I have inspected thus far. How is the man responsible for my satisfaction birthed by such fine craftsmanship?"
"He is not doing well Sir, replied the butler. It seems he has contracted a disease and has only but a few years of life remaining."
"This cannot be, said Monroe. Who else will build coffins up to par by the society of the moonlighters? Summon this man at once."
"Right away Sir," stated the butler.
At that moment the butler pulled out his phone but since the reception was palpitating, decided to contact the worshiped carpenter in person. He left the domain and was on his way to fulfill his master's wishes. He left the home and his master to be alone in peace. Or so he thought because right before he was able to seal the entrance one of the master's dearly beloved mates stepped into the irregularly large home and greeted its owner with a loose wave and a simple smile.
"How are things Monroe, said the stranger. I was in the neighborhood and thought I would drop in for a friendly game of cricket.
The well dressed stranger saw that Monroe sported a frown that stretched past his face.
"What's the matter counterpart? Don't tell me someone has challenged your position as president in the moonlighters. But this assumption must be incorrect since the Moonlighters have yet to find a president as capable as thee. The butler's service seems to be on point so it could not be because of that. So what could be the reason for my brother's overwhelming turmoil. If you do not tell me what is the matter then I will be forced to believe I am the cause of your depression. Well Comrade, is anyone going to tell me what is wrong or should I depart and return another day in hopes of greener moods?"
The president of the Moonlighters decided to swallow the ready saliva in his mouth. He went up to his counter part and greeted him with the same affection.
"The truth is Counterpart, said Monroe, that no matter how many matches of cricket you play or how persistent you become in your practice the day you beat me in a match will never come. It does not matter that you try and befriend victory time and time again. My skills will always just be a tad bit better than yours. If only you and your instructor came to terms with this reality then we would all be better off.
Monroe and his friend competed in a stare off until they both bursted with laughter.
"How are you, asked Monroe, ol chum? It feels like its been decades since you blessed my home with your presence. Is everything alright? If its a cricket match you yearn for then you have come to the wrong place because all good players of the game enjoy the sport for a sole reason and that is to outwit his opponent. But you and I both know that it has been ages since you've beaten in a game of cricket."
Once again they stared at each other with intensity until the butler came bursting through the door. It was as if the butler was sent by the laughing police to impede our counterparts from enjoying each other's sense of humor.
"Master, announced the butler, the carpenter refuses to leave his home. He is convinced that if he were to leave his workshop someone might come in and lay hands on his belongings. I questioned him in hopes of retrieving any other information about the matter but he said if he kept talking on the topic he's surely appear a madman."
"Well, said Monroe, if that is the case I will visit him in person. I have yet to find a carpenter to match the skill of Chado and I refuse to believe such a person exists. Onward then!"
The counterparts said their goodbyes and decided to postpone their cricket match until the following week; meanwhile the butler warmed up the car. They made excellent time because the traffic that would have extended their trip by eleven minutes was skipped by taking the streets instead of the highway. The butler took pride in knowing that one key factor why he remained employed, by a being who expected perfection from all his subordinates, was his vast knowledge of the streets and highways of Lomania. They arrived to the carpenter's house eleven minutes early. They knocked on the door and the person who answered looked like a worn down version of a man.
"Hello Chado, said Monroe, how are things? Don't tell me that the fish have not been biting. You look as strong as an ox comrade. What is this I hear about you having to write your will sooner than later.
"It is true, replied Chado. I have been diagnosed with an incurable disease and given a short time frame to live. I really appreciate the visit and the concern but I am afraid I am going to have to ask you to leave. I cannot waste any precious time reminiscing about the past if i ever hope to sort out my belonging to the rightful people before i close my eyes for the final time."
"Do not worry chum, said Monroe, I have been brought up to speed by my butler. I have given you my business over the past few decades because of your craftsmanship and attention to detail. I have seen many carpenter's so called masterpieces and I have yet to see one that would serve as a good comparison to yours."
Listen, said Chado, I really do not have the time to discuss my work right now. I am sure you understand. I have a ton of things I have to get done if I don't want any of my belongings going to the wrong people. Now if you excuse me; I ......
"How would you reply, said Monroe, if I told you I held the power to grant you immortality. And the process would be as simple as a caveman satisfying his urges."
"I would say, stirred Monroe, that you must have had one too many drinks while your driver secured the road." But if any of this is true I guess it would be worth a listen. Come in and wipe your feet before you enter."
The servant left the beings alone to park the car and the two gentleman entered a house the size of Monroe's garage. Monroe gently laid a hand on the carpenter's shoulder, entered the home and commenced to inform the layman of his power. | |
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality. |
Thomas held out a steady gloved hand to Victoria as she exited the carriage to Wilkins Casket Company. "Such a shame if we were to lose this one, Thomas. I've never slept through whole days before."
"Yes, my darling. Men of his craft are difficult to find."
She gave him a glance. "If he accepts, we should not hesitate."
"No time to second guess." Thomas opened the rosen stained glass door for Victoria to enter. She glided into the foyer, removing her purple feathered hat to admire the low hanging chandelier, making sure to quickly pass by the mirror to her left.
Meanwhile, Thomas knocked on the double door to the office of Sir Gregory Wilkins. "Come in!" A voice responded.
Wilkins stood slowly, relying heavily on his cane. "Thomas, how are you this evening? Here to check up on the progress of your order, hm?"
"Indeed," Thomas mentioned for Victoria to step forward. "We prefer to be prepared. Victoria's aunt's condition has not improved."
"There is no need to worry, I have been slaving over the finishing touches all day." Wilkins winced, "Hence the sore knees. Please forgive me," the man replied, lowering himself to his padded chair. "Though," Wilkins folded his hands over his desk. "What was this aunt's name again, for my old mind to ensure the engraving is pristine."
Victoria glanced nervously at Thomas. "Ah, yes. M- Marline Davis. M-A-R-L-"
"You know, I did some digging," Wilkins paused to chuckle at his joke, "So to speak... and this Aunt Marline of yours passed 43 years ago." Thomas straightened. Victoria's mouth hung open as to respond.
"I had my suspicious. I mean, two family deaths soon after you moved into town."
"We can offer you immortality," Victoria blurted. "You provide cushion like no other. And no light bleeding, we don't even need to close the curtains-" Thomas cut her off.
"Your craftsmanship is superb. Preservation is clearly a top priority. In fact, we came here today to present to you the offer of immortality in exchange for comfort coffins and, of course, plenty of compensation."
Slowly opening his right hand desk drawer, Gregory Wilkins grabbed a straight razor and hobbled across the squeeking floors towards the couple.
Thomas held up his hands in surrender. "Sir Wilkins, we do not require a bloodletting in exchange for our offer. Your services have been and will be quite enough-"
Gregory held up the razor between two fingers and continued past them to the mirror across the hall. Wilkins looked past his reflection to witness clothed invisible figures. With a gasp, Victoria quickly covered her feathered hat over her face. Thomas stood straight as an arrow.
Wilkins pulled a towel from deep within his trouser pocket. He lent his cane against the wall, inhaling sharply as he straightened his back. "Now, now," his voice sounding more lively. Wilkins carefully took the razor to his cheek, peeling away layers of thick costume make up. Beneath the disguise was mirrored invisibility.
"My heavens," Victoria threw her hat into the air. Bewildered, both of them. "The whole time?"
Wilkins removed the entirety of his mask, revealing a middle aged man. He chuckled under his breath, "Gets them every time."
Wilkins walked briskly over to Thomas and Victoria, "You two never stopped to question why a casket was built with such comfort in mind?" The glanced at each other, trying to find words.
"Alister Wilkins Tannen, at your service. Now, shall we conclude our business here today." | "This is the best coffin," said Monroe, I have inspected thus far. How is the man responsible for my satisfaction birthed by such fine craftsmanship?"
"He is not doing well Sir, replied the butler. It seems he has contracted a disease and has only but a few years of life remaining."
"This cannot be, said Monroe. Who else will build coffins up to par by the society of the moonlighters? Summon this man at once."
"Right away Sir," stated the butler.
At that moment the butler pulled out his phone but since the reception was palpitating, decided to contact the worshiped carpenter in person. He left the domain and was on his way to fulfill his master's wishes. He left the home and his master to be alone in peace. Or so he thought because right before he was able to seal the entrance one of the master's dearly beloved mates stepped into the irregularly large home and greeted its owner with a loose wave and a simple smile.
"How are things Monroe, said the stranger. I was in the neighborhood and thought I would drop in for a friendly game of cricket.
The well dressed stranger saw that Monroe sported a frown that stretched past his face.
"What's the matter counterpart? Don't tell me someone has challenged your position as president in the moonlighters. But this assumption must be incorrect since the Moonlighters have yet to find a president as capable as thee. The butler's service seems to be on point so it could not be because of that. So what could be the reason for my brother's overwhelming turmoil. If you do not tell me what is the matter then I will be forced to believe I am the cause of your depression. Well Comrade, is anyone going to tell me what is wrong or should I depart and return another day in hopes of greener moods?"
The president of the Moonlighters decided to swallow the ready saliva in his mouth. He went up to his counter part and greeted him with the same affection.
"The truth is Counterpart, said Monroe, that no matter how many matches of cricket you play or how persistent you become in your practice the day you beat me in a match will never come. It does not matter that you try and befriend victory time and time again. My skills will always just be a tad bit better than yours. If only you and your instructor came to terms with this reality then we would all be better off.
Monroe and his friend competed in a stare off until they both bursted with laughter.
"How are you, asked Monroe, ol chum? It feels like its been decades since you blessed my home with your presence. Is everything alright? If its a cricket match you yearn for then you have come to the wrong place because all good players of the game enjoy the sport for a sole reason and that is to outwit his opponent. But you and I both know that it has been ages since you've beaten in a game of cricket."
Once again they stared at each other with intensity until the butler came bursting through the door. It was as if the butler was sent by the laughing police to impede our counterparts from enjoying each other's sense of humor.
"Master, announced the butler, the carpenter refuses to leave his home. He is convinced that if he were to leave his workshop someone might come in and lay hands on his belongings. I questioned him in hopes of retrieving any other information about the matter but he said if he kept talking on the topic he's surely appear a madman."
"Well, said Monroe, if that is the case I will visit him in person. I have yet to find a carpenter to match the skill of Chado and I refuse to believe such a person exists. Onward then!"
The counterparts said their goodbyes and decided to postpone their cricket match until the following week; meanwhile the butler warmed up the car. They made excellent time because the traffic that would have extended their trip by eleven minutes was skipped by taking the streets instead of the highway. The butler took pride in knowing that one key factor why he remained employed, by a being who expected perfection from all his subordinates, was his vast knowledge of the streets and highways of Lomania. They arrived to the carpenter's house eleven minutes early. They knocked on the door and the person who answered looked like a worn down version of a man.
"Hello Chado, said Monroe, how are things? Don't tell me that the fish have not been biting. You look as strong as an ox comrade. What is this I hear about you having to write your will sooner than later.
"It is true, replied Chado. I have been diagnosed with an incurable disease and given a short time frame to live. I really appreciate the visit and the concern but I am afraid I am going to have to ask you to leave. I cannot waste any precious time reminiscing about the past if i ever hope to sort out my belonging to the rightful people before i close my eyes for the final time."
"Do not worry chum, said Monroe, I have been brought up to speed by my butler. I have given you my business over the past few decades because of your craftsmanship and attention to detail. I have seen many carpenter's so called masterpieces and I have yet to see one that would serve as a good comparison to yours."
Listen, said Chado, I really do not have the time to discuss my work right now. I am sure you understand. I have a ton of things I have to get done if I don't want any of my belongings going to the wrong people. Now if you excuse me; I ......
"How would you reply, said Monroe, if I told you I held the power to grant you immortality. And the process would be as simple as a caveman satisfying his urges."
"I would say, stirred Monroe, that you must have had one too many drinks while your driver secured the road." But if any of this is true I guess it would be worth a listen. Come in and wipe your feet before you enter."
The servant left the beings alone to park the car and the two gentleman entered a house the size of Monroe's garage. Monroe gently laid a hand on the carpenter's shoulder, entered the home and commenced to inform the layman of his power. | |
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality. | “You…you knew?”
For the first time in the better part of a century, Sylvan stammered.
The elderly woman pointed to a bushed steel piano hinge on the lid of her latest work. Even with the softened finish, her finger’s reflection cast a splash of color over the metal. Sylvan’s face peering at the hinge did not.
Sylvan thought back to the first time he met Estrella Pérez over three decades before. She wore a high-necked shirt with long sleeves then, the same as today. There was a pitcher of water on a table to her left, the same as today. She wore silver stud earrings, the same as today. There was a crust of bread on a little plate next to the pitcher and *fucking hell she has holy water and the transubstantiated body of Christ on her workbench right in front of me.*
Sylvan took a step back. If he could sweat, he would.
“Relax, Mr. Green. This is business.” Mrs. Pérez wiped some fingerprints off the finish of the coffin in front of her. “We all know about protection rackets here. You’ve always been gentlemanly, and Madame Cecile has always been scrupulously polite—“
Madame Cecile, who survived an attack of French soldiers in Haiti by hiding in a cave, only to be trapped inside during a hurricane, was one of the oldest and most powerful vampires on the continent. She was rescued at the edge of death by a French vampire who wanted to get the hell out of Haiti on the eve of the Revolution. In exchange for her freedom and that of her mother, Cecile carried him to his ship in a canvas bag and sailed to New Amsterdam. Léopold turned her some years later. Nobody in the New York vampire community dared cross either of them, and this woman kept the body of Christ on a table where Madame Cecile could see.
“—but you’re still vampires,” she continued, jolting him out of his head. “I’m not going to leave myself defenseless.”
Sylvan realized with a start that the high-neck blouse was almost certainly hiding a crucifix. He bit his lip, and his left upper fang caught on it. This wasn’t going as he planned.
The skin around Señora Pérez’ eyes crinkled. “Relax. Really. I’m the same person you’ve always hired to build your ultraviolet light-blocking beds.” With a flick of her fingers, she popped a latch on the coffin, which opened up on its soft-close hinges. An elegant touch, befitting of the maker.
“Um,” Sylvan said.
“Yes?” Señora Pérez focused her gaze on him, and though her eyes were weaker, there was clearly nothing wrong with her mind.
“I, uh,” and he stammered again. “Several of us, including Madame Cecile, want to know if you would like us to turn you. Into a vampire.”
“That’s kind of you, but no thank you.” Señora Pérez’ voice was firm. “I have had a good life. I don’t need to live in the shadows of other peoples’ lives. And I don’t want to live as a predator.”
Sylvan squirmed. “We don’t take humans anymore—“
“Here,” she interrupted. “You don’t hunt humans here in Brooklyn. We won’t talk about Rikers. Or Governor’s Island.”
How did she know about that? The vampire imprisoned on Rikers Island in 1953, or the Society ball on Governor’s Island in 1928 where the daughters of a rich man were more or less offered as human sacrifices to secure a business deal for their robber-baron of a grandfather?
The daughters who were saved by an outraged Madame Cecile, who were smuggled to Puerto Rico to escape their grandfather’s influence…
“Gertrude van Heemst was my mother,” Señora Pérez said gently. “Madame Cecile asked me to build her a coffin when I was just starting as a carpenter in 1953, back when women didn’t do that.” Her eyes lit with pride. “I didn’t want to be a charity case.”
She made such beautiful furniture. Now that he knew that she knew, design features that Sylvan had thought to be good style were obviously engineered for the comfort and safety of vampires. Curved tubes to allow air exchange without light penetration. Minimal reflective surfaces. Headrests that angled the head and neck to minimize biting one’s tongue when sleeping. It would be a huge shame and a huge loss if she vanished into nothingness like the ephemeral creature she was.
“If you know about Riker’s Island, you’ll know that Mathias was insane and tortured,” Sylvan retorted firmly, “and that old Van Heemst lived just long enough to see his wealth and power crumble before dying alone in his bedroom. We’re monsters, but not murderers.”
“I’m still not interested.”
This definitely wasn’t going to plan. Sylvan had never turned anyone in all two hundred ten years of his existence, he had never felt like anyone had earned it, and the one person who would make a fantastic new addition to the vampire community in New York point-blank refused. “Can you at least tell me why not?”
Señora Pérez rolled her eyes. Before he could react, she bit the cuticle on her thumb until a bit of blood leaked out, dipped it in the pitcher of holy water, and swiped the holy water and blood across Sylvan’s lower lip.
“What—wait, no, what have you done?” As he recoiled in shock, shattered by the broken trust, horrified by what could be his unmaking, a strange taste entered his mouth. Sylvan frowned, then gaped. It was acid. Stomach acid. And his palms were wet. And his feet were cold. He felt afraid, he felt nervous, he felt *alive—*
Alive.
He breathed cold, sweet air into his lungs for a fleeting heartbeat—just one—and the sensation ebbed away, leaving behind an aching hole of regret and loss mixed with the metallic tang of human blood and the grey haze of life in the shadows.
God damn it, he wanted to cry, and that was gone too.
“I don’t want to live that way,” she repeated. “I‘ve had my time. It was a good time. But when it’s my time to go, I’ll go.” Señora Pérez shrugged. “Besides, I miss my mama.” | Shadows crept along the walls of Wesmond's estate, dark vines unfurling to take up more and more space, claiming the house as their own.
It was a dark night. Wesmond knew that for certain.
A rap at his door, and he slid the sleek, polished wood aside, taking no time as he sped to get the evening over with. He longed for the comfort of the next morning but to try to escape his fate would surely be folly.
A man clothed darkly stood on the step, his face dressed in the same shadows that laughed from the stairs.
An old customer.
Arguably an old friend.
"Simon, what might you be doing here?"
The wealthy benefactor chuckled, humorlessly.
"Your time is running out, Wesmond. I have an offer for you."
This sent no chill up Wesmond's spine, but rather sent the house around him kaleidoscoping, faintly washing in and out with a faint pressure.
This was something crueler than death. An eternal favor.
"What do you want, Simon."
The old man bowed his head.
"A good question. Right now, I have only one thing I need from you Wesmond. Service. Ideally, everlasting, but I'm willing to settle for long beyond your lifespan.
You have no apprentice, no study, none to pass on your wisdom to. Why not?"
Wesmond smirked without a trace of mirth.
"People ask me that a lot. I will not take the same from you. Answer my again, Simon. What do you want?"
"Some," Simon began, a tone of whimsy, of longing, tracing along the curve of his voice. "Might be inclined to make you a thrall, to force your cooperation."
His sing-song timbre only served to madden Wesmond more. The creature's (for Wesmond was swiftly losing all pretensions) speech dropped to a low, threatening whisper.
"But you have served us better than that, Wesmond. You deserve all of the grace we who are lost and found in the night can offer. Thank you for your kindness for all these years. Are you ready to join us?"
Wesmond's throat caught in his throat, a sensation so bizarre and uncanny that to try to explain it would be unsatisfying for all parties involved.
His lungs dried and his neck bulged, and the inside of his throat gulped many times, but he was quickly losing any sense of breath. Simon looked down on him sadly.
"It's already happening. We can stop this, Wesmond. We can help you. Just let us. Let us help you Wesmond."
The voices began sliding past the old man as he crumbled to the floor, choking on fear and something else, something tangible.
*Oh.* He thought. *I'm going to die.*
He tried to fix his gaze on Simon with his rapidly fading vision, eyes blurred by stinging tears and falling bells. The man did not conform to expectation.
His face was not pale or noble, and its disposition resembled more closely the sickened hue of gangrenous limbs. His nose, if it could be called that, was severely broken, yet persisted nonetheless, and while he sniffled and muttered empty statements under his breath, as if to ward off an intruder.
Many names answered his call and each had a voice. He almost felt himself joining them, but Wesmond remained strong.
The air faded, the shadows encroached, and finally, Wesmond folded.
"Help."
He croaked.
Simon grinned, his teeth sallow and unnaturally sharp.
He stepped across the doorway, towards the carpenter.
Wesmond made no protest. | |
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality. | When the vampires had walked into his shop Samuel believed his plan had been uncovered. He thought they had come to end him then and there, but instead they had propositioned him.
The tallest vampire said, “Mr. Telgar you have created wonderful works for us over these last many decades. We have decided you should know we are all vampires, very much like the stories tell.”
They all flashed their fangs as if that was all the proof he needed. The leader continued, “Now we come to offer you the chance to join our ranks as recompense for all you’ve done. We would be delighted to have your skills among us forever.”
Samuel did his best to feign shock with just the right sprinkle of fear as if this revelation had left him speechless. He looked between them with wide eyes and when he spoke he gave his voice a slight quiver, “I-I am honored that you would consider this, but I am just a simple craftsman. I love to work and create, but since my wife passed away I’ve longed to be with her again. To spend millennia without her would be impossible. I’m afraid I must refuse your gift, I hope that I do not offend.”
His words hung in the air between them for a long moment, and he waited for them to pounce. Instead they put on sad faces and the leader said, “We understand. Immortality is not for everyone. Know that your work will be missed when you are gone. I trust our secret will be safe with you. We’d hate for our relationship to go sour after all these years.”
With that the trio walked out of his shop and into the night. It took a while for his nerves to calm. Of all the nights for them to offer they had chosen the night of his plan’s ultimate culmination. Perhaps the Gods were simply having a go at him.
He spent the rest of the night working in the shop doing basic work in case anyone was monitoring him. The chances were unlikely, but he couldn’t risk everything now when he was so close. His anticipation kept him buzzing the entire night.
After dawn broke he spent some time cleaning up before reaching under his workbench and pulling a hidden lever underneath. A door popped open in the center of his shop floor revealing a set of stairs descending into darkness. He sauntered down the stairs making a conscious effort to control his breathing and clear his mind.
A switch on the wall at the bottom of the stairs turned on soft yellow lights that illuminated a single room with a large stone coffin in the center. Silver runes interlaced the entire surface appearing like veins and arteries that grew up from the floor and consumed the coffin. All of the runes converged upon a single, massive ruby set in the center of the coffin lid glowing with a deep bloody light.
Samuel made his way over to the coffin and ran his hand over the surface. These runes projected an imperceptible sphere of influence over the entire city. Vampires all over the city would be turning in for the day to rest inside of coffins that resonated with that power unbeknownst to their occupants.
For the last few decades this has been happening, and each night a tiny piece of their life force has been harvested and collected here in Samuel’s ruby. He pushed the lid and it slid smoothly open. Samuel climbed inside and pulled it shut.
Now he would reap the rewards of his labors. Power flowed into him, filling him with pain and ecstasy. Throughout the city vampires would feel something similar but be powerless to stop it. Soon they would all be enthralled to Samuel and he would become the most powerful being in the city. | Shadows crept along the walls of Wesmond's estate, dark vines unfurling to take up more and more space, claiming the house as their own.
It was a dark night. Wesmond knew that for certain.
A rap at his door, and he slid the sleek, polished wood aside, taking no time as he sped to get the evening over with. He longed for the comfort of the next morning but to try to escape his fate would surely be folly.
A man clothed darkly stood on the step, his face dressed in the same shadows that laughed from the stairs.
An old customer.
Arguably an old friend.
"Simon, what might you be doing here?"
The wealthy benefactor chuckled, humorlessly.
"Your time is running out, Wesmond. I have an offer for you."
This sent no chill up Wesmond's spine, but rather sent the house around him kaleidoscoping, faintly washing in and out with a faint pressure.
This was something crueler than death. An eternal favor.
"What do you want, Simon."
The old man bowed his head.
"A good question. Right now, I have only one thing I need from you Wesmond. Service. Ideally, everlasting, but I'm willing to settle for long beyond your lifespan.
You have no apprentice, no study, none to pass on your wisdom to. Why not?"
Wesmond smirked without a trace of mirth.
"People ask me that a lot. I will not take the same from you. Answer my again, Simon. What do you want?"
"Some," Simon began, a tone of whimsy, of longing, tracing along the curve of his voice. "Might be inclined to make you a thrall, to force your cooperation."
His sing-song timbre only served to madden Wesmond more. The creature's (for Wesmond was swiftly losing all pretensions) speech dropped to a low, threatening whisper.
"But you have served us better than that, Wesmond. You deserve all of the grace we who are lost and found in the night can offer. Thank you for your kindness for all these years. Are you ready to join us?"
Wesmond's throat caught in his throat, a sensation so bizarre and uncanny that to try to explain it would be unsatisfying for all parties involved.
His lungs dried and his neck bulged, and the inside of his throat gulped many times, but he was quickly losing any sense of breath. Simon looked down on him sadly.
"It's already happening. We can stop this, Wesmond. We can help you. Just let us. Let us help you Wesmond."
The voices began sliding past the old man as he crumbled to the floor, choking on fear and something else, something tangible.
*Oh.* He thought. *I'm going to die.*
He tried to fix his gaze on Simon with his rapidly fading vision, eyes blurred by stinging tears and falling bells. The man did not conform to expectation.
His face was not pale or noble, and its disposition resembled more closely the sickened hue of gangrenous limbs. His nose, if it could be called that, was severely broken, yet persisted nonetheless, and while he sniffled and muttered empty statements under his breath, as if to ward off an intruder.
Many names answered his call and each had a voice. He almost felt himself joining them, but Wesmond remained strong.
The air faded, the shadows encroached, and finally, Wesmond folded.
"Help."
He croaked.
Simon grinned, his teeth sallow and unnaturally sharp.
He stepped across the doorway, towards the carpenter.
Wesmond made no protest. | |
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality. |
Thomas held out a steady gloved hand to Victoria as she exited the carriage to Wilkins Casket Company. "Such a shame if we were to lose this one, Thomas. I've never slept through whole days before."
"Yes, my darling. Men of his craft are difficult to find."
She gave him a glance. "If he accepts, we should not hesitate."
"No time to second guess." Thomas opened the rosen stained glass door for Victoria to enter. She glided into the foyer, removing her purple feathered hat to admire the low hanging chandelier, making sure to quickly pass by the mirror to her left.
Meanwhile, Thomas knocked on the double door to the office of Sir Gregory Wilkins. "Come in!" A voice responded.
Wilkins stood slowly, relying heavily on his cane. "Thomas, how are you this evening? Here to check up on the progress of your order, hm?"
"Indeed," Thomas mentioned for Victoria to step forward. "We prefer to be prepared. Victoria's aunt's condition has not improved."
"There is no need to worry, I have been slaving over the finishing touches all day." Wilkins winced, "Hence the sore knees. Please forgive me," the man replied, lowering himself to his padded chair. "Though," Wilkins folded his hands over his desk. "What was this aunt's name again, for my old mind to ensure the engraving is pristine."
Victoria glanced nervously at Thomas. "Ah, yes. M- Marline Davis. M-A-R-L-"
"You know, I did some digging," Wilkins paused to chuckle at his joke, "So to speak... and this Aunt Marline of yours passed 43 years ago." Thomas straightened. Victoria's mouth hung open as to respond.
"I had my suspicious. I mean, two family deaths soon after you moved into town."
"We can offer you immortality," Victoria blurted. "You provide cushion like no other. And no light bleeding, we don't even need to close the curtains-" Thomas cut her off.
"Your craftsmanship is superb. Preservation is clearly a top priority. In fact, we came here today to present to you the offer of immortality in exchange for comfort coffins and, of course, plenty of compensation."
Slowly opening his right hand desk drawer, Gregory Wilkins grabbed a straight razor and hobbled across the squeeking floors towards the couple.
Thomas held up his hands in surrender. "Sir Wilkins, we do not require a bloodletting in exchange for our offer. Your services have been and will be quite enough-"
Gregory held up the razor between two fingers and continued past them to the mirror across the hall. Wilkins looked past his reflection to witness clothed invisible figures. With a gasp, Victoria quickly covered her feathered hat over her face. Thomas stood straight as an arrow.
Wilkins pulled a towel from deep within his trouser pocket. He lent his cane against the wall, inhaling sharply as he straightened his back. "Now, now," his voice sounding more lively. Wilkins carefully took the razor to his cheek, peeling away layers of thick costume make up. Beneath the disguise was mirrored invisibility.
"My heavens," Victoria threw her hat into the air. Bewildered, both of them. "The whole time?"
Wilkins removed the entirety of his mask, revealing a middle aged man. He chuckled under his breath, "Gets them every time."
Wilkins walked briskly over to Thomas and Victoria, "You two never stopped to question why a casket was built with such comfort in mind?" The glanced at each other, trying to find words.
"Alister Wilkins Tannen, at your service. Now, shall we conclude our business here today." | Shadows crept along the walls of Wesmond's estate, dark vines unfurling to take up more and more space, claiming the house as their own.
It was a dark night. Wesmond knew that for certain.
A rap at his door, and he slid the sleek, polished wood aside, taking no time as he sped to get the evening over with. He longed for the comfort of the next morning but to try to escape his fate would surely be folly.
A man clothed darkly stood on the step, his face dressed in the same shadows that laughed from the stairs.
An old customer.
Arguably an old friend.
"Simon, what might you be doing here?"
The wealthy benefactor chuckled, humorlessly.
"Your time is running out, Wesmond. I have an offer for you."
This sent no chill up Wesmond's spine, but rather sent the house around him kaleidoscoping, faintly washing in and out with a faint pressure.
This was something crueler than death. An eternal favor.
"What do you want, Simon."
The old man bowed his head.
"A good question. Right now, I have only one thing I need from you Wesmond. Service. Ideally, everlasting, but I'm willing to settle for long beyond your lifespan.
You have no apprentice, no study, none to pass on your wisdom to. Why not?"
Wesmond smirked without a trace of mirth.
"People ask me that a lot. I will not take the same from you. Answer my again, Simon. What do you want?"
"Some," Simon began, a tone of whimsy, of longing, tracing along the curve of his voice. "Might be inclined to make you a thrall, to force your cooperation."
His sing-song timbre only served to madden Wesmond more. The creature's (for Wesmond was swiftly losing all pretensions) speech dropped to a low, threatening whisper.
"But you have served us better than that, Wesmond. You deserve all of the grace we who are lost and found in the night can offer. Thank you for your kindness for all these years. Are you ready to join us?"
Wesmond's throat caught in his throat, a sensation so bizarre and uncanny that to try to explain it would be unsatisfying for all parties involved.
His lungs dried and his neck bulged, and the inside of his throat gulped many times, but he was quickly losing any sense of breath. Simon looked down on him sadly.
"It's already happening. We can stop this, Wesmond. We can help you. Just let us. Let us help you Wesmond."
The voices began sliding past the old man as he crumbled to the floor, choking on fear and something else, something tangible.
*Oh.* He thought. *I'm going to die.*
He tried to fix his gaze on Simon with his rapidly fading vision, eyes blurred by stinging tears and falling bells. The man did not conform to expectation.
His face was not pale or noble, and its disposition resembled more closely the sickened hue of gangrenous limbs. His nose, if it could be called that, was severely broken, yet persisted nonetheless, and while he sniffled and muttered empty statements under his breath, as if to ward off an intruder.
Many names answered his call and each had a voice. He almost felt himself joining them, but Wesmond remained strong.
The air faded, the shadows encroached, and finally, Wesmond folded.
"Help."
He croaked.
Simon grinned, his teeth sallow and unnaturally sharp.
He stepped across the doorway, towards the carpenter.
Wesmond made no protest. | |
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality. | When the vampires had walked into his shop Samuel believed his plan had been uncovered. He thought they had come to end him then and there, but instead they had propositioned him.
The tallest vampire said, “Mr. Telgar you have created wonderful works for us over these last many decades. We have decided you should know we are all vampires, very much like the stories tell.”
They all flashed their fangs as if that was all the proof he needed. The leader continued, “Now we come to offer you the chance to join our ranks as recompense for all you’ve done. We would be delighted to have your skills among us forever.”
Samuel did his best to feign shock with just the right sprinkle of fear as if this revelation had left him speechless. He looked between them with wide eyes and when he spoke he gave his voice a slight quiver, “I-I am honored that you would consider this, but I am just a simple craftsman. I love to work and create, but since my wife passed away I’ve longed to be with her again. To spend millennia without her would be impossible. I’m afraid I must refuse your gift, I hope that I do not offend.”
His words hung in the air between them for a long moment, and he waited for them to pounce. Instead they put on sad faces and the leader said, “We understand. Immortality is not for everyone. Know that your work will be missed when you are gone. I trust our secret will be safe with you. We’d hate for our relationship to go sour after all these years.”
With that the trio walked out of his shop and into the night. It took a while for his nerves to calm. Of all the nights for them to offer they had chosen the night of his plan’s ultimate culmination. Perhaps the Gods were simply having a go at him.
He spent the rest of the night working in the shop doing basic work in case anyone was monitoring him. The chances were unlikely, but he couldn’t risk everything now when he was so close. His anticipation kept him buzzing the entire night.
After dawn broke he spent some time cleaning up before reaching under his workbench and pulling a hidden lever underneath. A door popped open in the center of his shop floor revealing a set of stairs descending into darkness. He sauntered down the stairs making a conscious effort to control his breathing and clear his mind.
A switch on the wall at the bottom of the stairs turned on soft yellow lights that illuminated a single room with a large stone coffin in the center. Silver runes interlaced the entire surface appearing like veins and arteries that grew up from the floor and consumed the coffin. All of the runes converged upon a single, massive ruby set in the center of the coffin lid glowing with a deep bloody light.
Samuel made his way over to the coffin and ran his hand over the surface. These runes projected an imperceptible sphere of influence over the entire city. Vampires all over the city would be turning in for the day to rest inside of coffins that resonated with that power unbeknownst to their occupants.
For the last few decades this has been happening, and each night a tiny piece of their life force has been harvested and collected here in Samuel’s ruby. He pushed the lid and it slid smoothly open. Samuel climbed inside and pulled it shut.
Now he would reap the rewards of his labors. Power flowed into him, filling him with pain and ecstasy. Throughout the city vampires would feel something similar but be powerless to stop it. Soon they would all be enthralled to Samuel and he would become the most powerful being in the city. | The bell jangled to the old coffin makers shop. It was late and Winston wasn't surprised. He'd been in this game for well over 30 years and he seemed to make a lot of trade after the sun set. Oh sure he had his suspicions about his clientele but they always paid well and on time, "Never turn away a good customer" as his dear departed papa used to say. He'd of course inherited the business from him and somehow inherited a lot of his customers too.
So when he looked up in the firelight to see Lady Sophia and her young boy Albert, he was not surprised. He tried to keep the thought that young Albert never seemed to age out of his mind, come to think of it Lady Sophia never seemed to age either. It had niggled at his mind for months like a far away siren. He stood uneasily using his cane
"Evenin' your Ladyship and Young Master Albert. What can I do for you this evening?" Winston inquired.
Lady Sophia smiled, "Master Winston, you have served our family well as did your father before you, and his father before that. You may have your suspicions about our family, and I would like to put those suspicions to rest and make you an offer." Albert was restless while holding his mother's hand. He seemed excited.
Winston sighed. He was getting in and suspected something like this would happen. His father had warned him about it on his death bed but he'd always assumed it was just ramblings before death took him. "You see, Winston, we are in fact vampires." Winston gave a small chuckle. "You don't seem surprised?" She inquired.
"No offense meant, your Ladyship, but as you an' the lad only come out after dark, you come down this way with no guards, you have no reflection in that window there, an' then the boy, bless 'im, doesn't seem to grow or age, it seemed quite likely the case."
"Ah," said Lady Sophia quite taken aback. "Well, I'll get right down to it. We've grown quite accustomed to the fine coffins that you have provided us over the past few decades, *stay still Albert!* and we'd like to offer you immortality in exchange for being our exclusive coffin maker. We are aware of unavoidable circumstances that you and your wife never had any children to pass on your trade to and we are concerned as to what would happen should you pass. Of course, this offer is open to your wife as well, she has always been so welcoming and well meaning. The apples pies she made us were always appreciated, but as I'm sure you can gather, we never did eat any of them. *Albert will you please stop squirming!* We would like to help any way we can. Becoming immortal would remove all ailments and bring back your youth."
Winston thought for a moment. Regaining his youth and getting Margie of that horrible disease that turned his loving wife into a sad, unmoving, shell of her former self? It seemed too good to be true. And that was exactly the problem.
"I do thank you kindly for your offer, and I am most flattered, but I'm afraid I'll have to decline. I can provide you with the addresses of some of the apprentices I trained over the years and they should be able to help you out." Winston replied sadly.
Lady Sophia smiled, "Of course. Thank you for your time this evening, *Albert stop it!* I do apologize but the boy has been quite troublesome lately. If you could get those addresses, I would be most appreciative."
As Winston turned his back to his files to obtain the addresses, Albert sprang out of his mother's grasp and flew at Winston's neck biting down hard. "Albert! Stop that this instant! He refused! We cannot go against his wishes!" Lady Sophia cried while trying to prise her son off Winston's neck. Winston screamed and then stopped abruptly falling to the floor dropping his cane in the process. Albert let go looking quite pleased with himself with part of Winston's shirt collar in his mouth. Lady Sophia turned over Winston's fallen body and sighed. "I'm so sorry about this." Winston got shakily to his feet and lady Sophia handed his cane back to him. He inspected his neck in the mirror. Not a scratch.
"It's quite alright, your Ladyship, no harm done."
"What a relief! Please, if there is anything we can do to make up for this idiot boys malevolence..." Lady Sophia started.
"Oh it's no trouble, your Ladyship," Winston interjected, "I'm guessing vampire children go through teething like non-vampire children, just got to bite something." Albert stood there with the collar piece still in his mouth, growling happily.
"Yes, sadly they do," lady Sophia sighed as she looked down at her boy who looked up at her proud as punch, cloth still in teeth, "we'll leave you be. If you do change your mind about my offer, please take my card." She slipped a small ornate card ordained with lavish gold writing on his desk and left. She was scolding her boy in the street when Winston locked the door chuckling to himself. "Little scamp," he thought. He stretched his old back and put out the candles.
He remembered he was supposed to give lady Sophia the addresses for his apprentices. He grabbed a handful from his desk, unlocked his door and tottered out the door waving his cane in the air. "Lady Sophia! Wait! The addresses!" Something hit him and everything went black for a few moments.
He got up feeling very annoyed at the world. That was twice something attacked him in one night. What was this world coming to? As he was getting up he realised his hands, once calloused by the decades of woodworking were now smooth. His cane was still on the floor. His joints no longer ached, and his teeth, well his teeth definitely felt sharper than they ever had. "God dammit!" He exclaimed to the world in general, "I said no!"
He looked about. Lady Sophia was going to get an earful about this. Except he could see her holding someone by the scruff of their neck and hitting them with her umbrella. "He *whack* said *whack* no! *whack*" Winston walked over slowly to see it was not Albert but was what appeared to be one of the vagabonds that sometimes hid in his alley for warmth. The vagabond ran off, hissing into the night. Lady Sophia looked forlornly at her umbrella, Albert was hiding behind her terrified.
"Are you alright, your Ladyship?" Winston asked tentatively. Her hair was askew and her umbrella in pieces, her face was drawn into a snarl, yet seemed on the verge of tears. This is not how she wanted this night to go at all.
"I just need a moment to compose myself," she managed. A few deep breaths later, she seemed back to normal. "My apologies for that outburst," she looked back to her umbrella and sighed, "guess I'll need to get another one."
Winston cleared his throat. "If it's all the same to you, you Ladyship, I have one back at the flat above my shop. You gifted one to Margie just before her turn an she's never got to use it. Maybe we could all pop in and pay her a kindness, if you get my meaning."
The three of them walked back to the shop. Winston looked at the stained and bloodied cards in his hand. "Guess they weren't needed after all," he thought as he tossed them into the fireplace before heading upstairs. | |
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality. | “You…you knew?”
For the first time in the better part of a century, Sylvan stammered.
The elderly woman pointed to a bushed steel piano hinge on the lid of her latest work. Even with the softened finish, her finger’s reflection cast a splash of color over the metal. Sylvan’s face peering at the hinge did not.
Sylvan thought back to the first time he met Estrella Pérez over three decades before. She wore a high-necked shirt with long sleeves then, the same as today. There was a pitcher of water on a table to her left, the same as today. She wore silver stud earrings, the same as today. There was a crust of bread on a little plate next to the pitcher and *fucking hell she has holy water and the transubstantiated body of Christ on her workbench right in front of me.*
Sylvan took a step back. If he could sweat, he would.
“Relax, Mr. Green. This is business.” Mrs. Pérez wiped some fingerprints off the finish of the coffin in front of her. “We all know about protection rackets here. You’ve always been gentlemanly, and Madame Cecile has always been scrupulously polite—“
Madame Cecile, who survived an attack of French soldiers in Haiti by hiding in a cave, only to be trapped inside during a hurricane, was one of the oldest and most powerful vampires on the continent. She was rescued at the edge of death by a French vampire who wanted to get the hell out of Haiti on the eve of the Revolution. In exchange for her freedom and that of her mother, Cecile carried him to his ship in a canvas bag and sailed to New Amsterdam. Léopold turned her some years later. Nobody in the New York vampire community dared cross either of them, and this woman kept the body of Christ on a table where Madame Cecile could see.
“—but you’re still vampires,” she continued, jolting him out of his head. “I’m not going to leave myself defenseless.”
Sylvan realized with a start that the high-neck blouse was almost certainly hiding a crucifix. He bit his lip, and his left upper fang caught on it. This wasn’t going as he planned.
The skin around Señora Pérez’ eyes crinkled. “Relax. Really. I’m the same person you’ve always hired to build your ultraviolet light-blocking beds.” With a flick of her fingers, she popped a latch on the coffin, which opened up on its soft-close hinges. An elegant touch, befitting of the maker.
“Um,” Sylvan said.
“Yes?” Señora Pérez focused her gaze on him, and though her eyes were weaker, there was clearly nothing wrong with her mind.
“I, uh,” and he stammered again. “Several of us, including Madame Cecile, want to know if you would like us to turn you. Into a vampire.”
“That’s kind of you, but no thank you.” Señora Pérez’ voice was firm. “I have had a good life. I don’t need to live in the shadows of other peoples’ lives. And I don’t want to live as a predator.”
Sylvan squirmed. “We don’t take humans anymore—“
“Here,” she interrupted. “You don’t hunt humans here in Brooklyn. We won’t talk about Rikers. Or Governor’s Island.”
How did she know about that? The vampire imprisoned on Rikers Island in 1953, or the Society ball on Governor’s Island in 1928 where the daughters of a rich man were more or less offered as human sacrifices to secure a business deal for their robber-baron of a grandfather?
The daughters who were saved by an outraged Madame Cecile, who were smuggled to Puerto Rico to escape their grandfather’s influence…
“Gertrude van Heemst was my mother,” Señora Pérez said gently. “Madame Cecile asked me to build her a coffin when I was just starting as a carpenter in 1953, back when women didn’t do that.” Her eyes lit with pride. “I didn’t want to be a charity case.”
She made such beautiful furniture. Now that he knew that she knew, design features that Sylvan had thought to be good style were obviously engineered for the comfort and safety of vampires. Curved tubes to allow air exchange without light penetration. Minimal reflective surfaces. Headrests that angled the head and neck to minimize biting one’s tongue when sleeping. It would be a huge shame and a huge loss if she vanished into nothingness like the ephemeral creature she was.
“If you know about Riker’s Island, you’ll know that Mathias was insane and tortured,” Sylvan retorted firmly, “and that old Van Heemst lived just long enough to see his wealth and power crumble before dying alone in his bedroom. We’re monsters, but not murderers.”
“I’m still not interested.”
This definitely wasn’t going to plan. Sylvan had never turned anyone in all two hundred ten years of his existence, he had never felt like anyone had earned it, and the one person who would make a fantastic new addition to the vampire community in New York point-blank refused. “Can you at least tell me why not?”
Señora Pérez rolled her eyes. Before he could react, she bit the cuticle on her thumb until a bit of blood leaked out, dipped it in the pitcher of holy water, and swiped the holy water and blood across Sylvan’s lower lip.
“What—wait, no, what have you done?” As he recoiled in shock, shattered by the broken trust, horrified by what could be his unmaking, a strange taste entered his mouth. Sylvan frowned, then gaped. It was acid. Stomach acid. And his palms were wet. And his feet were cold. He felt afraid, he felt nervous, he felt *alive—*
Alive.
He breathed cold, sweet air into his lungs for a fleeting heartbeat—just one—and the sensation ebbed away, leaving behind an aching hole of regret and loss mixed with the metallic tang of human blood and the grey haze of life in the shadows.
God damn it, he wanted to cry, and that was gone too.
“I don’t want to live that way,” she repeated. “I‘ve had my time. It was a good time. But when it’s my time to go, I’ll go.” Señora Pérez shrugged. “Besides, I miss my mama.” | The luxurious car rolled almost silent down the stone plastered road in the small middle European village. Kathrina was wondering to herself, how this village had not changed since the first time she visited it almost 1200 years ago. Sure some houses changed and things got added. But the spirit of it had stayed the same.
The darkened car windows kept the sun’s rays out, mainly the UV rays, she still marvelled at that discovery, humans had made not so far, and soon they would settle even other planets. Since the great wars almost 150 years ago they had invented blood clinics and the need to hunt had seized (well there was sport and sometimes just the necessary need for it, after all).
Kathrina enjoyed the luxurious seats no longer even made from dead animals and thought back to her first time visiting the town, she had come in a horse-drawn wooden cart locked and her back had hurt like, well hell, she snivelled to herself, and again she thought about times had changed. And then some few decades ago when visiting this town she had noticed this small carpenters store which had just opened up and had this beautiful masterpiece of its owner displayed in the window. For some reason, the young man had forgone traditional masterpieces and made a coffin.
Intrigued she had entered the small store and inquired about it. The young man had looked at her kind of sad and said it was for the one woman he loved, and that it kept business away, and he was about to close shop and go to work in a factory for a Swedish company, as he could no longer afford the store without business.
Kathrina had listened to him, only with half an ear and admiring the coffin the whole time. She looked at him and asked him just how much for one. The carpenter looked at her and asked her why she would need a coffin. She had looked back at him expressionless taken aback by someone asking her why she wanted something, she was not used to that. She said something about a close family member, and the Carpenter looked at her all dressed in black with the huge hat and the black veil covering her face, nodded sadly and said I know the feeling. You are my first and only customer so far, I can barely afford the store now, I’d have to ask you to pay upfront and way too much, so I’m sorry but can’t do it.
Kathrina, being used and quite able to afford everything she wanted, just took her check book out (it was a long time ago after all) and simply said, I’ll loan you everything you need, I have a big family and all of them are old. The Carpenter had looked at her weirdly but shrugged and said are you sure. In response, she handed him a signed cheque but without a number, said write down whatever you need as. A number, I’ll be back in a few weeks to pick up my first order.Alexandr saw the big luxurious car pull up and he remembered the first time he met Kathrina, an elegant red-haired lady in black with a disturbing smile, his first and at the time only customer, basically, she still was as all his other customers came referred from her, and he remembered a time when he was at its lowest, in fact he had thought to end it all at the time, as the village feared him as his masterpiece had been a coffin for his girlfriend at the time, who was dying with cancer at the time. She had made it after all and married a doctor who treated her and left him, so he was lovesick and stuck with a huge piece of a coffin and that kept the villagers from doing business with him. A bunch of suspicious religious nut-jobs. But he had shown them all, funded by Kathrina and her wealthy friends and family he had had enough money to buy half the village over the years and most businesses, nobody knew as he had used a bank in another city close by and a company setup. As the decades had, past he had grown older and he was in his 80s now, though most people would assume he was 20 years younger. He suspected this was for him being busy and never again trying to marry and build a family. He sighed to himself, and as always then Kathrina visited and wondered how it came she did not seem to age. He had never been able to quite guess her age and never asked her either, but it was a bit uncanny to him. He petted his only companion, a local bred Huge guard dog he called just Girl, Even the girl was aging now as well, he had gotten her almost a decade ago for his last birthday as a gift to himself and she was extremely spoiled.Kathrina entered the store, as usual wearing a black dress, which at the same time seemed to hide and reveal everything. As usual, she was wearing a broad black hat and a veil and sunglasses, in fact, she never took those off, he wondered how she could see anything with those things.
Kathrina entered and said ‘Alex my friend it is great to see you, and how is our little puppy?’ Girl looked up and then hid her face in her paws and let out a fart. Kathrina a bit taken aback looked at Alex and asked him ‘Is she all right?’ Alex responded, ‘Well she is ageing up as we all are, well except you my dear’ he smiled
Kathrina looked a bit uneasy as he got up and took his time, sometimes she had a hard time remembering how old her human friends and families were, she remembered a few circumstances where children suddenly were grownups, and her not noticing them taking the place of the initial friend or business partner…
She looked closer at Aleksandr and said ‘Alex how are you and how old are you actually?’ Aleksandr a bit shocked by the question said, ‘Almost 80 now, the doctors found some issues but I mean must be the same for you…? I mean you must be the same age as I am give or take?’Kathrina could not help but laugh a bit. Alex was a bit taken back by that reaction.She said, let’s have a drink. She waved to her servant ‘Igor, bring some red wine for Aleksandr and the usual for me’ Igor grumbled and went to the car to get these things. | |
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality. | When the vampires had walked into his shop Samuel believed his plan had been uncovered. He thought they had come to end him then and there, but instead they had propositioned him.
The tallest vampire said, “Mr. Telgar you have created wonderful works for us over these last many decades. We have decided you should know we are all vampires, very much like the stories tell.”
They all flashed their fangs as if that was all the proof he needed. The leader continued, “Now we come to offer you the chance to join our ranks as recompense for all you’ve done. We would be delighted to have your skills among us forever.”
Samuel did his best to feign shock with just the right sprinkle of fear as if this revelation had left him speechless. He looked between them with wide eyes and when he spoke he gave his voice a slight quiver, “I-I am honored that you would consider this, but I am just a simple craftsman. I love to work and create, but since my wife passed away I’ve longed to be with her again. To spend millennia without her would be impossible. I’m afraid I must refuse your gift, I hope that I do not offend.”
His words hung in the air between them for a long moment, and he waited for them to pounce. Instead they put on sad faces and the leader said, “We understand. Immortality is not for everyone. Know that your work will be missed when you are gone. I trust our secret will be safe with you. We’d hate for our relationship to go sour after all these years.”
With that the trio walked out of his shop and into the night. It took a while for his nerves to calm. Of all the nights for them to offer they had chosen the night of his plan’s ultimate culmination. Perhaps the Gods were simply having a go at him.
He spent the rest of the night working in the shop doing basic work in case anyone was monitoring him. The chances were unlikely, but he couldn’t risk everything now when he was so close. His anticipation kept him buzzing the entire night.
After dawn broke he spent some time cleaning up before reaching under his workbench and pulling a hidden lever underneath. A door popped open in the center of his shop floor revealing a set of stairs descending into darkness. He sauntered down the stairs making a conscious effort to control his breathing and clear his mind.
A switch on the wall at the bottom of the stairs turned on soft yellow lights that illuminated a single room with a large stone coffin in the center. Silver runes interlaced the entire surface appearing like veins and arteries that grew up from the floor and consumed the coffin. All of the runes converged upon a single, massive ruby set in the center of the coffin lid glowing with a deep bloody light.
Samuel made his way over to the coffin and ran his hand over the surface. These runes projected an imperceptible sphere of influence over the entire city. Vampires all over the city would be turning in for the day to rest inside of coffins that resonated with that power unbeknownst to their occupants.
For the last few decades this has been happening, and each night a tiny piece of their life force has been harvested and collected here in Samuel’s ruby. He pushed the lid and it slid smoothly open. Samuel climbed inside and pulled it shut.
Now he would reap the rewards of his labors. Power flowed into him, filling him with pain and ecstasy. Throughout the city vampires would feel something similar but be powerless to stop it. Soon they would all be enthralled to Samuel and he would become the most powerful being in the city. | The luxurious car rolled almost silent down the stone plastered road in the small middle European village. Kathrina was wondering to herself, how this village had not changed since the first time she visited it almost 1200 years ago. Sure some houses changed and things got added. But the spirit of it had stayed the same.
The darkened car windows kept the sun’s rays out, mainly the UV rays, she still marvelled at that discovery, humans had made not so far, and soon they would settle even other planets. Since the great wars almost 150 years ago they had invented blood clinics and the need to hunt had seized (well there was sport and sometimes just the necessary need for it, after all).
Kathrina enjoyed the luxurious seats no longer even made from dead animals and thought back to her first time visiting the town, she had come in a horse-drawn wooden cart locked and her back had hurt like, well hell, she snivelled to herself, and again she thought about times had changed. And then some few decades ago when visiting this town she had noticed this small carpenters store which had just opened up and had this beautiful masterpiece of its owner displayed in the window. For some reason, the young man had forgone traditional masterpieces and made a coffin.
Intrigued she had entered the small store and inquired about it. The young man had looked at her kind of sad and said it was for the one woman he loved, and that it kept business away, and he was about to close shop and go to work in a factory for a Swedish company, as he could no longer afford the store without business.
Kathrina had listened to him, only with half an ear and admiring the coffin the whole time. She looked at him and asked him just how much for one. The carpenter looked at her and asked her why she would need a coffin. She had looked back at him expressionless taken aback by someone asking her why she wanted something, she was not used to that. She said something about a close family member, and the Carpenter looked at her all dressed in black with the huge hat and the black veil covering her face, nodded sadly and said I know the feeling. You are my first and only customer so far, I can barely afford the store now, I’d have to ask you to pay upfront and way too much, so I’m sorry but can’t do it.
Kathrina, being used and quite able to afford everything she wanted, just took her check book out (it was a long time ago after all) and simply said, I’ll loan you everything you need, I have a big family and all of them are old. The Carpenter had looked at her weirdly but shrugged and said are you sure. In response, she handed him a signed cheque but without a number, said write down whatever you need as. A number, I’ll be back in a few weeks to pick up my first order.Alexandr saw the big luxurious car pull up and he remembered the first time he met Kathrina, an elegant red-haired lady in black with a disturbing smile, his first and at the time only customer, basically, she still was as all his other customers came referred from her, and he remembered a time when he was at its lowest, in fact he had thought to end it all at the time, as the village feared him as his masterpiece had been a coffin for his girlfriend at the time, who was dying with cancer at the time. She had made it after all and married a doctor who treated her and left him, so he was lovesick and stuck with a huge piece of a coffin and that kept the villagers from doing business with him. A bunch of suspicious religious nut-jobs. But he had shown them all, funded by Kathrina and her wealthy friends and family he had had enough money to buy half the village over the years and most businesses, nobody knew as he had used a bank in another city close by and a company setup. As the decades had, past he had grown older and he was in his 80s now, though most people would assume he was 20 years younger. He suspected this was for him being busy and never again trying to marry and build a family. He sighed to himself, and as always then Kathrina visited and wondered how it came she did not seem to age. He had never been able to quite guess her age and never asked her either, but it was a bit uncanny to him. He petted his only companion, a local bred Huge guard dog he called just Girl, Even the girl was aging now as well, he had gotten her almost a decade ago for his last birthday as a gift to himself and she was extremely spoiled.Kathrina entered the store, as usual wearing a black dress, which at the same time seemed to hide and reveal everything. As usual, she was wearing a broad black hat and a veil and sunglasses, in fact, she never took those off, he wondered how she could see anything with those things.
Kathrina entered and said ‘Alex my friend it is great to see you, and how is our little puppy?’ Girl looked up and then hid her face in her paws and let out a fart. Kathrina a bit taken aback looked at Alex and asked him ‘Is she all right?’ Alex responded, ‘Well she is ageing up as we all are, well except you my dear’ he smiled
Kathrina looked a bit uneasy as he got up and took his time, sometimes she had a hard time remembering how old her human friends and families were, she remembered a few circumstances where children suddenly were grownups, and her not noticing them taking the place of the initial friend or business partner…
She looked closer at Aleksandr and said ‘Alex how are you and how old are you actually?’ Aleksandr a bit shocked by the question said, ‘Almost 80 now, the doctors found some issues but I mean must be the same for you…? I mean you must be the same age as I am give or take?’Kathrina could not help but laugh a bit. Alex was a bit taken back by that reaction.She said, let’s have a drink. She waved to her servant ‘Igor, bring some red wine for Aleksandr and the usual for me’ Igor grumbled and went to the car to get these things. | |
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality. |
Thomas held out a steady gloved hand to Victoria as she exited the carriage to Wilkins Casket Company. "Such a shame if we were to lose this one, Thomas. I've never slept through whole days before."
"Yes, my darling. Men of his craft are difficult to find."
She gave him a glance. "If he accepts, we should not hesitate."
"No time to second guess." Thomas opened the rosen stained glass door for Victoria to enter. She glided into the foyer, removing her purple feathered hat to admire the low hanging chandelier, making sure to quickly pass by the mirror to her left.
Meanwhile, Thomas knocked on the double door to the office of Sir Gregory Wilkins. "Come in!" A voice responded.
Wilkins stood slowly, relying heavily on his cane. "Thomas, how are you this evening? Here to check up on the progress of your order, hm?"
"Indeed," Thomas mentioned for Victoria to step forward. "We prefer to be prepared. Victoria's aunt's condition has not improved."
"There is no need to worry, I have been slaving over the finishing touches all day." Wilkins winced, "Hence the sore knees. Please forgive me," the man replied, lowering himself to his padded chair. "Though," Wilkins folded his hands over his desk. "What was this aunt's name again, for my old mind to ensure the engraving is pristine."
Victoria glanced nervously at Thomas. "Ah, yes. M- Marline Davis. M-A-R-L-"
"You know, I did some digging," Wilkins paused to chuckle at his joke, "So to speak... and this Aunt Marline of yours passed 43 years ago." Thomas straightened. Victoria's mouth hung open as to respond.
"I had my suspicious. I mean, two family deaths soon after you moved into town."
"We can offer you immortality," Victoria blurted. "You provide cushion like no other. And no light bleeding, we don't even need to close the curtains-" Thomas cut her off.
"Your craftsmanship is superb. Preservation is clearly a top priority. In fact, we came here today to present to you the offer of immortality in exchange for comfort coffins and, of course, plenty of compensation."
Slowly opening his right hand desk drawer, Gregory Wilkins grabbed a straight razor and hobbled across the squeeking floors towards the couple.
Thomas held up his hands in surrender. "Sir Wilkins, we do not require a bloodletting in exchange for our offer. Your services have been and will be quite enough-"
Gregory held up the razor between two fingers and continued past them to the mirror across the hall. Wilkins looked past his reflection to witness clothed invisible figures. With a gasp, Victoria quickly covered her feathered hat over her face. Thomas stood straight as an arrow.
Wilkins pulled a towel from deep within his trouser pocket. He lent his cane against the wall, inhaling sharply as he straightened his back. "Now, now," his voice sounding more lively. Wilkins carefully took the razor to his cheek, peeling away layers of thick costume make up. Beneath the disguise was mirrored invisibility.
"My heavens," Victoria threw her hat into the air. Bewildered, both of them. "The whole time?"
Wilkins removed the entirety of his mask, revealing a middle aged man. He chuckled under his breath, "Gets them every time."
Wilkins walked briskly over to Thomas and Victoria, "You two never stopped to question why a casket was built with such comfort in mind?" The glanced at each other, trying to find words.
"Alister Wilkins Tannen, at your service. Now, shall we conclude our business here today." | The luxurious car rolled almost silent down the stone plastered road in the small middle European village. Kathrina was wondering to herself, how this village had not changed since the first time she visited it almost 1200 years ago. Sure some houses changed and things got added. But the spirit of it had stayed the same.
The darkened car windows kept the sun’s rays out, mainly the UV rays, she still marvelled at that discovery, humans had made not so far, and soon they would settle even other planets. Since the great wars almost 150 years ago they had invented blood clinics and the need to hunt had seized (well there was sport and sometimes just the necessary need for it, after all).
Kathrina enjoyed the luxurious seats no longer even made from dead animals and thought back to her first time visiting the town, she had come in a horse-drawn wooden cart locked and her back had hurt like, well hell, she snivelled to herself, and again she thought about times had changed. And then some few decades ago when visiting this town she had noticed this small carpenters store which had just opened up and had this beautiful masterpiece of its owner displayed in the window. For some reason, the young man had forgone traditional masterpieces and made a coffin.
Intrigued she had entered the small store and inquired about it. The young man had looked at her kind of sad and said it was for the one woman he loved, and that it kept business away, and he was about to close shop and go to work in a factory for a Swedish company, as he could no longer afford the store without business.
Kathrina had listened to him, only with half an ear and admiring the coffin the whole time. She looked at him and asked him just how much for one. The carpenter looked at her and asked her why she would need a coffin. She had looked back at him expressionless taken aback by someone asking her why she wanted something, she was not used to that. She said something about a close family member, and the Carpenter looked at her all dressed in black with the huge hat and the black veil covering her face, nodded sadly and said I know the feeling. You are my first and only customer so far, I can barely afford the store now, I’d have to ask you to pay upfront and way too much, so I’m sorry but can’t do it.
Kathrina, being used and quite able to afford everything she wanted, just took her check book out (it was a long time ago after all) and simply said, I’ll loan you everything you need, I have a big family and all of them are old. The Carpenter had looked at her weirdly but shrugged and said are you sure. In response, she handed him a signed cheque but without a number, said write down whatever you need as. A number, I’ll be back in a few weeks to pick up my first order.Alexandr saw the big luxurious car pull up and he remembered the first time he met Kathrina, an elegant red-haired lady in black with a disturbing smile, his first and at the time only customer, basically, she still was as all his other customers came referred from her, and he remembered a time when he was at its lowest, in fact he had thought to end it all at the time, as the village feared him as his masterpiece had been a coffin for his girlfriend at the time, who was dying with cancer at the time. She had made it after all and married a doctor who treated her and left him, so he was lovesick and stuck with a huge piece of a coffin and that kept the villagers from doing business with him. A bunch of suspicious religious nut-jobs. But he had shown them all, funded by Kathrina and her wealthy friends and family he had had enough money to buy half the village over the years and most businesses, nobody knew as he had used a bank in another city close by and a company setup. As the decades had, past he had grown older and he was in his 80s now, though most people would assume he was 20 years younger. He suspected this was for him being busy and never again trying to marry and build a family. He sighed to himself, and as always then Kathrina visited and wondered how it came she did not seem to age. He had never been able to quite guess her age and never asked her either, but it was a bit uncanny to him. He petted his only companion, a local bred Huge guard dog he called just Girl, Even the girl was aging now as well, he had gotten her almost a decade ago for his last birthday as a gift to himself and she was extremely spoiled.Kathrina entered the store, as usual wearing a black dress, which at the same time seemed to hide and reveal everything. As usual, she was wearing a broad black hat and a veil and sunglasses, in fact, she never took those off, he wondered how she could see anything with those things.
Kathrina entered and said ‘Alex my friend it is great to see you, and how is our little puppy?’ Girl looked up and then hid her face in her paws and let out a fart. Kathrina a bit taken aback looked at Alex and asked him ‘Is she all right?’ Alex responded, ‘Well she is ageing up as we all are, well except you my dear’ he smiled
Kathrina looked a bit uneasy as he got up and took his time, sometimes she had a hard time remembering how old her human friends and families were, she remembered a few circumstances where children suddenly were grownups, and her not noticing them taking the place of the initial friend or business partner…
She looked closer at Aleksandr and said ‘Alex how are you and how old are you actually?’ Aleksandr a bit shocked by the question said, ‘Almost 80 now, the doctors found some issues but I mean must be the same for you…? I mean you must be the same age as I am give or take?’Kathrina could not help but laugh a bit. Alex was a bit taken back by that reaction.She said, let’s have a drink. She waved to her servant ‘Igor, bring some red wine for Aleksandr and the usual for me’ Igor grumbled and went to the car to get these things. |
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