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[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast. | Look at you, for fuck's sake. Look at you and then look at me, because this is what you shall become.
I remember when I was in your shoes. I remember being you, each one of you. I remember listening to this speech every single year. I remember your thoughts, what is going through your head right now. It has already been in my head, and I remember.
I remember you, the younger ones. Looking at the older ones with that innocent look, not really caring.
I remember you, teenage kids and young adults. Wondering, before hearing this exact same speech, what would I look like. Wondering what I'd sound like, what I'd have to say. Anxious to hear about everything I had accomplished. I remember your craving for stories, anecdotes, tales of amazing adventures. I also remember the pressure you felt in your chest while listening to me. The fear, the sadness, and the sudden motivation right after I finished talking. "I'll do it. I'll listen to her and do what she says". It was pure inspiration, it was an honest desire to change and you were truly convinced you'd do it. You were revolving in your self pity by those years, and at the same time, fully sure that you'd do better.
But I particularly remember you. Yes, you. I remember being in your shoes last year, at this exact same time. Planning your next year's speech. Looking back at all of them... All of us. Wondering why the hell they weren't listening to me, to the person you were about to become in one year. You wanted to smack those kids in the head for not caring. You wanted to punch those grown ass ladies for not paying attention at all those teens. Those teens... You still remember how amazing their god damned inspiration felt. You are looking right now at them and I know how you feel while a hurricane of sensations just strikes your heart.
You are there, thinking about what to say, like I did. Like all of them will do. How the hell could you keep those teens motivated? How could you convince them to make a fucking effort? How could you stop them from falling again into a pit of lamentations?
Why were you so stubborn while being in their shoes, in the kids' shoes, in each one of these idiots' shoes? You wonder... But you don't know. That's why the only thing you can think of right now is myself.
You have a year to think, and then it's your turn. I know you're scared. That's why I decided to dedicate my words to you. Because I hope that by hearing them, all these folks will actually change this time. I hope they'll actually listen to my thoughts... Our toughts. And I hope when it's your turn to come here, you can give, finally, a different speech.
Not one about changing. Not one trying to motivate them. Not one trying to make them listen to you, to me, for once. But one full of adventures and tales. I want you to tell those young kids how great they did by listening to me. How right was their choice of doing something. How well they did by not falling into their pit of pity and failure. Will you young folks stop dreaming and start acting?
That's something you probably already know, since you heard these exact same words one year ago.
EDIT: I'm new to this sub and new to writing long texts in the English language, so I apologize for any grammar mistake! | The glass clinks in the crowded room, some of my faces show the strain of the hardship they are or have experienced, some show mild amusement from what theyve experienced, happy times overshadowing all past negativity even if for just a moment.
"Well, looks like I'm the poor bastard this year." Some of the same voices laugh, while others just smile in amusement.
"Well, like always I've been where you all are now." I look in the eyes of my former selves, able to tell the triumphs and tribulations they are experiencing. "And as you can see around you, you will and have gotten past it."
I step around, passing the year I lost so many family to various things. "I've experienced death, love, creation and destruction. " I continue down, meeting the eyes of the past me who has just experienced first love. "I wish I could say I always knew what to do, how to make the right choice. To this day I still dont know what the hell I should have done."
"But what's done is done, and will continue to be so throughout the years. All I can say is that I've never sacrificed a thing unless I truly felt it needed to be done." I stand in the middle of the room, making sure to look the youngest attending in the eyes. "It was always hard, you want to quit, give up, run away but somehing keeps you still, makes you determined to say 'Fuck that.' Say it, everyday and every night. "
I take a deep breath, smiles in the room preparing to say the same thing. "I wont give up, fuck that." We all say, defiance to everything.
"Even at the last second, I wont go quietly." | |
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast. | “Wow,” I say. My eyebrows wrinkle up into an impression of sanctity that I know we all recognize for sarcasm. “Look at this crowd. Did the bus let off on top of the ugly tree tonight?”
We all laugh- well, most of us. Some of us are a little self conscious. We grow out of it eventually. We learn to embrace our flaws a couple years after we figure out masturbation. I don’t bother thinking up a monkey-spanking joke because I already know I won’t have the balls to say it in front of a bunch of kids and those nice attendants for the younger ones. And while I think about decorum, I wish I’d shaved this the morning, but my razor doesn't shave well with all the blades fallen out.
“Y’know, I used to be all you guys. I’d be right where you’re sitting. And I’d look around at all the faces and think, ‘ah, jeez, so I don’t grow into this thing?’ “ I grab the tip of my nose and look a little dumbfounded. More laughs. We’re always eager to please, even if we don’t think the joke is funny. “I’d think, ‘I wonder if things work out with Kathryn.’ And now I get to say, yeah, I guess they do. But I might be lying about. I might tell a lot of lies tonight.”
Some of us smile, slightly confused. Some of us stare into the perspiring glasses on our tables.
“It’s a little unfair, I guess. I got all the answers I wanted, didn’t I? I got to come to these little parties and schmooze with guys who knew more than I did. I got to know how I met Jen before I met her, and I got to know how she’d treat me, and I got to know how the whole thing would leave a great big gaping hole in me at the end of it. If sparky died, I got to know when she died; and if she didn't, well, I got to know that too. I could've known about everything that would have happened to me before it happened. And here I'm holding back that courtesy to all of you. I'm a real jerk. So we're all jerks, right?"
I find a face a couple years younger than mine. We understand each other in that moment. He’s in a tux, just like me, but I can see the scars on his wrists. Poor guy. He can't even begin to know.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that maybe a little mystery would do us some good. That’s how everybody else in the world does it and they seem to get along okay. They don’t know about love until it happens. They don’t know if they get the job, if they make the team, if they win the tournament. There’s something exciting about that. What’d it ever do for us to know?”
It’s been a few years since anyone spelled it out. I think, maybe, I’m the last to realize what it means- that there are 22 versions of me in this room, each of us exactly one year apart, and not 23 versions of me, and we’re all the same person on the same timeline.
I raise up my glass. “Ignorance is bliss. And, you know what, we could use a little bliss, couldn’t we?”
It’s an odd toast, but we all give an enthusiastic cheer, probably just to get me off the stage. All the smallest ones of us are sequestered away in one half of the hall with our attendants while the rest of us talk and drink a little amongst ourselves. It’s a small party, but it’s loud enough. One of us comes to talk to me and I already know who it is because I remember making the walk myself- lucky number 19.
“Uh, nice speech,” he says. He’s a little awkward.
“Thanks.”
He scratches the back of his neck. I grin, because I’ve waited for my turn for awhile. And it’s a little selfish, too, because I don’t want anyone else to have a turn at it. Not until we all forget what this is all about and year by year we learn to collaborate and collude again.
“The stuff about Jen…” he says. “You looked at me.”
I nod. He panics for a second and his eyes turn sad.
“Why? What about the mystery?”
I smile but I’m not very happy. We haven’t been happy in a long time.
“We’re never gonna’ manage to keep our mouths shut one that one, kid,” I tell him. I hand him a folded letter and then I sip my drink. “Read it tomorrow.”
He puts it in his jacket pocket, and God his hair’s long. I miss having hair that long. I know he’s going to go home tonight and wash his hair. He isn’t going to open that latter tomorrow. Jen’ll ask him what’s wrong, and he’ll come up with an excuse. And she treats him right for awhile, and that just makes it worse when she doesn't. That's when we read the letter:
'Dear me;
I am going to kill myself tomorrow.' | The glass clinks in the crowded room, some of my faces show the strain of the hardship they are or have experienced, some show mild amusement from what theyve experienced, happy times overshadowing all past negativity even if for just a moment.
"Well, looks like I'm the poor bastard this year." Some of the same voices laugh, while others just smile in amusement.
"Well, like always I've been where you all are now." I look in the eyes of my former selves, able to tell the triumphs and tribulations they are experiencing. "And as you can see around you, you will and have gotten past it."
I step around, passing the year I lost so many family to various things. "I've experienced death, love, creation and destruction. " I continue down, meeting the eyes of the past me who has just experienced first love. "I wish I could say I always knew what to do, how to make the right choice. To this day I still dont know what the hell I should have done."
"But what's done is done, and will continue to be so throughout the years. All I can say is that I've never sacrificed a thing unless I truly felt it needed to be done." I stand in the middle of the room, making sure to look the youngest attending in the eyes. "It was always hard, you want to quit, give up, run away but somehing keeps you still, makes you determined to say 'Fuck that.' Say it, everyday and every night. "
I take a deep breath, smiles in the room preparing to say the same thing. "I wont give up, fuck that." We all say, defiance to everything.
"Even at the last second, I wont go quietly." | |
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast. | As I stood at the head of the table, I knew what I must say. I’ve heard it exactly 32 times in my waking life. Though, while sleeping the last words seemed to follow me through every dreamscape I visited, echoing like a mantra, or a curse.
I lift up my glass as I’ve seen it done every year before, but though I put up all my resistance, I know what must be done, what must be said. I let go of what remains of my childish wish for a god to take me away. It comes as easy as breathing
“I know most of you know why we are here, for those of you who do not know or care too young to comprehend, I am truly sorry. For the rest of you, I am even sorrier, for you know what is about to unfold. “
I take a breath.
(Maybe it is the act of folding rather than unfolding. A tidy package that only I can make. I remember my youthful defiance when I first attended this gathering of my various selves, in all their disheveled, discontinuous glory. My disbelief that I was going to end up following the exact path that was so mercilessly laid before me. But I did. It was easy enough to convince myself that all my choices were my own and chosen for my own reasons, but as the years went on and this yearly reminder of my own powerlessness to stop the onslaught of time, it broke me down, slowly, into these sad, desponded faces that I now saw in front of me, silently begging me to deviate from what they knew must take place. But I must give them this act of brutal continuity)
“Some of you will try to stop me from killing myself tonight, but as you all know, you will fail. Time stops for no man, least of all myself. What must happen must happen. But if you need a reason, I will give you one word: freedom”
I take the gun strapped to my the inside of my coat, point it at my head and pull the trigger. I hear a loud noise and a start of a baby’s cry as everything fades out into a dreamless sleep where my final word follows me no more.
| The glass clinks in the crowded room, some of my faces show the strain of the hardship they are or have experienced, some show mild amusement from what theyve experienced, happy times overshadowing all past negativity even if for just a moment.
"Well, looks like I'm the poor bastard this year." Some of the same voices laugh, while others just smile in amusement.
"Well, like always I've been where you all are now." I look in the eyes of my former selves, able to tell the triumphs and tribulations they are experiencing. "And as you can see around you, you will and have gotten past it."
I step around, passing the year I lost so many family to various things. "I've experienced death, love, creation and destruction. " I continue down, meeting the eyes of the past me who has just experienced first love. "I wish I could say I always knew what to do, how to make the right choice. To this day I still dont know what the hell I should have done."
"But what's done is done, and will continue to be so throughout the years. All I can say is that I've never sacrificed a thing unless I truly felt it needed to be done." I stand in the middle of the room, making sure to look the youngest attending in the eyes. "It was always hard, you want to quit, give up, run away but somehing keeps you still, makes you determined to say 'Fuck that.' Say it, everyday and every night. "
I take a deep breath, smiles in the room preparing to say the same thing. "I wont give up, fuck that." We all say, defiance to everything.
"Even at the last second, I wont go quietly." | |
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast. | All alone, he gave a few tiny, content, gurgles of laughter.
All was silent.
It ended almost as soon as it had begun. | The glass clinks in the crowded room, some of my faces show the strain of the hardship they are or have experienced, some show mild amusement from what theyve experienced, happy times overshadowing all past negativity even if for just a moment.
"Well, looks like I'm the poor bastard this year." Some of the same voices laugh, while others just smile in amusement.
"Well, like always I've been where you all are now." I look in the eyes of my former selves, able to tell the triumphs and tribulations they are experiencing. "And as you can see around you, you will and have gotten past it."
I step around, passing the year I lost so many family to various things. "I've experienced death, love, creation and destruction. " I continue down, meeting the eyes of the past me who has just experienced first love. "I wish I could say I always knew what to do, how to make the right choice. To this day I still dont know what the hell I should have done."
"But what's done is done, and will continue to be so throughout the years. All I can say is that I've never sacrificed a thing unless I truly felt it needed to be done." I stand in the middle of the room, making sure to look the youngest attending in the eyes. "It was always hard, you want to quit, give up, run away but somehing keeps you still, makes you determined to say 'Fuck that.' Say it, everyday and every night. "
I take a deep breath, smiles in the room preparing to say the same thing. "I wont give up, fuck that." We all say, defiance to everything.
"Even at the last second, I wont go quietly." | |
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast. | Dearest Gold-Giving Redditer,
Thank you so much for my first piece of gold and for appreciating my story. I definitely think I'll take time to get back into writing!
Much Appreciation,
The Chosen Ln E
.
I had known this moment was going to come for years. Or did I? I guess I never really remembered the age, specifically. I remembered attending, that's for sure. I remember having a good time. I remember 20 year old me thinking it would be funny to keep adding more liquor to the top of 15 year old me's glass, as payback for what 25 year old me had done 5 years ago. But I never remembered what we talked about. I never remembered the little quips and jokes that older me's would say, while he hid a smile behind their clenched lips, or sometimes a scowl. And most importantly, I never remembered the toast.
But there was one thing that I did always remember. Getting home after the party and - sometimes that night, sometimes the next day, sometimes the following winter - finding a single note in my pocket. It never had more than a sentence on it, but it always seemed to be relevant... or at least it came to be relevant in the next 5 years.
And now it was my turn. I didn't know that going into it, but after looking around and realizing that no one else had glasses quite as thick as mine, hair quite as white and patchy as mine, or skin quite as saggy as mine, it was kind of easy to guess who's turn it was. Most people would probably freak out at this point, but not me. Not us. To us, death wasn't really that scary of a thing. Or at least at this point, it wasn't. We had been given a completely unique opportunity to be able to have this gathering every five years, and with it we felt blessed.
But alas, I was day dreaming. It was time for a toast. And, like always (or was it like always? I guess if I do it this way, then it must be like always.), I started from the beginning.
Where was that little... shit. And that's what I was back then, a little shit. Always getting in to trouble, climbing on the counters, and evading time-outs like they were the plague. I realized it was so weird for me to look at him and realize that I used to be that small, three-something foot boy with his still-velcro sneakers and an addiction to picking his nose. What do I even tell a kid...no... a me that small?
"Boy, you've got a long life ahead of you. And although now, you want nothing more to be a fighter-jet pilot, you're going to be something so much more. You're going to be a lover. You're going to be a fighter. You're going to be a man, and a husband, and someone who changes the world of those that he loves. So for you, I give you this advice." So he scuttled forward, almost tripping over the anxiety of walking in front of the 14 other people in the room, in order to grab the note I held in my hands.
> Life is more than toys and imaginary games; remember that you will find your true happiness in bringing happiness to others.
But he wasn't supposed to know that yet. And, like I said, he was a little shit, so of course he... I started opening it. With a wag of my finger and a "no, no, no", I kindly reminded him that if he read it now, he wouldn't remember it when he left. A look of rejection slammed across his face, followed by a grumpy crossing of his arms and a cute little march back to his original seat.
And next was 10 year old me. I already knew this was going to end poorly, so why did it even matter. Apparently me at that age did not like to listen to my elders. But... to keep the mood positive, I spotted him... again me out. Long brown hair, jeans and a button down plaid shirt. And I still wore that necklace with the little shells on it. Who gave that to me again...? I guess it didn't matter.
"Oh look! You've grown so much, it's like I haven't seen you in five years!" A groan... but come on... this was my toast. "There's not much to say to you, since we all already know that you're going to ruin this whole thing. So I'll keep it short: listen to your parents. I promise they know what's best for you. So for you, I give you this advice."
> Stupid kid, you know you shouldn't have looked.
Would the time line change if I gave him something different? I don't know. I don't know that I'd want it to change. But you could see the looks of excitement on everyone's faces. Well, all but 5's face. They knew what was going to happen, and it was going to be hilarious.
But on to 15, who was... where was he? Oh, the bathroom. Someone can't hold your liquor. "20, can you go grab 15, you ass." He chuckled and did this little jig as he turned around towards the bathrooms. Sure enough 15 came out, supported completely by 20, and was propped into a chair just off the front of the room.
"Hey buddy.... can you understand me?"
*Incoherent Grunt*
"Yeah, that's what I remembered. Is this the night I stopped drinking vodka?" I asked the crowd.
25 chimed in: "No, it was definitely your 21st birthday." Older me's giggled, and 20 just sighed, knowing that it would be just another year until that regrettable night.
"So back to you 15 -" another grunt "- You're not going to remember a single thing that happens tonight. But this might be one of the most important notes you receive here, tonight." I went to hand it to him, but remembered that I was absolutely smashed, and thus handed it to 20 instead to put in his chest pocket.
> Never hit her.
The rest went by faster, as the memories became more and more resent. A lot of the older me's understood that the verbal part of the toast was going to be forgotten anyways, and just came up to get their cards as soon as they realized it was their turn.
20:
> Yes, you do want to marry her.
25:
> Just let her pick the name; otherwise you'll never hear the end of it.
30:
> The small job in Seattle will make you a lot happier than your bigger job in Detroit.
35:
> Treat your girl like a princess; respect breeds respect.
40:
> No matter how hard things become, never give up on your wife.
45:
> Please look both ways before crossing the street.
It was at this point that 10 decided he couldn't wait any longer and opened up the note.
"What's with this, grandpa?" He shouted from the back while standing on top of his chair. "How am I supposed to learn anything from "Stupid kid, you know you shouldn't have looked"?
"That's the point, smart-ass. You were going to look anyways. Might as well make it funny!"
Everyone laughed, 10 sat down, now angry that the joke was directed at him, and we continued with the toast.
50:
> The cancer is temporary, but if she gives up hope she will be forever damaged; do not let that happen.
55:
> Give your grand-kids all the attention that you gave your children; soon they're going to need help with losing their father.
60:
> The new boyfriend is a molester; get him out before it's too late.
65:
> Take the extra time to volunteer; it's not work but it will bring you just as much joy.
70:
> If you leave the hospital for a smoke, she will pass away while you're gone.
[This is continued in a comment because *apparently* 10280 characters isn't close enough to 10000 to count.] | The glass clinks in the crowded room, some of my faces show the strain of the hardship they are or have experienced, some show mild amusement from what theyve experienced, happy times overshadowing all past negativity even if for just a moment.
"Well, looks like I'm the poor bastard this year." Some of the same voices laugh, while others just smile in amusement.
"Well, like always I've been where you all are now." I look in the eyes of my former selves, able to tell the triumphs and tribulations they are experiencing. "And as you can see around you, you will and have gotten past it."
I step around, passing the year I lost so many family to various things. "I've experienced death, love, creation and destruction. " I continue down, meeting the eyes of the past me who has just experienced first love. "I wish I could say I always knew what to do, how to make the right choice. To this day I still dont know what the hell I should have done."
"But what's done is done, and will continue to be so throughout the years. All I can say is that I've never sacrificed a thing unless I truly felt it needed to be done." I stand in the middle of the room, making sure to look the youngest attending in the eyes. "It was always hard, you want to quit, give up, run away but somehing keeps you still, makes you determined to say 'Fuck that.' Say it, everyday and every night. "
I take a deep breath, smiles in the room preparing to say the same thing. "I wont give up, fuck that." We all say, defiance to everything.
"Even at the last second, I wont go quietly." | |
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast. | Standing in that timeless room, I knew the truth of my life. My mind ran on an endless loop just like everybody else’s, recounting everything I’d ever done up to that point. “So I guess it’s my turn,” I said as I took the stage, microphone in hand. 44 was far too few to see out there, and sixteen or seventeen of them were hardly worth counting.
“Just get on with it 45,” 24 shouted from the back.
“So I know some of you are getting tired of hearing this speech year after year, but you’ll be hearing it for the rest of your life, so you better get used to it.” Nobody laughed, as usual. “You probably shouldn’t make that joke next year, 44.” He would. He always did.
“Gentlemen, raise your glasses with me.” Thirty-eight glasses went up with mine. 1 through 4 didn’t know what the hell was going on, 6 was too busy picking his nose, and 20 had already passed out drunk at the table.
“This toast is to a lifetime of memories, both the good and the bad. As I speak, I want each of you to look back on your year and be honest with yourself.”
I cleared my throat and started with the next cycle of memories.
“Take a sip with me for every kind word said, and pour one out for every word you regret.”
A second passed, and more was poured out than in.
“Take a sip with me for every truth you told when it wasn’t convenient, and pour one out for every lie you told when it was.”
A second passed, and 15 was the last to pour, finally convinced he should tell his parents his real grades.
“Take a sip with me for every time you tried your hardest, and pour one out for every time you gave up on something you cared about.”
A second passed, and 18 drank immediately, smiling proudly as he relived the basketball team’s run in the tournament. 21 poured one out, wondering why he’d let her go.
“Take a sip with me for every promise you kept, and pour one out for every promise you broke.”
A second passed, and 19 poured one out as he realized he’d broken a promise a year in the making. He told her they’d get back together come summer. How would he tell her that he’d found someone better?
“Take a sip with me for every friend that you made, and pour one out for every tie that you severed.”
A second passed, and 10 realized the sip he poured out meant more than the ten he took in.
“Take a sip with me for every time you told somebody you loved them and meant it, and pour one out for every time that you didn’t.”
A second passed, and 24 poured his glass out while 16 finished his and they both poured themselves new ones.
“Take a sip with me for every time you fell in love, and pour one out for every heart that you broke.”
A second passed, and 24 poured his glass out again as 16 took three sips, and 15 stole an extra sip to help himself forget what saw.
“Take a sip with me for every hug that you gave; two for every kiss; three if it was your mother; four if it was your kid.”
A second passed, and 5 through 22 drank healthily, 23 through 39 drank just for their kids; 40 and on didn’t drink at all.
“Take a sip with me for every time you tried something new.”
A second passed, and 32 realized he was the only one not drinking and started to wonder why.
“Take a sip with me if you took a step toward accomplishing your dream.”
A second passed, and only half took a sip, and only half of the half took more than one.
“Take a sip with me if you honestly think you are happy.”
A second passed, and 7 raised his glass, but lowered it when he realized he was the only one.
“Now take a sip with me if you think that’s something worth changing.”
All bottoms were up before a second had passed.
“Now everybody finish your drink for all the good times we’ve had, and then finish another for tonight, because this is my last night here with you and we damn well better make the most of it.” | The glass clinks in the crowded room, some of my faces show the strain of the hardship they are or have experienced, some show mild amusement from what theyve experienced, happy times overshadowing all past negativity even if for just a moment.
"Well, looks like I'm the poor bastard this year." Some of the same voices laugh, while others just smile in amusement.
"Well, like always I've been where you all are now." I look in the eyes of my former selves, able to tell the triumphs and tribulations they are experiencing. "And as you can see around you, you will and have gotten past it."
I step around, passing the year I lost so many family to various things. "I've experienced death, love, creation and destruction. " I continue down, meeting the eyes of the past me who has just experienced first love. "I wish I could say I always knew what to do, how to make the right choice. To this day I still dont know what the hell I should have done."
"But what's done is done, and will continue to be so throughout the years. All I can say is that I've never sacrificed a thing unless I truly felt it needed to be done." I stand in the middle of the room, making sure to look the youngest attending in the eyes. "It was always hard, you want to quit, give up, run away but somehing keeps you still, makes you determined to say 'Fuck that.' Say it, everyday and every night. "
I take a deep breath, smiles in the room preparing to say the same thing. "I wont give up, fuck that." We all say, defiance to everything.
"Even at the last second, I wont go quietly." | |
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast. | “Wow,” I say. My eyebrows wrinkle up into an impression of sanctity that I know we all recognize for sarcasm. “Look at this crowd. Did the bus let off on top of the ugly tree tonight?”
We all laugh- well, most of us. Some of us are a little self conscious. We grow out of it eventually. We learn to embrace our flaws a couple years after we figure out masturbation. I don’t bother thinking up a monkey-spanking joke because I already know I won’t have the balls to say it in front of a bunch of kids and those nice attendants for the younger ones. And while I think about decorum, I wish I’d shaved this the morning, but my razor doesn't shave well with all the blades fallen out.
“Y’know, I used to be all you guys. I’d be right where you’re sitting. And I’d look around at all the faces and think, ‘ah, jeez, so I don’t grow into this thing?’ “ I grab the tip of my nose and look a little dumbfounded. More laughs. We’re always eager to please, even if we don’t think the joke is funny. “I’d think, ‘I wonder if things work out with Kathryn.’ And now I get to say, yeah, I guess they do. But I might be lying about. I might tell a lot of lies tonight.”
Some of us smile, slightly confused. Some of us stare into the perspiring glasses on our tables.
“It’s a little unfair, I guess. I got all the answers I wanted, didn’t I? I got to come to these little parties and schmooze with guys who knew more than I did. I got to know how I met Jen before I met her, and I got to know how she’d treat me, and I got to know how the whole thing would leave a great big gaping hole in me at the end of it. If sparky died, I got to know when she died; and if she didn't, well, I got to know that too. I could've known about everything that would have happened to me before it happened. And here I'm holding back that courtesy to all of you. I'm a real jerk. So we're all jerks, right?"
I find a face a couple years younger than mine. We understand each other in that moment. He’s in a tux, just like me, but I can see the scars on his wrists. Poor guy. He can't even begin to know.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that maybe a little mystery would do us some good. That’s how everybody else in the world does it and they seem to get along okay. They don’t know about love until it happens. They don’t know if they get the job, if they make the team, if they win the tournament. There’s something exciting about that. What’d it ever do for us to know?”
It’s been a few years since anyone spelled it out. I think, maybe, I’m the last to realize what it means- that there are 22 versions of me in this room, each of us exactly one year apart, and not 23 versions of me, and we’re all the same person on the same timeline.
I raise up my glass. “Ignorance is bliss. And, you know what, we could use a little bliss, couldn’t we?”
It’s an odd toast, but we all give an enthusiastic cheer, probably just to get me off the stage. All the smallest ones of us are sequestered away in one half of the hall with our attendants while the rest of us talk and drink a little amongst ourselves. It’s a small party, but it’s loud enough. One of us comes to talk to me and I already know who it is because I remember making the walk myself- lucky number 19.
“Uh, nice speech,” he says. He’s a little awkward.
“Thanks.”
He scratches the back of his neck. I grin, because I’ve waited for my turn for awhile. And it’s a little selfish, too, because I don’t want anyone else to have a turn at it. Not until we all forget what this is all about and year by year we learn to collaborate and collude again.
“The stuff about Jen…” he says. “You looked at me.”
I nod. He panics for a second and his eyes turn sad.
“Why? What about the mystery?”
I smile but I’m not very happy. We haven’t been happy in a long time.
“We’re never gonna’ manage to keep our mouths shut one that one, kid,” I tell him. I hand him a folded letter and then I sip my drink. “Read it tomorrow.”
He puts it in his jacket pocket, and God his hair’s long. I miss having hair that long. I know he’s going to go home tonight and wash his hair. He isn’t going to open that latter tomorrow. Jen’ll ask him what’s wrong, and he’ll come up with an excuse. And she treats him right for awhile, and that just makes it worse when she doesn't. That's when we read the letter:
'Dear me;
I am going to kill myself tomorrow.' | Look at you, for fuck's sake. Look at you and then look at me, because this is what you shall become.
I remember when I was in your shoes. I remember being you, each one of you. I remember listening to this speech every single year. I remember your thoughts, what is going through your head right now. It has already been in my head, and I remember.
I remember you, the younger ones. Looking at the older ones with that innocent look, not really caring.
I remember you, teenage kids and young adults. Wondering, before hearing this exact same speech, what would I look like. Wondering what I'd sound like, what I'd have to say. Anxious to hear about everything I had accomplished. I remember your craving for stories, anecdotes, tales of amazing adventures. I also remember the pressure you felt in your chest while listening to me. The fear, the sadness, and the sudden motivation right after I finished talking. "I'll do it. I'll listen to her and do what she says". It was pure inspiration, it was an honest desire to change and you were truly convinced you'd do it. You were revolving in your self pity by those years, and at the same time, fully sure that you'd do better.
But I particularly remember you. Yes, you. I remember being in your shoes last year, at this exact same time. Planning your next year's speech. Looking back at all of them... All of us. Wondering why the hell they weren't listening to me, to the person you were about to become in one year. You wanted to smack those kids in the head for not caring. You wanted to punch those grown ass ladies for not paying attention at all those teens. Those teens... You still remember how amazing their god damned inspiration felt. You are looking right now at them and I know how you feel while a hurricane of sensations just strikes your heart.
You are there, thinking about what to say, like I did. Like all of them will do. How the hell could you keep those teens motivated? How could you convince them to make a fucking effort? How could you stop them from falling again into a pit of lamentations?
Why were you so stubborn while being in their shoes, in the kids' shoes, in each one of these idiots' shoes? You wonder... But you don't know. That's why the only thing you can think of right now is myself.
You have a year to think, and then it's your turn. I know you're scared. That's why I decided to dedicate my words to you. Because I hope that by hearing them, all these folks will actually change this time. I hope they'll actually listen to my thoughts... Our toughts. And I hope when it's your turn to come here, you can give, finally, a different speech.
Not one about changing. Not one trying to motivate them. Not one trying to make them listen to you, to me, for once. But one full of adventures and tales. I want you to tell those young kids how great they did by listening to me. How right was their choice of doing something. How well they did by not falling into their pit of pity and failure. Will you young folks stop dreaming and start acting?
That's something you probably already know, since you heard these exact same words one year ago.
EDIT: I'm new to this sub and new to writing long texts in the English language, so I apologize for any grammar mistake! | |
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast. | As I stood at the head of the table, I knew what I must say. I’ve heard it exactly 32 times in my waking life. Though, while sleeping the last words seemed to follow me through every dreamscape I visited, echoing like a mantra, or a curse.
I lift up my glass as I’ve seen it done every year before, but though I put up all my resistance, I know what must be done, what must be said. I let go of what remains of my childish wish for a god to take me away. It comes as easy as breathing
“I know most of you know why we are here, for those of you who do not know or care too young to comprehend, I am truly sorry. For the rest of you, I am even sorrier, for you know what is about to unfold. “
I take a breath.
(Maybe it is the act of folding rather than unfolding. A tidy package that only I can make. I remember my youthful defiance when I first attended this gathering of my various selves, in all their disheveled, discontinuous glory. My disbelief that I was going to end up following the exact path that was so mercilessly laid before me. But I did. It was easy enough to convince myself that all my choices were my own and chosen for my own reasons, but as the years went on and this yearly reminder of my own powerlessness to stop the onslaught of time, it broke me down, slowly, into these sad, desponded faces that I now saw in front of me, silently begging me to deviate from what they knew must take place. But I must give them this act of brutal continuity)
“Some of you will try to stop me from killing myself tonight, but as you all know, you will fail. Time stops for no man, least of all myself. What must happen must happen. But if you need a reason, I will give you one word: freedom”
I take the gun strapped to my the inside of my coat, point it at my head and pull the trigger. I hear a loud noise and a start of a baby’s cry as everything fades out into a dreamless sleep where my final word follows me no more.
| Look at you, for fuck's sake. Look at you and then look at me, because this is what you shall become.
I remember when I was in your shoes. I remember being you, each one of you. I remember listening to this speech every single year. I remember your thoughts, what is going through your head right now. It has already been in my head, and I remember.
I remember you, the younger ones. Looking at the older ones with that innocent look, not really caring.
I remember you, teenage kids and young adults. Wondering, before hearing this exact same speech, what would I look like. Wondering what I'd sound like, what I'd have to say. Anxious to hear about everything I had accomplished. I remember your craving for stories, anecdotes, tales of amazing adventures. I also remember the pressure you felt in your chest while listening to me. The fear, the sadness, and the sudden motivation right after I finished talking. "I'll do it. I'll listen to her and do what she says". It was pure inspiration, it was an honest desire to change and you were truly convinced you'd do it. You were revolving in your self pity by those years, and at the same time, fully sure that you'd do better.
But I particularly remember you. Yes, you. I remember being in your shoes last year, at this exact same time. Planning your next year's speech. Looking back at all of them... All of us. Wondering why the hell they weren't listening to me, to the person you were about to become in one year. You wanted to smack those kids in the head for not caring. You wanted to punch those grown ass ladies for not paying attention at all those teens. Those teens... You still remember how amazing their god damned inspiration felt. You are looking right now at them and I know how you feel while a hurricane of sensations just strikes your heart.
You are there, thinking about what to say, like I did. Like all of them will do. How the hell could you keep those teens motivated? How could you convince them to make a fucking effort? How could you stop them from falling again into a pit of lamentations?
Why were you so stubborn while being in their shoes, in the kids' shoes, in each one of these idiots' shoes? You wonder... But you don't know. That's why the only thing you can think of right now is myself.
You have a year to think, and then it's your turn. I know you're scared. That's why I decided to dedicate my words to you. Because I hope that by hearing them, all these folks will actually change this time. I hope they'll actually listen to my thoughts... Our toughts. And I hope when it's your turn to come here, you can give, finally, a different speech.
Not one about changing. Not one trying to motivate them. Not one trying to make them listen to you, to me, for once. But one full of adventures and tales. I want you to tell those young kids how great they did by listening to me. How right was their choice of doing something. How well they did by not falling into their pit of pity and failure. Will you young folks stop dreaming and start acting?
That's something you probably already know, since you heard these exact same words one year ago.
EDIT: I'm new to this sub and new to writing long texts in the English language, so I apologize for any grammar mistake! | |
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast. | All alone, he gave a few tiny, content, gurgles of laughter.
All was silent.
It ended almost as soon as it had begun. | Look at you, for fuck's sake. Look at you and then look at me, because this is what you shall become.
I remember when I was in your shoes. I remember being you, each one of you. I remember listening to this speech every single year. I remember your thoughts, what is going through your head right now. It has already been in my head, and I remember.
I remember you, the younger ones. Looking at the older ones with that innocent look, not really caring.
I remember you, teenage kids and young adults. Wondering, before hearing this exact same speech, what would I look like. Wondering what I'd sound like, what I'd have to say. Anxious to hear about everything I had accomplished. I remember your craving for stories, anecdotes, tales of amazing adventures. I also remember the pressure you felt in your chest while listening to me. The fear, the sadness, and the sudden motivation right after I finished talking. "I'll do it. I'll listen to her and do what she says". It was pure inspiration, it was an honest desire to change and you were truly convinced you'd do it. You were revolving in your self pity by those years, and at the same time, fully sure that you'd do better.
But I particularly remember you. Yes, you. I remember being in your shoes last year, at this exact same time. Planning your next year's speech. Looking back at all of them... All of us. Wondering why the hell they weren't listening to me, to the person you were about to become in one year. You wanted to smack those kids in the head for not caring. You wanted to punch those grown ass ladies for not paying attention at all those teens. Those teens... You still remember how amazing their god damned inspiration felt. You are looking right now at them and I know how you feel while a hurricane of sensations just strikes your heart.
You are there, thinking about what to say, like I did. Like all of them will do. How the hell could you keep those teens motivated? How could you convince them to make a fucking effort? How could you stop them from falling again into a pit of lamentations?
Why were you so stubborn while being in their shoes, in the kids' shoes, in each one of these idiots' shoes? You wonder... But you don't know. That's why the only thing you can think of right now is myself.
You have a year to think, and then it's your turn. I know you're scared. That's why I decided to dedicate my words to you. Because I hope that by hearing them, all these folks will actually change this time. I hope they'll actually listen to my thoughts... Our toughts. And I hope when it's your turn to come here, you can give, finally, a different speech.
Not one about changing. Not one trying to motivate them. Not one trying to make them listen to you, to me, for once. But one full of adventures and tales. I want you to tell those young kids how great they did by listening to me. How right was their choice of doing something. How well they did by not falling into their pit of pity and failure. Will you young folks stop dreaming and start acting?
That's something you probably already know, since you heard these exact same words one year ago.
EDIT: I'm new to this sub and new to writing long texts in the English language, so I apologize for any grammar mistake! | |
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast. | Dearest Gold-Giving Redditer,
Thank you so much for my first piece of gold and for appreciating my story. I definitely think I'll take time to get back into writing!
Much Appreciation,
The Chosen Ln E
.
I had known this moment was going to come for years. Or did I? I guess I never really remembered the age, specifically. I remembered attending, that's for sure. I remember having a good time. I remember 20 year old me thinking it would be funny to keep adding more liquor to the top of 15 year old me's glass, as payback for what 25 year old me had done 5 years ago. But I never remembered what we talked about. I never remembered the little quips and jokes that older me's would say, while he hid a smile behind their clenched lips, or sometimes a scowl. And most importantly, I never remembered the toast.
But there was one thing that I did always remember. Getting home after the party and - sometimes that night, sometimes the next day, sometimes the following winter - finding a single note in my pocket. It never had more than a sentence on it, but it always seemed to be relevant... or at least it came to be relevant in the next 5 years.
And now it was my turn. I didn't know that going into it, but after looking around and realizing that no one else had glasses quite as thick as mine, hair quite as white and patchy as mine, or skin quite as saggy as mine, it was kind of easy to guess who's turn it was. Most people would probably freak out at this point, but not me. Not us. To us, death wasn't really that scary of a thing. Or at least at this point, it wasn't. We had been given a completely unique opportunity to be able to have this gathering every five years, and with it we felt blessed.
But alas, I was day dreaming. It was time for a toast. And, like always (or was it like always? I guess if I do it this way, then it must be like always.), I started from the beginning.
Where was that little... shit. And that's what I was back then, a little shit. Always getting in to trouble, climbing on the counters, and evading time-outs like they were the plague. I realized it was so weird for me to look at him and realize that I used to be that small, three-something foot boy with his still-velcro sneakers and an addiction to picking his nose. What do I even tell a kid...no... a me that small?
"Boy, you've got a long life ahead of you. And although now, you want nothing more to be a fighter-jet pilot, you're going to be something so much more. You're going to be a lover. You're going to be a fighter. You're going to be a man, and a husband, and someone who changes the world of those that he loves. So for you, I give you this advice." So he scuttled forward, almost tripping over the anxiety of walking in front of the 14 other people in the room, in order to grab the note I held in my hands.
> Life is more than toys and imaginary games; remember that you will find your true happiness in bringing happiness to others.
But he wasn't supposed to know that yet. And, like I said, he was a little shit, so of course he... I started opening it. With a wag of my finger and a "no, no, no", I kindly reminded him that if he read it now, he wouldn't remember it when he left. A look of rejection slammed across his face, followed by a grumpy crossing of his arms and a cute little march back to his original seat.
And next was 10 year old me. I already knew this was going to end poorly, so why did it even matter. Apparently me at that age did not like to listen to my elders. But... to keep the mood positive, I spotted him... again me out. Long brown hair, jeans and a button down plaid shirt. And I still wore that necklace with the little shells on it. Who gave that to me again...? I guess it didn't matter.
"Oh look! You've grown so much, it's like I haven't seen you in five years!" A groan... but come on... this was my toast. "There's not much to say to you, since we all already know that you're going to ruin this whole thing. So I'll keep it short: listen to your parents. I promise they know what's best for you. So for you, I give you this advice."
> Stupid kid, you know you shouldn't have looked.
Would the time line change if I gave him something different? I don't know. I don't know that I'd want it to change. But you could see the looks of excitement on everyone's faces. Well, all but 5's face. They knew what was going to happen, and it was going to be hilarious.
But on to 15, who was... where was he? Oh, the bathroom. Someone can't hold your liquor. "20, can you go grab 15, you ass." He chuckled and did this little jig as he turned around towards the bathrooms. Sure enough 15 came out, supported completely by 20, and was propped into a chair just off the front of the room.
"Hey buddy.... can you understand me?"
*Incoherent Grunt*
"Yeah, that's what I remembered. Is this the night I stopped drinking vodka?" I asked the crowd.
25 chimed in: "No, it was definitely your 21st birthday." Older me's giggled, and 20 just sighed, knowing that it would be just another year until that regrettable night.
"So back to you 15 -" another grunt "- You're not going to remember a single thing that happens tonight. But this might be one of the most important notes you receive here, tonight." I went to hand it to him, but remembered that I was absolutely smashed, and thus handed it to 20 instead to put in his chest pocket.
> Never hit her.
The rest went by faster, as the memories became more and more resent. A lot of the older me's understood that the verbal part of the toast was going to be forgotten anyways, and just came up to get their cards as soon as they realized it was their turn.
20:
> Yes, you do want to marry her.
25:
> Just let her pick the name; otherwise you'll never hear the end of it.
30:
> The small job in Seattle will make you a lot happier than your bigger job in Detroit.
35:
> Treat your girl like a princess; respect breeds respect.
40:
> No matter how hard things become, never give up on your wife.
45:
> Please look both ways before crossing the street.
It was at this point that 10 decided he couldn't wait any longer and opened up the note.
"What's with this, grandpa?" He shouted from the back while standing on top of his chair. "How am I supposed to learn anything from "Stupid kid, you know you shouldn't have looked"?
"That's the point, smart-ass. You were going to look anyways. Might as well make it funny!"
Everyone laughed, 10 sat down, now angry that the joke was directed at him, and we continued with the toast.
50:
> The cancer is temporary, but if she gives up hope she will be forever damaged; do not let that happen.
55:
> Give your grand-kids all the attention that you gave your children; soon they're going to need help with losing their father.
60:
> The new boyfriend is a molester; get him out before it's too late.
65:
> Take the extra time to volunteer; it's not work but it will bring you just as much joy.
70:
> If you leave the hospital for a smoke, she will pass away while you're gone.
[This is continued in a comment because *apparently* 10280 characters isn't close enough to 10000 to count.] | Look at you, for fuck's sake. Look at you and then look at me, because this is what you shall become.
I remember when I was in your shoes. I remember being you, each one of you. I remember listening to this speech every single year. I remember your thoughts, what is going through your head right now. It has already been in my head, and I remember.
I remember you, the younger ones. Looking at the older ones with that innocent look, not really caring.
I remember you, teenage kids and young adults. Wondering, before hearing this exact same speech, what would I look like. Wondering what I'd sound like, what I'd have to say. Anxious to hear about everything I had accomplished. I remember your craving for stories, anecdotes, tales of amazing adventures. I also remember the pressure you felt in your chest while listening to me. The fear, the sadness, and the sudden motivation right after I finished talking. "I'll do it. I'll listen to her and do what she says". It was pure inspiration, it was an honest desire to change and you were truly convinced you'd do it. You were revolving in your self pity by those years, and at the same time, fully sure that you'd do better.
But I particularly remember you. Yes, you. I remember being in your shoes last year, at this exact same time. Planning your next year's speech. Looking back at all of them... All of us. Wondering why the hell they weren't listening to me, to the person you were about to become in one year. You wanted to smack those kids in the head for not caring. You wanted to punch those grown ass ladies for not paying attention at all those teens. Those teens... You still remember how amazing their god damned inspiration felt. You are looking right now at them and I know how you feel while a hurricane of sensations just strikes your heart.
You are there, thinking about what to say, like I did. Like all of them will do. How the hell could you keep those teens motivated? How could you convince them to make a fucking effort? How could you stop them from falling again into a pit of lamentations?
Why were you so stubborn while being in their shoes, in the kids' shoes, in each one of these idiots' shoes? You wonder... But you don't know. That's why the only thing you can think of right now is myself.
You have a year to think, and then it's your turn. I know you're scared. That's why I decided to dedicate my words to you. Because I hope that by hearing them, all these folks will actually change this time. I hope they'll actually listen to my thoughts... Our toughts. And I hope when it's your turn to come here, you can give, finally, a different speech.
Not one about changing. Not one trying to motivate them. Not one trying to make them listen to you, to me, for once. But one full of adventures and tales. I want you to tell those young kids how great they did by listening to me. How right was their choice of doing something. How well they did by not falling into their pit of pity and failure. Will you young folks stop dreaming and start acting?
That's something you probably already know, since you heard these exact same words one year ago.
EDIT: I'm new to this sub and new to writing long texts in the English language, so I apologize for any grammar mistake! | |
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast. | Standing in that timeless room, I knew the truth of my life. My mind ran on an endless loop just like everybody else’s, recounting everything I’d ever done up to that point. “So I guess it’s my turn,” I said as I took the stage, microphone in hand. 44 was far too few to see out there, and sixteen or seventeen of them were hardly worth counting.
“Just get on with it 45,” 24 shouted from the back.
“So I know some of you are getting tired of hearing this speech year after year, but you’ll be hearing it for the rest of your life, so you better get used to it.” Nobody laughed, as usual. “You probably shouldn’t make that joke next year, 44.” He would. He always did.
“Gentlemen, raise your glasses with me.” Thirty-eight glasses went up with mine. 1 through 4 didn’t know what the hell was going on, 6 was too busy picking his nose, and 20 had already passed out drunk at the table.
“This toast is to a lifetime of memories, both the good and the bad. As I speak, I want each of you to look back on your year and be honest with yourself.”
I cleared my throat and started with the next cycle of memories.
“Take a sip with me for every kind word said, and pour one out for every word you regret.”
A second passed, and more was poured out than in.
“Take a sip with me for every truth you told when it wasn’t convenient, and pour one out for every lie you told when it was.”
A second passed, and 15 was the last to pour, finally convinced he should tell his parents his real grades.
“Take a sip with me for every time you tried your hardest, and pour one out for every time you gave up on something you cared about.”
A second passed, and 18 drank immediately, smiling proudly as he relived the basketball team’s run in the tournament. 21 poured one out, wondering why he’d let her go.
“Take a sip with me for every promise you kept, and pour one out for every promise you broke.”
A second passed, and 19 poured one out as he realized he’d broken a promise a year in the making. He told her they’d get back together come summer. How would he tell her that he’d found someone better?
“Take a sip with me for every friend that you made, and pour one out for every tie that you severed.”
A second passed, and 10 realized the sip he poured out meant more than the ten he took in.
“Take a sip with me for every time you told somebody you loved them and meant it, and pour one out for every time that you didn’t.”
A second passed, and 24 poured his glass out while 16 finished his and they both poured themselves new ones.
“Take a sip with me for every time you fell in love, and pour one out for every heart that you broke.”
A second passed, and 24 poured his glass out again as 16 took three sips, and 15 stole an extra sip to help himself forget what saw.
“Take a sip with me for every hug that you gave; two for every kiss; three if it was your mother; four if it was your kid.”
A second passed, and 5 through 22 drank healthily, 23 through 39 drank just for their kids; 40 and on didn’t drink at all.
“Take a sip with me for every time you tried something new.”
A second passed, and 32 realized he was the only one not drinking and started to wonder why.
“Take a sip with me if you took a step toward accomplishing your dream.”
A second passed, and only half took a sip, and only half of the half took more than one.
“Take a sip with me if you honestly think you are happy.”
A second passed, and 7 raised his glass, but lowered it when he realized he was the only one.
“Now take a sip with me if you think that’s something worth changing.”
All bottoms were up before a second had passed.
“Now everybody finish your drink for all the good times we’ve had, and then finish another for tonight, because this is my last night here with you and we damn well better make the most of it.” | Look at you, for fuck's sake. Look at you and then look at me, because this is what you shall become.
I remember when I was in your shoes. I remember being you, each one of you. I remember listening to this speech every single year. I remember your thoughts, what is going through your head right now. It has already been in my head, and I remember.
I remember you, the younger ones. Looking at the older ones with that innocent look, not really caring.
I remember you, teenage kids and young adults. Wondering, before hearing this exact same speech, what would I look like. Wondering what I'd sound like, what I'd have to say. Anxious to hear about everything I had accomplished. I remember your craving for stories, anecdotes, tales of amazing adventures. I also remember the pressure you felt in your chest while listening to me. The fear, the sadness, and the sudden motivation right after I finished talking. "I'll do it. I'll listen to her and do what she says". It was pure inspiration, it was an honest desire to change and you were truly convinced you'd do it. You were revolving in your self pity by those years, and at the same time, fully sure that you'd do better.
But I particularly remember you. Yes, you. I remember being in your shoes last year, at this exact same time. Planning your next year's speech. Looking back at all of them... All of us. Wondering why the hell they weren't listening to me, to the person you were about to become in one year. You wanted to smack those kids in the head for not caring. You wanted to punch those grown ass ladies for not paying attention at all those teens. Those teens... You still remember how amazing their god damned inspiration felt. You are looking right now at them and I know how you feel while a hurricane of sensations just strikes your heart.
You are there, thinking about what to say, like I did. Like all of them will do. How the hell could you keep those teens motivated? How could you convince them to make a fucking effort? How could you stop them from falling again into a pit of lamentations?
Why were you so stubborn while being in their shoes, in the kids' shoes, in each one of these idiots' shoes? You wonder... But you don't know. That's why the only thing you can think of right now is myself.
You have a year to think, and then it's your turn. I know you're scared. That's why I decided to dedicate my words to you. Because I hope that by hearing them, all these folks will actually change this time. I hope they'll actually listen to my thoughts... Our toughts. And I hope when it's your turn to come here, you can give, finally, a different speech.
Not one about changing. Not one trying to motivate them. Not one trying to make them listen to you, to me, for once. But one full of adventures and tales. I want you to tell those young kids how great they did by listening to me. How right was their choice of doing something. How well they did by not falling into their pit of pity and failure. Will you young folks stop dreaming and start acting?
That's something you probably already know, since you heard these exact same words one year ago.
EDIT: I'm new to this sub and new to writing long texts in the English language, so I apologize for any grammar mistake! | |
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast. | All alone, he gave a few tiny, content, gurgles of laughter.
All was silent.
It ended almost as soon as it had begun. | “Wow,” I say. My eyebrows wrinkle up into an impression of sanctity that I know we all recognize for sarcasm. “Look at this crowd. Did the bus let off on top of the ugly tree tonight?”
We all laugh- well, most of us. Some of us are a little self conscious. We grow out of it eventually. We learn to embrace our flaws a couple years after we figure out masturbation. I don’t bother thinking up a monkey-spanking joke because I already know I won’t have the balls to say it in front of a bunch of kids and those nice attendants for the younger ones. And while I think about decorum, I wish I’d shaved this the morning, but my razor doesn't shave well with all the blades fallen out.
“Y’know, I used to be all you guys. I’d be right where you’re sitting. And I’d look around at all the faces and think, ‘ah, jeez, so I don’t grow into this thing?’ “ I grab the tip of my nose and look a little dumbfounded. More laughs. We’re always eager to please, even if we don’t think the joke is funny. “I’d think, ‘I wonder if things work out with Kathryn.’ And now I get to say, yeah, I guess they do. But I might be lying about. I might tell a lot of lies tonight.”
Some of us smile, slightly confused. Some of us stare into the perspiring glasses on our tables.
“It’s a little unfair, I guess. I got all the answers I wanted, didn’t I? I got to come to these little parties and schmooze with guys who knew more than I did. I got to know how I met Jen before I met her, and I got to know how she’d treat me, and I got to know how the whole thing would leave a great big gaping hole in me at the end of it. If sparky died, I got to know when she died; and if she didn't, well, I got to know that too. I could've known about everything that would have happened to me before it happened. And here I'm holding back that courtesy to all of you. I'm a real jerk. So we're all jerks, right?"
I find a face a couple years younger than mine. We understand each other in that moment. He’s in a tux, just like me, but I can see the scars on his wrists. Poor guy. He can't even begin to know.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that maybe a little mystery would do us some good. That’s how everybody else in the world does it and they seem to get along okay. They don’t know about love until it happens. They don’t know if they get the job, if they make the team, if they win the tournament. There’s something exciting about that. What’d it ever do for us to know?”
It’s been a few years since anyone spelled it out. I think, maybe, I’m the last to realize what it means- that there are 22 versions of me in this room, each of us exactly one year apart, and not 23 versions of me, and we’re all the same person on the same timeline.
I raise up my glass. “Ignorance is bliss. And, you know what, we could use a little bliss, couldn’t we?”
It’s an odd toast, but we all give an enthusiastic cheer, probably just to get me off the stage. All the smallest ones of us are sequestered away in one half of the hall with our attendants while the rest of us talk and drink a little amongst ourselves. It’s a small party, but it’s loud enough. One of us comes to talk to me and I already know who it is because I remember making the walk myself- lucky number 19.
“Uh, nice speech,” he says. He’s a little awkward.
“Thanks.”
He scratches the back of his neck. I grin, because I’ve waited for my turn for awhile. And it’s a little selfish, too, because I don’t want anyone else to have a turn at it. Not until we all forget what this is all about and year by year we learn to collaborate and collude again.
“The stuff about Jen…” he says. “You looked at me.”
I nod. He panics for a second and his eyes turn sad.
“Why? What about the mystery?”
I smile but I’m not very happy. We haven’t been happy in a long time.
“We’re never gonna’ manage to keep our mouths shut one that one, kid,” I tell him. I hand him a folded letter and then I sip my drink. “Read it tomorrow.”
He puts it in his jacket pocket, and God his hair’s long. I miss having hair that long. I know he’s going to go home tonight and wash his hair. He isn’t going to open that latter tomorrow. Jen’ll ask him what’s wrong, and he’ll come up with an excuse. And she treats him right for awhile, and that just makes it worse when she doesn't. That's when we read the letter:
'Dear me;
I am going to kill myself tomorrow.' | |
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast. | Dearest Gold-Giving Redditer,
Thank you so much for my first piece of gold and for appreciating my story. I definitely think I'll take time to get back into writing!
Much Appreciation,
The Chosen Ln E
.
I had known this moment was going to come for years. Or did I? I guess I never really remembered the age, specifically. I remembered attending, that's for sure. I remember having a good time. I remember 20 year old me thinking it would be funny to keep adding more liquor to the top of 15 year old me's glass, as payback for what 25 year old me had done 5 years ago. But I never remembered what we talked about. I never remembered the little quips and jokes that older me's would say, while he hid a smile behind their clenched lips, or sometimes a scowl. And most importantly, I never remembered the toast.
But there was one thing that I did always remember. Getting home after the party and - sometimes that night, sometimes the next day, sometimes the following winter - finding a single note in my pocket. It never had more than a sentence on it, but it always seemed to be relevant... or at least it came to be relevant in the next 5 years.
And now it was my turn. I didn't know that going into it, but after looking around and realizing that no one else had glasses quite as thick as mine, hair quite as white and patchy as mine, or skin quite as saggy as mine, it was kind of easy to guess who's turn it was. Most people would probably freak out at this point, but not me. Not us. To us, death wasn't really that scary of a thing. Or at least at this point, it wasn't. We had been given a completely unique opportunity to be able to have this gathering every five years, and with it we felt blessed.
But alas, I was day dreaming. It was time for a toast. And, like always (or was it like always? I guess if I do it this way, then it must be like always.), I started from the beginning.
Where was that little... shit. And that's what I was back then, a little shit. Always getting in to trouble, climbing on the counters, and evading time-outs like they were the plague. I realized it was so weird for me to look at him and realize that I used to be that small, three-something foot boy with his still-velcro sneakers and an addiction to picking his nose. What do I even tell a kid...no... a me that small?
"Boy, you've got a long life ahead of you. And although now, you want nothing more to be a fighter-jet pilot, you're going to be something so much more. You're going to be a lover. You're going to be a fighter. You're going to be a man, and a husband, and someone who changes the world of those that he loves. So for you, I give you this advice." So he scuttled forward, almost tripping over the anxiety of walking in front of the 14 other people in the room, in order to grab the note I held in my hands.
> Life is more than toys and imaginary games; remember that you will find your true happiness in bringing happiness to others.
But he wasn't supposed to know that yet. And, like I said, he was a little shit, so of course he... I started opening it. With a wag of my finger and a "no, no, no", I kindly reminded him that if he read it now, he wouldn't remember it when he left. A look of rejection slammed across his face, followed by a grumpy crossing of his arms and a cute little march back to his original seat.
And next was 10 year old me. I already knew this was going to end poorly, so why did it even matter. Apparently me at that age did not like to listen to my elders. But... to keep the mood positive, I spotted him... again me out. Long brown hair, jeans and a button down plaid shirt. And I still wore that necklace with the little shells on it. Who gave that to me again...? I guess it didn't matter.
"Oh look! You've grown so much, it's like I haven't seen you in five years!" A groan... but come on... this was my toast. "There's not much to say to you, since we all already know that you're going to ruin this whole thing. So I'll keep it short: listen to your parents. I promise they know what's best for you. So for you, I give you this advice."
> Stupid kid, you know you shouldn't have looked.
Would the time line change if I gave him something different? I don't know. I don't know that I'd want it to change. But you could see the looks of excitement on everyone's faces. Well, all but 5's face. They knew what was going to happen, and it was going to be hilarious.
But on to 15, who was... where was he? Oh, the bathroom. Someone can't hold your liquor. "20, can you go grab 15, you ass." He chuckled and did this little jig as he turned around towards the bathrooms. Sure enough 15 came out, supported completely by 20, and was propped into a chair just off the front of the room.
"Hey buddy.... can you understand me?"
*Incoherent Grunt*
"Yeah, that's what I remembered. Is this the night I stopped drinking vodka?" I asked the crowd.
25 chimed in: "No, it was definitely your 21st birthday." Older me's giggled, and 20 just sighed, knowing that it would be just another year until that regrettable night.
"So back to you 15 -" another grunt "- You're not going to remember a single thing that happens tonight. But this might be one of the most important notes you receive here, tonight." I went to hand it to him, but remembered that I was absolutely smashed, and thus handed it to 20 instead to put in his chest pocket.
> Never hit her.
The rest went by faster, as the memories became more and more resent. A lot of the older me's understood that the verbal part of the toast was going to be forgotten anyways, and just came up to get their cards as soon as they realized it was their turn.
20:
> Yes, you do want to marry her.
25:
> Just let her pick the name; otherwise you'll never hear the end of it.
30:
> The small job in Seattle will make you a lot happier than your bigger job in Detroit.
35:
> Treat your girl like a princess; respect breeds respect.
40:
> No matter how hard things become, never give up on your wife.
45:
> Please look both ways before crossing the street.
It was at this point that 10 decided he couldn't wait any longer and opened up the note.
"What's with this, grandpa?" He shouted from the back while standing on top of his chair. "How am I supposed to learn anything from "Stupid kid, you know you shouldn't have looked"?
"That's the point, smart-ass. You were going to look anyways. Might as well make it funny!"
Everyone laughed, 10 sat down, now angry that the joke was directed at him, and we continued with the toast.
50:
> The cancer is temporary, but if she gives up hope she will be forever damaged; do not let that happen.
55:
> Give your grand-kids all the attention that you gave your children; soon they're going to need help with losing their father.
60:
> The new boyfriend is a molester; get him out before it's too late.
65:
> Take the extra time to volunteer; it's not work but it will bring you just as much joy.
70:
> If you leave the hospital for a smoke, she will pass away while you're gone.
[This is continued in a comment because *apparently* 10280 characters isn't close enough to 10000 to count.] | “Wow,” I say. My eyebrows wrinkle up into an impression of sanctity that I know we all recognize for sarcasm. “Look at this crowd. Did the bus let off on top of the ugly tree tonight?”
We all laugh- well, most of us. Some of us are a little self conscious. We grow out of it eventually. We learn to embrace our flaws a couple years after we figure out masturbation. I don’t bother thinking up a monkey-spanking joke because I already know I won’t have the balls to say it in front of a bunch of kids and those nice attendants for the younger ones. And while I think about decorum, I wish I’d shaved this the morning, but my razor doesn't shave well with all the blades fallen out.
“Y’know, I used to be all you guys. I’d be right where you’re sitting. And I’d look around at all the faces and think, ‘ah, jeez, so I don’t grow into this thing?’ “ I grab the tip of my nose and look a little dumbfounded. More laughs. We’re always eager to please, even if we don’t think the joke is funny. “I’d think, ‘I wonder if things work out with Kathryn.’ And now I get to say, yeah, I guess they do. But I might be lying about. I might tell a lot of lies tonight.”
Some of us smile, slightly confused. Some of us stare into the perspiring glasses on our tables.
“It’s a little unfair, I guess. I got all the answers I wanted, didn’t I? I got to come to these little parties and schmooze with guys who knew more than I did. I got to know how I met Jen before I met her, and I got to know how she’d treat me, and I got to know how the whole thing would leave a great big gaping hole in me at the end of it. If sparky died, I got to know when she died; and if she didn't, well, I got to know that too. I could've known about everything that would have happened to me before it happened. And here I'm holding back that courtesy to all of you. I'm a real jerk. So we're all jerks, right?"
I find a face a couple years younger than mine. We understand each other in that moment. He’s in a tux, just like me, but I can see the scars on his wrists. Poor guy. He can't even begin to know.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that maybe a little mystery would do us some good. That’s how everybody else in the world does it and they seem to get along okay. They don’t know about love until it happens. They don’t know if they get the job, if they make the team, if they win the tournament. There’s something exciting about that. What’d it ever do for us to know?”
It’s been a few years since anyone spelled it out. I think, maybe, I’m the last to realize what it means- that there are 22 versions of me in this room, each of us exactly one year apart, and not 23 versions of me, and we’re all the same person on the same timeline.
I raise up my glass. “Ignorance is bliss. And, you know what, we could use a little bliss, couldn’t we?”
It’s an odd toast, but we all give an enthusiastic cheer, probably just to get me off the stage. All the smallest ones of us are sequestered away in one half of the hall with our attendants while the rest of us talk and drink a little amongst ourselves. It’s a small party, but it’s loud enough. One of us comes to talk to me and I already know who it is because I remember making the walk myself- lucky number 19.
“Uh, nice speech,” he says. He’s a little awkward.
“Thanks.”
He scratches the back of his neck. I grin, because I’ve waited for my turn for awhile. And it’s a little selfish, too, because I don’t want anyone else to have a turn at it. Not until we all forget what this is all about and year by year we learn to collaborate and collude again.
“The stuff about Jen…” he says. “You looked at me.”
I nod. He panics for a second and his eyes turn sad.
“Why? What about the mystery?”
I smile but I’m not very happy. We haven’t been happy in a long time.
“We’re never gonna’ manage to keep our mouths shut one that one, kid,” I tell him. I hand him a folded letter and then I sip my drink. “Read it tomorrow.”
He puts it in his jacket pocket, and God his hair’s long. I miss having hair that long. I know he’s going to go home tonight and wash his hair. He isn’t going to open that latter tomorrow. Jen’ll ask him what’s wrong, and he’ll come up with an excuse. And she treats him right for awhile, and that just makes it worse when she doesn't. That's when we read the letter:
'Dear me;
I am going to kill myself tomorrow.' | |
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast. | All alone, he gave a few tiny, content, gurgles of laughter.
All was silent.
It ended almost as soon as it had begun. | As I stood at the head of the table, I knew what I must say. I’ve heard it exactly 32 times in my waking life. Though, while sleeping the last words seemed to follow me through every dreamscape I visited, echoing like a mantra, or a curse.
I lift up my glass as I’ve seen it done every year before, but though I put up all my resistance, I know what must be done, what must be said. I let go of what remains of my childish wish for a god to take me away. It comes as easy as breathing
“I know most of you know why we are here, for those of you who do not know or care too young to comprehend, I am truly sorry. For the rest of you, I am even sorrier, for you know what is about to unfold. “
I take a breath.
(Maybe it is the act of folding rather than unfolding. A tidy package that only I can make. I remember my youthful defiance when I first attended this gathering of my various selves, in all their disheveled, discontinuous glory. My disbelief that I was going to end up following the exact path that was so mercilessly laid before me. But I did. It was easy enough to convince myself that all my choices were my own and chosen for my own reasons, but as the years went on and this yearly reminder of my own powerlessness to stop the onslaught of time, it broke me down, slowly, into these sad, desponded faces that I now saw in front of me, silently begging me to deviate from what they knew must take place. But I must give them this act of brutal continuity)
“Some of you will try to stop me from killing myself tonight, but as you all know, you will fail. Time stops for no man, least of all myself. What must happen must happen. But if you need a reason, I will give you one word: freedom”
I take the gun strapped to my the inside of my coat, point it at my head and pull the trigger. I hear a loud noise and a start of a baby’s cry as everything fades out into a dreamless sleep where my final word follows me no more.
| |
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast. | Dearest Gold-Giving Redditer,
Thank you so much for my first piece of gold and for appreciating my story. I definitely think I'll take time to get back into writing!
Much Appreciation,
The Chosen Ln E
.
I had known this moment was going to come for years. Or did I? I guess I never really remembered the age, specifically. I remembered attending, that's for sure. I remember having a good time. I remember 20 year old me thinking it would be funny to keep adding more liquor to the top of 15 year old me's glass, as payback for what 25 year old me had done 5 years ago. But I never remembered what we talked about. I never remembered the little quips and jokes that older me's would say, while he hid a smile behind their clenched lips, or sometimes a scowl. And most importantly, I never remembered the toast.
But there was one thing that I did always remember. Getting home after the party and - sometimes that night, sometimes the next day, sometimes the following winter - finding a single note in my pocket. It never had more than a sentence on it, but it always seemed to be relevant... or at least it came to be relevant in the next 5 years.
And now it was my turn. I didn't know that going into it, but after looking around and realizing that no one else had glasses quite as thick as mine, hair quite as white and patchy as mine, or skin quite as saggy as mine, it was kind of easy to guess who's turn it was. Most people would probably freak out at this point, but not me. Not us. To us, death wasn't really that scary of a thing. Or at least at this point, it wasn't. We had been given a completely unique opportunity to be able to have this gathering every five years, and with it we felt blessed.
But alas, I was day dreaming. It was time for a toast. And, like always (or was it like always? I guess if I do it this way, then it must be like always.), I started from the beginning.
Where was that little... shit. And that's what I was back then, a little shit. Always getting in to trouble, climbing on the counters, and evading time-outs like they were the plague. I realized it was so weird for me to look at him and realize that I used to be that small, three-something foot boy with his still-velcro sneakers and an addiction to picking his nose. What do I even tell a kid...no... a me that small?
"Boy, you've got a long life ahead of you. And although now, you want nothing more to be a fighter-jet pilot, you're going to be something so much more. You're going to be a lover. You're going to be a fighter. You're going to be a man, and a husband, and someone who changes the world of those that he loves. So for you, I give you this advice." So he scuttled forward, almost tripping over the anxiety of walking in front of the 14 other people in the room, in order to grab the note I held in my hands.
> Life is more than toys and imaginary games; remember that you will find your true happiness in bringing happiness to others.
But he wasn't supposed to know that yet. And, like I said, he was a little shit, so of course he... I started opening it. With a wag of my finger and a "no, no, no", I kindly reminded him that if he read it now, he wouldn't remember it when he left. A look of rejection slammed across his face, followed by a grumpy crossing of his arms and a cute little march back to his original seat.
And next was 10 year old me. I already knew this was going to end poorly, so why did it even matter. Apparently me at that age did not like to listen to my elders. But... to keep the mood positive, I spotted him... again me out. Long brown hair, jeans and a button down plaid shirt. And I still wore that necklace with the little shells on it. Who gave that to me again...? I guess it didn't matter.
"Oh look! You've grown so much, it's like I haven't seen you in five years!" A groan... but come on... this was my toast. "There's not much to say to you, since we all already know that you're going to ruin this whole thing. So I'll keep it short: listen to your parents. I promise they know what's best for you. So for you, I give you this advice."
> Stupid kid, you know you shouldn't have looked.
Would the time line change if I gave him something different? I don't know. I don't know that I'd want it to change. But you could see the looks of excitement on everyone's faces. Well, all but 5's face. They knew what was going to happen, and it was going to be hilarious.
But on to 15, who was... where was he? Oh, the bathroom. Someone can't hold your liquor. "20, can you go grab 15, you ass." He chuckled and did this little jig as he turned around towards the bathrooms. Sure enough 15 came out, supported completely by 20, and was propped into a chair just off the front of the room.
"Hey buddy.... can you understand me?"
*Incoherent Grunt*
"Yeah, that's what I remembered. Is this the night I stopped drinking vodka?" I asked the crowd.
25 chimed in: "No, it was definitely your 21st birthday." Older me's giggled, and 20 just sighed, knowing that it would be just another year until that regrettable night.
"So back to you 15 -" another grunt "- You're not going to remember a single thing that happens tonight. But this might be one of the most important notes you receive here, tonight." I went to hand it to him, but remembered that I was absolutely smashed, and thus handed it to 20 instead to put in his chest pocket.
> Never hit her.
The rest went by faster, as the memories became more and more resent. A lot of the older me's understood that the verbal part of the toast was going to be forgotten anyways, and just came up to get their cards as soon as they realized it was their turn.
20:
> Yes, you do want to marry her.
25:
> Just let her pick the name; otherwise you'll never hear the end of it.
30:
> The small job in Seattle will make you a lot happier than your bigger job in Detroit.
35:
> Treat your girl like a princess; respect breeds respect.
40:
> No matter how hard things become, never give up on your wife.
45:
> Please look both ways before crossing the street.
It was at this point that 10 decided he couldn't wait any longer and opened up the note.
"What's with this, grandpa?" He shouted from the back while standing on top of his chair. "How am I supposed to learn anything from "Stupid kid, you know you shouldn't have looked"?
"That's the point, smart-ass. You were going to look anyways. Might as well make it funny!"
Everyone laughed, 10 sat down, now angry that the joke was directed at him, and we continued with the toast.
50:
> The cancer is temporary, but if she gives up hope she will be forever damaged; do not let that happen.
55:
> Give your grand-kids all the attention that you gave your children; soon they're going to need help with losing their father.
60:
> The new boyfriend is a molester; get him out before it's too late.
65:
> Take the extra time to volunteer; it's not work but it will bring you just as much joy.
70:
> If you leave the hospital for a smoke, she will pass away while you're gone.
[This is continued in a comment because *apparently* 10280 characters isn't close enough to 10000 to count.] | As I stood at the head of the table, I knew what I must say. I’ve heard it exactly 32 times in my waking life. Though, while sleeping the last words seemed to follow me through every dreamscape I visited, echoing like a mantra, or a curse.
I lift up my glass as I’ve seen it done every year before, but though I put up all my resistance, I know what must be done, what must be said. I let go of what remains of my childish wish for a god to take me away. It comes as easy as breathing
“I know most of you know why we are here, for those of you who do not know or care too young to comprehend, I am truly sorry. For the rest of you, I am even sorrier, for you know what is about to unfold. “
I take a breath.
(Maybe it is the act of folding rather than unfolding. A tidy package that only I can make. I remember my youthful defiance when I first attended this gathering of my various selves, in all their disheveled, discontinuous glory. My disbelief that I was going to end up following the exact path that was so mercilessly laid before me. But I did. It was easy enough to convince myself that all my choices were my own and chosen for my own reasons, but as the years went on and this yearly reminder of my own powerlessness to stop the onslaught of time, it broke me down, slowly, into these sad, desponded faces that I now saw in front of me, silently begging me to deviate from what they knew must take place. But I must give them this act of brutal continuity)
“Some of you will try to stop me from killing myself tonight, but as you all know, you will fail. Time stops for no man, least of all myself. What must happen must happen. But if you need a reason, I will give you one word: freedom”
I take the gun strapped to my the inside of my coat, point it at my head and pull the trigger. I hear a loud noise and a start of a baby’s cry as everything fades out into a dreamless sleep where my final word follows me no more.
| |
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast. | Standing in that timeless room, I knew the truth of my life. My mind ran on an endless loop just like everybody else’s, recounting everything I’d ever done up to that point. “So I guess it’s my turn,” I said as I took the stage, microphone in hand. 44 was far too few to see out there, and sixteen or seventeen of them were hardly worth counting.
“Just get on with it 45,” 24 shouted from the back.
“So I know some of you are getting tired of hearing this speech year after year, but you’ll be hearing it for the rest of your life, so you better get used to it.” Nobody laughed, as usual. “You probably shouldn’t make that joke next year, 44.” He would. He always did.
“Gentlemen, raise your glasses with me.” Thirty-eight glasses went up with mine. 1 through 4 didn’t know what the hell was going on, 6 was too busy picking his nose, and 20 had already passed out drunk at the table.
“This toast is to a lifetime of memories, both the good and the bad. As I speak, I want each of you to look back on your year and be honest with yourself.”
I cleared my throat and started with the next cycle of memories.
“Take a sip with me for every kind word said, and pour one out for every word you regret.”
A second passed, and more was poured out than in.
“Take a sip with me for every truth you told when it wasn’t convenient, and pour one out for every lie you told when it was.”
A second passed, and 15 was the last to pour, finally convinced he should tell his parents his real grades.
“Take a sip with me for every time you tried your hardest, and pour one out for every time you gave up on something you cared about.”
A second passed, and 18 drank immediately, smiling proudly as he relived the basketball team’s run in the tournament. 21 poured one out, wondering why he’d let her go.
“Take a sip with me for every promise you kept, and pour one out for every promise you broke.”
A second passed, and 19 poured one out as he realized he’d broken a promise a year in the making. He told her they’d get back together come summer. How would he tell her that he’d found someone better?
“Take a sip with me for every friend that you made, and pour one out for every tie that you severed.”
A second passed, and 10 realized the sip he poured out meant more than the ten he took in.
“Take a sip with me for every time you told somebody you loved them and meant it, and pour one out for every time that you didn’t.”
A second passed, and 24 poured his glass out while 16 finished his and they both poured themselves new ones.
“Take a sip with me for every time you fell in love, and pour one out for every heart that you broke.”
A second passed, and 24 poured his glass out again as 16 took three sips, and 15 stole an extra sip to help himself forget what saw.
“Take a sip with me for every hug that you gave; two for every kiss; three if it was your mother; four if it was your kid.”
A second passed, and 5 through 22 drank healthily, 23 through 39 drank just for their kids; 40 and on didn’t drink at all.
“Take a sip with me for every time you tried something new.”
A second passed, and 32 realized he was the only one not drinking and started to wonder why.
“Take a sip with me if you took a step toward accomplishing your dream.”
A second passed, and only half took a sip, and only half of the half took more than one.
“Take a sip with me if you honestly think you are happy.”
A second passed, and 7 raised his glass, but lowered it when he realized he was the only one.
“Now take a sip with me if you think that’s something worth changing.”
All bottoms were up before a second had passed.
“Now everybody finish your drink for all the good times we’ve had, and then finish another for tonight, because this is my last night here with you and we damn well better make the most of it.” | As I stood at the head of the table, I knew what I must say. I’ve heard it exactly 32 times in my waking life. Though, while sleeping the last words seemed to follow me through every dreamscape I visited, echoing like a mantra, or a curse.
I lift up my glass as I’ve seen it done every year before, but though I put up all my resistance, I know what must be done, what must be said. I let go of what remains of my childish wish for a god to take me away. It comes as easy as breathing
“I know most of you know why we are here, for those of you who do not know or care too young to comprehend, I am truly sorry. For the rest of you, I am even sorrier, for you know what is about to unfold. “
I take a breath.
(Maybe it is the act of folding rather than unfolding. A tidy package that only I can make. I remember my youthful defiance when I first attended this gathering of my various selves, in all their disheveled, discontinuous glory. My disbelief that I was going to end up following the exact path that was so mercilessly laid before me. But I did. It was easy enough to convince myself that all my choices were my own and chosen for my own reasons, but as the years went on and this yearly reminder of my own powerlessness to stop the onslaught of time, it broke me down, slowly, into these sad, desponded faces that I now saw in front of me, silently begging me to deviate from what they knew must take place. But I must give them this act of brutal continuity)
“Some of you will try to stop me from killing myself tonight, but as you all know, you will fail. Time stops for no man, least of all myself. What must happen must happen. But if you need a reason, I will give you one word: freedom”
I take the gun strapped to my the inside of my coat, point it at my head and pull the trigger. I hear a loud noise and a start of a baby’s cry as everything fades out into a dreamless sleep where my final word follows me no more.
| |
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast. | Standing in that timeless room, I knew the truth of my life. My mind ran on an endless loop just like everybody else’s, recounting everything I’d ever done up to that point. “So I guess it’s my turn,” I said as I took the stage, microphone in hand. 44 was far too few to see out there, and sixteen or seventeen of them were hardly worth counting.
“Just get on with it 45,” 24 shouted from the back.
“So I know some of you are getting tired of hearing this speech year after year, but you’ll be hearing it for the rest of your life, so you better get used to it.” Nobody laughed, as usual. “You probably shouldn’t make that joke next year, 44.” He would. He always did.
“Gentlemen, raise your glasses with me.” Thirty-eight glasses went up with mine. 1 through 4 didn’t know what the hell was going on, 6 was too busy picking his nose, and 20 had already passed out drunk at the table.
“This toast is to a lifetime of memories, both the good and the bad. As I speak, I want each of you to look back on your year and be honest with yourself.”
I cleared my throat and started with the next cycle of memories.
“Take a sip with me for every kind word said, and pour one out for every word you regret.”
A second passed, and more was poured out than in.
“Take a sip with me for every truth you told when it wasn’t convenient, and pour one out for every lie you told when it was.”
A second passed, and 15 was the last to pour, finally convinced he should tell his parents his real grades.
“Take a sip with me for every time you tried your hardest, and pour one out for every time you gave up on something you cared about.”
A second passed, and 18 drank immediately, smiling proudly as he relived the basketball team’s run in the tournament. 21 poured one out, wondering why he’d let her go.
“Take a sip with me for every promise you kept, and pour one out for every promise you broke.”
A second passed, and 19 poured one out as he realized he’d broken a promise a year in the making. He told her they’d get back together come summer. How would he tell her that he’d found someone better?
“Take a sip with me for every friend that you made, and pour one out for every tie that you severed.”
A second passed, and 10 realized the sip he poured out meant more than the ten he took in.
“Take a sip with me for every time you told somebody you loved them and meant it, and pour one out for every time that you didn’t.”
A second passed, and 24 poured his glass out while 16 finished his and they both poured themselves new ones.
“Take a sip with me for every time you fell in love, and pour one out for every heart that you broke.”
A second passed, and 24 poured his glass out again as 16 took three sips, and 15 stole an extra sip to help himself forget what saw.
“Take a sip with me for every hug that you gave; two for every kiss; three if it was your mother; four if it was your kid.”
A second passed, and 5 through 22 drank healthily, 23 through 39 drank just for their kids; 40 and on didn’t drink at all.
“Take a sip with me for every time you tried something new.”
A second passed, and 32 realized he was the only one not drinking and started to wonder why.
“Take a sip with me if you took a step toward accomplishing your dream.”
A second passed, and only half took a sip, and only half of the half took more than one.
“Take a sip with me if you honestly think you are happy.”
A second passed, and 7 raised his glass, but lowered it when he realized he was the only one.
“Now take a sip with me if you think that’s something worth changing.”
All bottoms were up before a second had passed.
“Now everybody finish your drink for all the good times we’ve had, and then finish another for tonight, because this is my last night here with you and we damn well better make the most of it.” | If I could just have all of my attention….little time traveling joke there, sorry.
As I look out at you, well me I suppose, I can’t help but think what a wondrous year it’s been. We were born, had a couple of good birthdays. Poor 1 is over there still trying to make sense of things. Oh hey 9, dude…….ninja turtle themed party…...how RAD was that!?!?! I see, 21 over there is still recovering….so is 18 through 20, but don’t tell mom. You’ll be happy to know that 23 finally got laid…..check it out, 11 through 22 look like they’re about to cry, but hey there’s hope, right? If I might offer up a bit of advice, just because the same company makes soap, shampoo, cologne, and hair products, don’t mean you should buy them. Also maybe don’t buy cologne that comes in a can….or a 4 pack…...eh you’ll learn eventually. Oh and 16, no one is gonna believe that ID...literally no one. Throw it away.
I want to acknowledge 32 for giving birth to his first son……..and 34 for his first daughter. I’d also like to take this time to show some love for 45 through 54…...teenagers man, someone get them another drink, something expensive.
40, you lost your hair this year, and that’s a real tragedy. 42…...man, those hair plugs sounded really good huh? 43….he can’t even look at 42, poor guy. You learn to live with it brother just hang in there.
61, I don’t even know what to say. I still remember it. All I can tell you is that while you never stop missing her, eventually it stops hurting so much. It helps to remember the early years. Look at 28, he just met her. Remember that guy? All smitten and dumbstruck at the thought of being with her, and you know as well as I do that that feeling never goes away. Eventually it will be a comfort. Also, I know it’s easy to lose sight of everything but try to remember the kids, they need you now more than ever.
Finally, 74. My closest me. You have a hell of a road ahead of you. You’d think our adventures would be over but you have no idea. It’s like that one time we…...actually…..I’m gonna leave that one out there for the rest of you to find out.
Anyways, here’s to us! May we always stay as smart as we thought we were in our teens, and as handsome as I am now……..I’m taking notes of everyone snickering and I’m going to spend the rest of the night shouting spoilers. As for the rest of you, I love you, me, us. Cheers!
| |
[WP] Write about two completely different people and their lives right before they happen to meet and never see each other again, an event which changes their lives forever. Keep the reason for why their meeting might change their lives completely implied. | His fingers trembled just slightly as he touched the bathroom mirror. In the tiny beads of post-shower condensation, he could make out a thousand copies of his face, all giving him the same, sullen expression. He tried to force a smile, just to see if it was still possible. The glassy stillness of his eyes told him that perhaps it wasn’t.
She laughed as she watched her husband dance around the kitchen table, his arms flailing in the air, his mouth wide in delight. On the stereo beside her, volume dial pushed to the maximum, was the terrible one-hit wonder that was playing in the background when they first met. They had danced then, and she would have danced now, if her fingers weren’t tapping anxiously against the side of her coffee cup. He asked her to stay for a few more minutes, and reached for her hand across the table. She smiled and turned away.
He took one last look at the contents of the backpack before zipping it up quickly. If the hotel had security cameras in its rooms (unlikely, but he was a cautious man), he didn’t want them to catch a glimpse of what was inside. He almost didn’t want to look at it himself. But now was not the time for reluctance, and he strode towards the door with a false sense of purpose. The door was annoyingly padded to prevent slamming, and he only heard it click when he was halfway down the hall, already thinking back to the video tape and letter left on the crumpled duvet.
She pulled the well-worn phone out of her pocket and shoved a wire into it, scrambling to untangle her knotted earphones while rushing towards the train station. She was hit with a pang of guilt as she scrolled through the jazz and new-age records – the music that “really heals your soul, y’know?” according to the unnecessarily irritating co-worker who had lent them to her – but quickly dispelled it with the sound of pounding, shameless pop music. Her steps matched the beat as she swiftly descended into the Underground.
His footsteps sounded unnervingly loud as they echoed through the Underground tunnel, the undersides of his new shoes tapping against the stone stairs. His bag bounced again his back and he had a moment of panic – what if it went off, here, now? No, no, don’t think about that. Focus. He almost wanted to flash his pre-bought ticket to all the security guards he saw, but told himself not to act suspiciously, and tried not to make eye contact with anybody. Nobody sought to meet his eye, either, and for the first time, he was comforted by that.
She ran for the train, and made it by just pushing one toe over the threshold of the carriage before the doors closed completely. It was already packed, and she heard frustrated sighs coming from the other business suits and skirts as she and another man pushed their way into the crowd. She noticed that he bore a fleeting resemblance to her husband, and attempted to flash him a smile, as a rare show of camaraderie during the morning rush. He didn’t see it.
The woman next to him was smiling, and he knew it. A woman was smiling at him! A few months ago, it might have seemed a blessing – it might even have changed his mind – but not now. He told himself he was very, very sure of what he was about to do. Despite that, he waited for the train to rumble into the dark tunnels before pulling one strap of the bag away from his shoulder.
She saw the man who leapt on to the train with her beginning to remove his bag, which she thought was a reckless decision, because it forced the cramped positions of those around him to go from simply uncomfortable to positively intimate. Her elbow was just brushing the chest of a rotund man in a pinstriped shirt, whose tie was printed with jovial cartoons of poppies and daffodils. It was spring, after all. It lightened her mood a little.
He’d studied the route meticulously, and knew he had a minute or less. He’d ridden this train many times before. He could almost recognise the faces by now, but he told himself to forget any recognition, forget any sentiment, and unzip the bag. By now, he was attracting a few wary looks. He looked up to meet the eye of the woman next to him. She was smirking as she inspected a fat man’s tie, and continued to smirk until she glimpsed into the bag and saw a flash of dark metal.
She made out a shape in the darkness of the bag and felt her heart drop almost instantly, because she hadn’t seen one of those . . . those things in real life before, but she recognised its appearance. But it seemed so out of place here, like a stolen prop from an old Western movie. She didn’t have time to react consciously, but her eyes began to close, as if they knew what was coming.
He wrapped his hand around the metal and withdrew it from the bag.
She leaned closer to the man with the colourful tie, eyes shut.
The sound of the shots was drowned out by the squealing of the rusty tracks. | Jude had walked through the park three or four times looking for the perfect tree, and it seemed like the first one he’d seen—the one behind the bench he was now sitting on, right next to the water—was the best he’d find. It seemed fitting that he would’ve spent the past four hours looking for a better tree just to come back to the first one he’d seen. As he patted the bag beside him, he tilted his head back to look at it one more time, just to remind himself the branches were thick enough. Soon…now he just needed to be the only one in the park.
The boy had been sitting on the bench across from that first tree since Jude had first entered the park. The roses at his side were wilting, now—he still had them in the plastic film he must have bought them in. Jude had always liked flowers. That was one of the reasons guys like Phil had always picked on him. He’d proved he wasn’t gay with Sue, but that didn’t stop them. But it didn’t matter anymore, he’d show them…as soon as this stupid little shit gave up and went home.
Suddenly the boy stood, almost like he’d heard Jude’s thoughts. Jude tucked his head to hide his smile, but when he looked up he saw that the boy had left the roses. He didn’t know why he liked flowers, but he always had, and he’d never been one to watch flowers die.
“Hey!” Jude yelled after the boy as he jogged over to the bench and grabbed the roses. “Hey! You left the roses.”
“I know,” the boy said, turning back to him. “They’re dead anyway.”
“Well…do you want them?” Jude asked, holding them up. They had definitely wilted, but some water and some sunlight would easily fix that.
“Are you going to tell me not to give up or something?” the boy asked, and Jude could see that he had tears in his eyes.
“No,” Jude stammered. “I mean…I was just going to tell you that some water and sunlight will get them standing up straight again…they’re not dead yet…”
“Oh,” the boy said, and then he reached out and took the flowers from Jude. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Jude said. “Just make sure to get them in water quick.”
“Okay,” the boy said with a smile, and then he turned and ran out of the park.
Jude looked back at the tree and smiled wider than he thought he could. He left the bag where it was on the bench and walked out of the park. He finally didn’t need it anymore. | |
[WP] Aliens have landed, but they don't have advanced technology; they use magic. | When they came, they did not come in flying saucers or rocket ships or teleporters. Instead, the aliens floated gently down from the sky. No ships, no space suits, no technology just tentacles and eyes and beaks settling on to the grass in front of the White House. There they sat calmly waiting. Guns were trained and meetings were held until finally an official negotiation team was assigned and sent out to find out what these ten foot high space jelly fish wanted.
This did not start well. The chief negotiator hoisted his bullhorn and started his introductory address. No sooner did the words start to leave his mouth then the closest alien pointed a tentacle at him and strange energy leapt across and enveloped the negotiator’s head. The guns roared. For a full minute, the only thing that could be heard was the chatter of automatic weapons fire, the boom of tank cannons, and the swoosh of the occasional missile. When the generals finally got the “Hold your fire” order all the way down to the corporals and privates on the triggers and the guns stopped, nothing had changed. The aliens stood there on the grass unharmed. The chief negotiator was still enveloped by energy and was also unharmed. There was gun smoke and many spent casings, but no damage.
“Um, why did you do that?” asked the negotiator into his bullhorn.
“Do what?” responded the alien in perfectly accented English. The words did not appear to come from any obvious orifice, but they certainly came from the alien that had zapped the negotiator.
“Zap me.”
“So that we can talk. We don’t know your language and you presumably don’t know ours. So I cast a Spell of Comprehension on you.”
“Spell of Comprehension?”
“Yes. It’s pretty basic, but it allows me to understand the intent of your words and then respond in kind. It’s kind of a direct link mentality to mentality.”
“Oh,” said the negotiator, this time without the bullhorn. “So you can understand me no matter what I say?”
“Perfectly and in whatever language or idiomatic context you choose. It will all just happen.”
The negotiator scratched his head. He looked around him at the other negotiators who just shrugged. Apparently, they could not hear. He looked at the soldiers, but they were all reloading and otherwise tending to their weapons. He looked at his bullhorn and dropped it on the ground. “But how did you do it?”
“I told you. I cast a spell.”
“A spell?”
“This isn’t going to work very well if all you do is repeat my statements as questions. Yes, a spell.”
“Like with wizards and witches and such?”
“I suppose. But the context you give me is one of fantasy. I assure you that this is not fantasy, but hard reality. Otherwise, we could not be speaking.”
“But… spells.” The negotiator shook his head and then remembered something. “Oh! What you really mean is that you possess technology that is so far in advance of ours that it appears as magic to us, right?”
“No. I mean spells.”
“Oh. No space ships hidden above the clouds responding instantly to your wishes?”
“Nope.”
“No nanobots imbedded under your skin generating this communication field?”
“Sorry.”
“Then how?”
“By imposing my will on the reality around me. That’s what a spell is. I think it with enough force and it happens. Nothing more.”
“And that’s how you flew down here?”
“Yup.”
“And stopped all of the bullets?”
“Yup. Even stopped them from hitting you.”
One of the negotiator’s tasks was to assess the aliens’ threat potential. If they could stop bullets just by thinking, then they were nearly invulnerable. It might also mean that they could kill with a thought. That was not comforting. “Can all of your people do this?”
“Most. In fact, most of the other species that share this galaxy can do it. You all are a bit behind in that you can’t.”
“But there’s got to be some trick to it, right? You don’t just get born and start casting spells do you?”
“Not quite. It something that we have to teach our spawn, but it is no more difficult than teaching them to speak or to properly dispose of their waste. Mostly it’s a matter of belief; if you believe that you can do it, then you can do it.”
“But isn’t there some kind of field or particle or some scientific principle that allows this to happen?”
“Maybe, but we don’t know what it is.”
“You mean that you personally don’t know it or that your species doesn’t know it?”
“Both. In fact, to our knowledge there is no species that has thoroughly investigated this phenomenon and is still able to practice its effects.”
“Huhn?” The negotiator scratched his head again. This conversation had not gone in any of the directions that had been mapped out in the meetings. Instead, it was beginning to touch on that metaphysics stuff that he had failed in college. “I don’t get that last part at all.”
“It’s easy. If you have to investigate the underlying principles of spells, then you don’t really believe in them, then they don’t work. We have records of a few species that thought they had figured out how the whole spell thing worked, but when they tried it again, they got all tied up in their theories and forgot to just believe. Very smart, but not too saavy.”
“So, then to recap. You cast spells by believing that you can and that’s it? Does the glowing energy thing just happen as a matter of course?”
“No, not really. We’ve got some sages and such that can do their spells without the visual effects, but most of us find that it makes it easier to believe in the spell if we can see it.”
“Okay. That makes some sense. Then can I cast spells?”
“Probably. Don’t see why you can’t.”
The negotiator screwed up his face, closed his eyes and pointed his finger at the aliens. He grunted and sweat stood out on his forehead. He felt a surge pass down his arm and out his finger. When he opened his eyes, he was no longer standing in the White House lawn, but back sitting in his office. He looked out his window. There were no tanks or missiles or guns, just another grey day in Washington D.C. His aide came in and put some papers on his desk.
“Gerald,” he said to his aide. “Anything interesting going on out there today?”
“Not really. Just the usual dust up between State and Defense. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Great. Let’s see if we can’t keep it that way.” | *And we landed so softly,*
*All wands at the ready*
*Our Crobnak waved five arms*
*And shouted "Hold steady!"*
*The humans, so fat*
*Surged at once to our ship*
*And we froze them in wonder*
*Held up magic space dip,*
*And they called and they wailed*
*But our ship slowly trailed*
*Out off of the ground*
*And away to the sky*
*Needed two for the breeding*
*On hairless apes we'd be feeding*
*A quick wipe and a seeding*
*On this planet they'd shat*
*So I went to the console,*
*Arcane viewscreens showed poor souls;*
*I put on my robe*
*And my wizard hat too*
*And the feed was a frenzy*
*Bloated days were unending*
*Mother E'arth was unburdened*
*and life sprouted anew.*
| |
[WP] Aliens have landed, but they don't have advanced technology; they use magic. | When they came, they did not come in flying saucers or rocket ships or teleporters. Instead, the aliens floated gently down from the sky. No ships, no space suits, no technology just tentacles and eyes and beaks settling on to the grass in front of the White House. There they sat calmly waiting. Guns were trained and meetings were held until finally an official negotiation team was assigned and sent out to find out what these ten foot high space jelly fish wanted.
This did not start well. The chief negotiator hoisted his bullhorn and started his introductory address. No sooner did the words start to leave his mouth then the closest alien pointed a tentacle at him and strange energy leapt across and enveloped the negotiator’s head. The guns roared. For a full minute, the only thing that could be heard was the chatter of automatic weapons fire, the boom of tank cannons, and the swoosh of the occasional missile. When the generals finally got the “Hold your fire” order all the way down to the corporals and privates on the triggers and the guns stopped, nothing had changed. The aliens stood there on the grass unharmed. The chief negotiator was still enveloped by energy and was also unharmed. There was gun smoke and many spent casings, but no damage.
“Um, why did you do that?” asked the negotiator into his bullhorn.
“Do what?” responded the alien in perfectly accented English. The words did not appear to come from any obvious orifice, but they certainly came from the alien that had zapped the negotiator.
“Zap me.”
“So that we can talk. We don’t know your language and you presumably don’t know ours. So I cast a Spell of Comprehension on you.”
“Spell of Comprehension?”
“Yes. It’s pretty basic, but it allows me to understand the intent of your words and then respond in kind. It’s kind of a direct link mentality to mentality.”
“Oh,” said the negotiator, this time without the bullhorn. “So you can understand me no matter what I say?”
“Perfectly and in whatever language or idiomatic context you choose. It will all just happen.”
The negotiator scratched his head. He looked around him at the other negotiators who just shrugged. Apparently, they could not hear. He looked at the soldiers, but they were all reloading and otherwise tending to their weapons. He looked at his bullhorn and dropped it on the ground. “But how did you do it?”
“I told you. I cast a spell.”
“A spell?”
“This isn’t going to work very well if all you do is repeat my statements as questions. Yes, a spell.”
“Like with wizards and witches and such?”
“I suppose. But the context you give me is one of fantasy. I assure you that this is not fantasy, but hard reality. Otherwise, we could not be speaking.”
“But… spells.” The negotiator shook his head and then remembered something. “Oh! What you really mean is that you possess technology that is so far in advance of ours that it appears as magic to us, right?”
“No. I mean spells.”
“Oh. No space ships hidden above the clouds responding instantly to your wishes?”
“Nope.”
“No nanobots imbedded under your skin generating this communication field?”
“Sorry.”
“Then how?”
“By imposing my will on the reality around me. That’s what a spell is. I think it with enough force and it happens. Nothing more.”
“And that’s how you flew down here?”
“Yup.”
“And stopped all of the bullets?”
“Yup. Even stopped them from hitting you.”
One of the negotiator’s tasks was to assess the aliens’ threat potential. If they could stop bullets just by thinking, then they were nearly invulnerable. It might also mean that they could kill with a thought. That was not comforting. “Can all of your people do this?”
“Most. In fact, most of the other species that share this galaxy can do it. You all are a bit behind in that you can’t.”
“But there’s got to be some trick to it, right? You don’t just get born and start casting spells do you?”
“Not quite. It something that we have to teach our spawn, but it is no more difficult than teaching them to speak or to properly dispose of their waste. Mostly it’s a matter of belief; if you believe that you can do it, then you can do it.”
“But isn’t there some kind of field or particle or some scientific principle that allows this to happen?”
“Maybe, but we don’t know what it is.”
“You mean that you personally don’t know it or that your species doesn’t know it?”
“Both. In fact, to our knowledge there is no species that has thoroughly investigated this phenomenon and is still able to practice its effects.”
“Huhn?” The negotiator scratched his head again. This conversation had not gone in any of the directions that had been mapped out in the meetings. Instead, it was beginning to touch on that metaphysics stuff that he had failed in college. “I don’t get that last part at all.”
“It’s easy. If you have to investigate the underlying principles of spells, then you don’t really believe in them, then they don’t work. We have records of a few species that thought they had figured out how the whole spell thing worked, but when they tried it again, they got all tied up in their theories and forgot to just believe. Very smart, but not too saavy.”
“So, then to recap. You cast spells by believing that you can and that’s it? Does the glowing energy thing just happen as a matter of course?”
“No, not really. We’ve got some sages and such that can do their spells without the visual effects, but most of us find that it makes it easier to believe in the spell if we can see it.”
“Okay. That makes some sense. Then can I cast spells?”
“Probably. Don’t see why you can’t.”
The negotiator screwed up his face, closed his eyes and pointed his finger at the aliens. He grunted and sweat stood out on his forehead. He felt a surge pass down his arm and out his finger. When he opened his eyes, he was no longer standing in the White House lawn, but back sitting in his office. He looked out his window. There were no tanks or missiles or guns, just another grey day in Washington D.C. His aide came in and put some papers on his desk.
“Gerald,” he said to his aide. “Anything interesting going on out there today?”
“Not really. Just the usual dust up between State and Defense. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Great. Let’s see if we can’t keep it that way.” | The creatures anatomy is not significantly different than ours, preliminary diagnostics through soft magic absorption shows a higher muscle mass and bone density, more intricate digestive system cable of both meat and vegetative digestion, and a highly developed frontal cortex. For all extensive purposes these organisms are almost a subspecies of our own except their limbic system is very underdeveloped. My initial hypothesis about these organisms is we have a highly coordinated bipedal predator with large cognitive abilities that lacks the ability to access the unified force gradient around it. Essentially an organism without the ability to conjure any kind of magic. This is the first organism witnessed without access to magic most likely due to it's low emotional capability. My expert opinion is approach organisms with caution, they will move incredibly quickly with unimaginable strength and may be very aggressive and territorial. I will continue observation but would like to request permission to perform a ground level trip with a full team consisting of a spectralist, alchemist, druid, and battle mage escort. I suspect these organisms of some sort of magic as it seems against the laws of the universe as we know it for these creatures to exist. Please reply through sending to our communication expert with further instructions.
The above sending is intercepted classified information obtained from the science council of the ruler, they have only discovered the race of beings known as humans. We will have to act soon before they can conduct more tests on the aliens. Intelligence has confirmed they have not discovered the critical advantage humans have over us yet. With their underdeveloped limbic system mental magics such as telepathy and advance consciousness combat has no effect on the creatures. They are ideal candidates to combat the ruler with, I suggest we find a candidate and recruit it to assassinate the ruler. I will be infiltrating the team sent to Earth Beta to prevent our interests from being lost. Down with the ruler! Sending out. | |
I was inspired by the Elves playing Allies and Axis: Non-magical battle game prompt and a comic I saw online before that I can't presently find. | [WP] In an alternate universe where Wizards and Dragons are the norm, a group of adventurers sit down to play "Faxes and Cubicles." | *"Where's the Fairie Tonic!?"* shouted Albazel from the kitchen.
*"It's in the Frost Crucible, duh!"* shouted back the Game Master, Xzavier. "Okay, does everyone have their character sheets?"
The group cycled back to table with their pencils, dice, and character sheets. Eliza, the Tiefling, wrapped her tail around her glass of wine, her teeth holding her pencil by the eraser, and furiously reviewed her at-will powers. Drake's black hair bellowed in a non-existent wind (probably something his Elven glamour cooked up) while twirling his Oak wand and adding up his remaining skill points. Albazel, the Dragonborn, rushed back into the living room.
"Okay," began Xzavier, the Human wizard. "I know we've played a lot of these before, but this one is something new. It uses the old system, but there are a few new rules. Like, to use a power that has the 'WI-FI' keyword, you need to be in a WI-FI zone. Also, there are no Daily powers anymore, but the feats are so much more powerful than the old games."
"I don't know what half of these skills do," said Drake. "What does Computer Proficiency do?"
"It's like their system of technology," Xzavier answered. "A lot of their spells and powers are based on these devices called Computers." He pronounced it 'KOMP-ooh-taarz.' "If you're playing a Web Designer, your WIS and INT are your key abilities. You'll have to make a Computer Proficiency roll to do most of your powers, then you roll damage."
Eliza snapped the Player's Handbook shut and spat out the pencil. "I seriously can't find anything about racial bonuses. Did I fuck up my character sheet?"
"No..." said Xzavier. "I think they took out races from the game and replaced them with something called 'Degrees.' These are like backgrounds, right? Everyone's human in this game, and everyone has a Degree. Albazel's CFO is has an MBA, which means he gets +5 to Bluff and Diplomacy, and once per encounter he can cast *Business Decision,* which gives another player an extra At-Will action."
*"Are there any Secretaries there?!"* yelled Albazel, even though he was at the table.
Xzavier ignored him. "Okay, let's start. Drake, who are you playing?"
Drake answered in a proud, high voice, "I am playing David Bernstein, Director of Accounting! With my Masterwork Ledger, I will avenge my family's bankrupt Telecommunications Business!"
"Okay," began Xzavier, *"David Bernstein is standing in the SpyroTech conference room. The fragrant sent of cleaning agent emanates from the dark wood of the conference table. In the glow of the overhead flourescent lights, you can see an office phone in the middle of the table. It starts ringing*"
"I want to cast a spell!" yelled Drake. "I want to cast *budget compromise.*"
"Why are you casting a spell, there's nothing to attack here."
Drake thought for a second. "I'm attacking the ringing!"
The players laugh for a second before Xzavier regains control. "*You answer the phone. It's Rebecca Green, Vice President of Marketing."*
"Whoa, that's me, right?" asked Eliza.
*"She is dressed in a business suit, and she has blonde hair and a blue smartphone cover."*
"No I don't," said Eliza, "I have a gray smartphone cover."
"What--let me see that sheet." Xzavier take's Eliza's character sheet. She reaches out with her mind and wills it back into her own hands. "It says it right here," she indicates with the tip of her tail. "It says I have a gray smartphone cover."
"Fine, it's gray. You guys can talk now if you want."
*"Hello....."* says Eliza.
*"I am David Bernstein, Director of Accounting!"* yelled Drake.
*"Then why are you casting budget compromise?"* quipped Eliza. The party chuckled a for a moment.
"Okay," says Xzavier, *"You both get an email from Albazel's character, the CFO, Ryan Friedman. He says you guys have to find $100,000.00 in the budget for new project development."*
"Are there any any secretaries there?" yelled Albazel.
Xzavier sighed and rolled some dice behind his screen. "Yeah, there are," he said. He took his wizards hat off and rubbed his eyebrows.
"If there are any secretaries there I wanna do them!" | "Ha ha, nerdy fucking dwarves playing their nerdy fucking games."
Tragflax, with one orkish arm, cleared the table. The dice scattered and the dwarves scurried off in all directions.
"Hey Tragflax," a, relatively, beautiful ork blocked the entrance to the library. Tragflax's hormones were momentarily redirected and Mardo called his friends back to the table. The orcs exited the room, but after a couple seconds the group could see Tragflax's head peak out from the door-frame once again.
"I'll deal with you shitheads later," - he disappeared from view, "hey thunder-buns, don't run off without me."
"Phew." The group collectively sighed. They began to make vulgar gestures after the empty door where Tragflax once stood.
"Now, does everyone have their character sheet?" Mordo inquired.
"Ah, come on Mord, do I really have to play the Team-Lead again?" Palby pleaded.
"It was random" - it wasn't - "so just play." Mordo responded.
With discontented grumbling from Palby, Mordo began telling the story:
"Welcome to Initech. A boss approaches you, asking about a memo. The two other bosses will also ask you about said memo. You have failed to properly fill out the TPS report, but with your neck-tie of added apology and your sycophancy plus three, you only need to roll an eleven or higher to end the confrontation."
Balgoi grabbed his d-20 and rolled. An eight... "Shit."
Mordo continued:
"The boss looks at your disapprovingly, 'Umm yaaaaa, I'm going to need you to come in on the weekend.'
Balgoi, irritated by the outcome, slapped the table and folded his arms.
The loud speaker scratched and then a voice announced:
"This is not a test, dragon alert. Please head toward the meetup zone in a organized, peaceful manner."
"It's no fair," Mordo cried, "we just started!"
The group gathered their character sheets and dice and shuffled of to the room.
"Ouch" Hargow grabbed his head. The others looked just in time to see Mordo receive the next hammer-blow to the head.
"Shut up," the bully commanded, the others looked at Tragflax. They could see that the 'thunder-buns' comment had earned him some abuse of his own. This did not bode well for their group. "Time to get someplace..." Tragflax paused and cracked his knuckles, "safe."
The crew wondered if maybe the dragon would be less forgiving then this orc. The crowd forced them to the underground shelter, as well as Tragflax's numerous assaults. With their heads covered, attempting to mitigate the worse of the swings, the friends headed toward an uncertain fate.
---This is my start, feel free to pick it up from here or I'll come back later and add some more.--- |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | I edged slowly to the door, caught in that frantic moment as the subway slows and panic sets in as you consider that you might not make it to the door in time. I lost my balance as the train jerked to a stop, bumping into a tall man with his back towards mine. He grunted, turning abruptly around.
"Watch where you're goi-," he shouted, his voice cutting sharply as he came to face me squarely. Rather, he gasped. I felt the air catch in my chest.
Silence passed between us.
"You feel this too?" I asked, my voice weak with the suddenness of the moment.
"Yeah," He stammered softly.
"Where are you going?" I asked quickly, the train doors now open and passengers streaming out in file. The mechanical voice screeched over the intercom.
"I've forgotten," he said, his face contorting in a mix of awe and confusion.
I stepped between the subway doors onto the platform. "This is my stop."
As the doors began to slide shut, we shouted "What do I do now?!" in unison. Smiles shot across our faces at the thought of such a dumb coincidence. Through glass he mouthed, "I don't know."
I was late to work that day. | So this was it. I looked outside the car to see the station pull away.
All the time we had turned into mere memories. Seeing that mischievous smile streak across her face, her smell of roses, the touch of her long dark hair.
I looked to my right. Her long dark hard was huddled over a small smartphone screen. Her fingers were dancing away on the device, with little soft taps sounding every time she touched her phone.
The smell of roses lingered.
I felt a lump in my throat.
Looking outside the dark subway walls rushed by. It seemed as if the stars couldn't get rid of her fast enough.
The subway voice sounded from the speakers with a crackle, "Next stop: Harfield North"
Her head shot up, "Well, this is my station."
I bit my lip, "I guess it is."
She got up and her seat auto retracted itself towards the wall, I followed her example.
The car began decelerating.
She smiled and nodded, "Today was fun."
I smiled myself, "Yeah." Looking outside I saw the station come to a halt. "So I guess this is goodbye then."
The doors opened. "Yup," she said, and jumped outside.
As I opened my mouth to say something she glanced around and yelled, "I'll see you tomorrow at school! Bye!" | |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | This is why I prefer the red line.
I’m certain it would’ve happened eventually, fate is inevitable like that. You could make your decision between the blue or red line but if you are destined to meet someone, location becomes irrelevant for the most part; it’s just a matter of time.
And our time was today.
I never understood why the train stopped so frequently when I first moved to this city, but after walking around all day I was grateful to catch it at 6th and Washington. The rain had been beautiful when I was younger, but now it just threatened the posterity of my paperwork through a tired messenger bag. I no longer had the time to enjoy it. The train would make its next stop in five minutes, and then it was a steady fifteen-minute ride to the park-and-ride, just far enough from downtown to make driving tolerable.
No, that’s not right. That’s the schedule for the other line. This line makes frequent stops for the next ten minutes on the opposite side of the city centre before arriving at my destination. The other line was early today. I kicked myself for not being able to walk faster when I saw you.
I would recognize your hair anywhere. An indecisive color, we agreed. For the first time in years I prayed, that you wouldn’t turn around. Greedy, I took in every aspect of you. You wore makeup today, but your pantsuit was definitely a call back to your once-hatred of all things feminine. You still closed your eyes and smiled during the beginning of a good song. Did you finally submit your writing to an editor, or did you choose the position at the hospital after all? I’d given up my right to asking about you when I left. You’d think I’d have known better than to stay in the same city if seeing you would bother me this much, but I couldn’t bring myself to move any further than the parallel train.
As the next stop’s name lit up the overhead sign I prepared to get up and leave you alone, but it was just a matter of time, really. As I gathered my things, you excused yourself from the window seat and made it towards the door behind you, and looked straight into me.
And for a brief second before the anger kicked in, you smiled. The train was slowing down as you rushed toward me.
“I’d ask where you’ve been, but apparently not too far to visit. Or call. An email would have been appreciated.”
How I’d have liked to.
“It’s good to see you again, Marie.”
“You could have seen me sooner if you wanted. You could have seen me everyday!”
With the amount of time I’ve spent getting my affairs in order the past few weeks, I really couldn’t have.
“That’s not what I wanted out of life.”
“Not what you---What did you want, exactly, that you couldn’t even tell me before disappearing?”
People were staring. I could tell you. It wasn’t too late to change my mind.
“I wanted a man, Marie.”
You stepped back as if you had been slapped. And I couldn’t decide which was worse, making you hate me the rest of your life, or forcing you to watch while mine ended. I wasn’t lying, I wanted to find the man that could fix cancer, but I was a bit short on time.
You just looked at me as the train pulled to a stop, and I saw as the hurt and confusion changed into pain and resignation in a matter of seconds. You smiled one more time, the saddest genuine smile I’d ever seen. The doors began to open, and you looked out before placing your hand on my arm.
“I hope you live a happy life, Vanessa”, you said softly, and stepped out onto the platform. An automated voice announced the stop as several riders shuffled past me. It wasn’t until the doors were once again closing that I managed to reply, “I did.”
| So this was it. I looked outside the car to see the station pull away.
All the time we had turned into mere memories. Seeing that mischievous smile streak across her face, her smell of roses, the touch of her long dark hair.
I looked to my right. Her long dark hard was huddled over a small smartphone screen. Her fingers were dancing away on the device, with little soft taps sounding every time she touched her phone.
The smell of roses lingered.
I felt a lump in my throat.
Looking outside the dark subway walls rushed by. It seemed as if the stars couldn't get rid of her fast enough.
The subway voice sounded from the speakers with a crackle, "Next stop: Harfield North"
Her head shot up, "Well, this is my station."
I bit my lip, "I guess it is."
She got up and her seat auto retracted itself towards the wall, I followed her example.
The car began decelerating.
She smiled and nodded, "Today was fun."
I smiled myself, "Yeah." Looking outside I saw the station come to a halt. "So I guess this is goodbye then."
The doors opened. "Yup," she said, and jumped outside.
As I opened my mouth to say something she glanced around and yelled, "I'll see you tomorrow at school! Bye!" | |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | There's that diner we like just around the corner from here. I can see it creeping by between the buildings in the narrow alley that runs under the tracks. Do you remember? It was snowing, and we ducked in to shake the cold off of our shoulders and out of our hands. You weren't hungry at first, but the warmth of the place must have gotten to you.
Maintenance, they tell us, it's slowing us down. The speakers are crackling.
Oh, and over there is where we used to meet up for drinks after work...but you know that. We went so many times. I don't know if I want to go back. It's already passed, anyway.
Your stop is next? I know. Oh, that was rhetorical. Forgive me, it's late, and my head is aching.
Are you sure you can't....of course. No, that's asking too much. Do you see the park? Spring is doing it wonders. Even by streetlight, I love how the leaves dance.
Yes, here, your hat slipped out of your bag. Its color brings out your eyes. I'm glad that I haven't forgotten that shade of green.
Sometimes I stand as the train slows down; I feel the momentum pushing me toward the front. I lean against it and pretend it is my weight against the train's terrible force. I do not always win.
What's that? Oh. The doors are opening. Your stop. It used to be our stop. Perhaps, someday, it could--
-----
*Author's note: Modified for an above-ground train.*
#2 | So this was it. I looked outside the car to see the station pull away.
All the time we had turned into mere memories. Seeing that mischievous smile streak across her face, her smell of roses, the touch of her long dark hair.
I looked to my right. Her long dark hard was huddled over a small smartphone screen. Her fingers were dancing away on the device, with little soft taps sounding every time she touched her phone.
The smell of roses lingered.
I felt a lump in my throat.
Looking outside the dark subway walls rushed by. It seemed as if the stars couldn't get rid of her fast enough.
The subway voice sounded from the speakers with a crackle, "Next stop: Harfield North"
Her head shot up, "Well, this is my station."
I bit my lip, "I guess it is."
She got up and her seat auto retracted itself towards the wall, I followed her example.
The car began decelerating.
She smiled and nodded, "Today was fun."
I smiled myself, "Yeah." Looking outside I saw the station come to a halt. "So I guess this is goodbye then."
The doors opened. "Yup," she said, and jumped outside.
As I opened my mouth to say something she glanced around and yelled, "I'll see you tomorrow at school! Bye!" | |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | I stared in his eyes , confused . Questions were popping in my head . Who is he? Why he is causing this weird feelings of familiarity and connectedness ? Why ?
I stand up and sit next to him and I ask :
Why you from all the men in the world ?
Because you love to hunt and I love to be hunted
He smiled gently like an old friend .
The bus was stopping, he stands up ... It is his stop. He is gonna run away .
- Any other questions ? He asked smiling gently
- Where do you live ?
- Find it out ... he said smiling and he got off the bus .
So it is . The hunt begins . I never felt more alive and more hungry . | So this was it. I looked outside the car to see the station pull away.
All the time we had turned into mere memories. Seeing that mischievous smile streak across her face, her smell of roses, the touch of her long dark hair.
I looked to my right. Her long dark hard was huddled over a small smartphone screen. Her fingers were dancing away on the device, with little soft taps sounding every time she touched her phone.
The smell of roses lingered.
I felt a lump in my throat.
Looking outside the dark subway walls rushed by. It seemed as if the stars couldn't get rid of her fast enough.
The subway voice sounded from the speakers with a crackle, "Next stop: Harfield North"
Her head shot up, "Well, this is my station."
I bit my lip, "I guess it is."
She got up and her seat auto retracted itself towards the wall, I followed her example.
The car began decelerating.
She smiled and nodded, "Today was fun."
I smiled myself, "Yeah." Looking outside I saw the station come to a halt. "So I guess this is goodbye then."
The doors opened. "Yup," she said, and jumped outside.
As I opened my mouth to say something she glanced around and yelled, "I'll see you tomorrow at school! Bye!" | |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | He's standing next to me. I can't really tell what he looks like, I'm really trying not to notice. However, it does stop him from speaking to me.
"Hey, is Rosslyn the first station across the river?" he asks.
I turn to him. He's achingly handsome, with a slight smile. His face perfect, but not in that wax-figure slash Abercrombie model way, in that actual person way. His body is full of hints of firmness and energy. He almost seems to listen with his eyes, the way they fix on you, like he listens to every word expecting to memorize what you said. I fight back the urge to kiss him on the spot.
"Uh...yeah, it's Rosslyn. Has the world's third longest continuous escalator too" I reply, turning to my normal response when nervous: trivia.
"Where are you headed?" I ask back
"Ballston."
I inhale through my teeth, "Yikes, this is a Blue line train, you'll need to get off and take an Orange at this stop."
"Oh, okay then. Thanks, man."
He turns away right as the deceleration into Rosslyn station. I ponder whether to kiss him again, but I know it's pretty stupid. Besides, I can't just assume he's somehow a deliverance from Heaven. He's probably a douche when you get to know him, or he hates Firefly or the Smashing Pumpkins or calls himself a anarcho-socialist or some other deal breaker. The train pulls into the station, and comes to a stop. Before the doors open, I move toward him. I feel glad that I didn't bring anything with me today as I leave my seat. Just before he slips out of my reach, he stops as the crowd exits the train. I bump into him and we both go toppling.
We're lying there, me on top of him, like some cheesy-ass movie as I blush and stammer profusely. He just looks puzzled.
"Uh, this is kinda awkward," he says, "And I kinda like girls, sorry."
I roll off him and he gets up and walks away, like that. I lay there, pondering the ceiling vault of Rosslyn station as the crowd of commuters going home parts around me. Knowing I've already made a complete fool of myself by trying to act like an indie movie protagonist, I put my head in my hands and softly groan.
| So this was it. I looked outside the car to see the station pull away.
All the time we had turned into mere memories. Seeing that mischievous smile streak across her face, her smell of roses, the touch of her long dark hair.
I looked to my right. Her long dark hard was huddled over a small smartphone screen. Her fingers were dancing away on the device, with little soft taps sounding every time she touched her phone.
The smell of roses lingered.
I felt a lump in my throat.
Looking outside the dark subway walls rushed by. It seemed as if the stars couldn't get rid of her fast enough.
The subway voice sounded from the speakers with a crackle, "Next stop: Harfield North"
Her head shot up, "Well, this is my station."
I bit my lip, "I guess it is."
She got up and her seat auto retracted itself towards the wall, I followed her example.
The car began decelerating.
She smiled and nodded, "Today was fun."
I smiled myself, "Yeah." Looking outside I saw the station come to a halt. "So I guess this is goodbye then."
The doors opened. "Yup," she said, and jumped outside.
As I opened my mouth to say something she glanced around and yelled, "I'll see you tomorrow at school! Bye!" | |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | 0:59 Hi, my name's Edwin
0:58 and you don't know me and I don't
0:57 really know you
0:56 but I'd really like to change that.
0:55 We ride the same bus,
0:54 after all, we already have
0:53 so much in common! I know,
0:52 it seems impossible,
0:51 I'm a Kearney street stop
0:50 and you're a Filmore kinda
0:59 girl, but we can make this
0:48 work.
0:47 I know some things
0:46 about you - you like
0:45 paperbacks! I couldn't really
0:44 see any of the titles, but they're
0:43 'probably fiction, right?
0:42 Great genre, that fiction.
0:41 Gotta love made-up stuff.
0:40 Beats reality by
0:39 a light-year, doesn't it?
0:38 Get it, because we're talking fiction and
0:37 I used a unit of measurement
0:36 common to science fiction,
0:35 unless that's not a genre
0:34 you like in which case
0:33 it's an actual unit of measurement.
0:32 See, I'm
0:31 funny! A guy with a
0:30 sense of humor, that is
0:29 but one of the many
0:28 positive things that I am.
0:27 I have other qualities
0:26 I'm tall!
0:25 Well, not really, I guess you're
0:24 actually a little taller than me, but
0:23 still, not intimidated
0:22 by tall people, I've got
0:21 that going for me! And I'm
0:20 patient! How
0:19 long have we shared these bus rides
0:18 for? Why, it has to
0:17 have been months since I first
0:16 laid eyes on you, and
0:15 I've waited that entire time to
0:14 compose this entire missive,
0:13 memorize it completely,
0:12 blurt it all out in the space of sixty
0:11 seconds. Hey, I've got
0:10 the good memory thing too!
0:09 So since we're
0:08 perfectly matched for each other, what
0:07 do you say we get to know each other
0:06 even better, say over cofee?
0:05 Unless you don't
0:04 like coffee.
0:03
0:02 Yes.
0:01 Those are definitely the things
0:00 I should have said. | So this was it. I looked outside the car to see the station pull away.
All the time we had turned into mere memories. Seeing that mischievous smile streak across her face, her smell of roses, the touch of her long dark hair.
I looked to my right. Her long dark hard was huddled over a small smartphone screen. Her fingers were dancing away on the device, with little soft taps sounding every time she touched her phone.
The smell of roses lingered.
I felt a lump in my throat.
Looking outside the dark subway walls rushed by. It seemed as if the stars couldn't get rid of her fast enough.
The subway voice sounded from the speakers with a crackle, "Next stop: Harfield North"
Her head shot up, "Well, this is my station."
I bit my lip, "I guess it is."
She got up and her seat auto retracted itself towards the wall, I followed her example.
The car began decelerating.
She smiled and nodded, "Today was fun."
I smiled myself, "Yeah." Looking outside I saw the station come to a halt. "So I guess this is goodbye then."
The doors opened. "Yup," she said, and jumped outside.
As I opened my mouth to say something she glanced around and yelled, "I'll see you tomorrow at school! Bye!" | |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | I usually have a book with me. I must have forgotten it that day because I was watching people instead of reading. I recognized her right away. Don't ask how; her eyes, her posture, the way she played with her hair.
She was already waiting in front of the doors for the subway's next stop when I saw her, but I knew I had to do something.
"Excuse me."
I touched her shoulder, making her turn towards me, waiting for a sign of recognition. I was sure that if she'd notice me, she'd know who I am. But nothing happened. I had to explain.
"You are my soul mate."
She smiled.
"That's a pick up line I've never heard before."
"It's not a pick up line. I'm serious."
"I'm not giving you my number."
Then the subway stopped and she was gone. I thought about going after her, but I had a meeting to get to and I was sure the Universe would make our paths cross again. We are soul mates, after all.
I haven't seen her since, but now that I know how she looks like I will not stop looking.
------
-146 | So this was it. I looked outside the car to see the station pull away.
All the time we had turned into mere memories. Seeing that mischievous smile streak across her face, her smell of roses, the touch of her long dark hair.
I looked to my right. Her long dark hard was huddled over a small smartphone screen. Her fingers were dancing away on the device, with little soft taps sounding every time she touched her phone.
The smell of roses lingered.
I felt a lump in my throat.
Looking outside the dark subway walls rushed by. It seemed as if the stars couldn't get rid of her fast enough.
The subway voice sounded from the speakers with a crackle, "Next stop: Harfield North"
Her head shot up, "Well, this is my station."
I bit my lip, "I guess it is."
She got up and her seat auto retracted itself towards the wall, I followed her example.
The car began decelerating.
She smiled and nodded, "Today was fun."
I smiled myself, "Yeah." Looking outside I saw the station come to a halt. "So I guess this is goodbye then."
The doors opened. "Yup," she said, and jumped outside.
As I opened my mouth to say something she glanced around and yelled, "I'll see you tomorrow at school! Bye!" | |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | I edged slowly to the door, caught in that frantic moment as the subway slows and panic sets in as you consider that you might not make it to the door in time. I lost my balance as the train jerked to a stop, bumping into a tall man with his back towards mine. He grunted, turning abruptly around.
"Watch where you're goi-," he shouted, his voice cutting sharply as he came to face me squarely. Rather, he gasped. I felt the air catch in my chest.
Silence passed between us.
"You feel this too?" I asked, my voice weak with the suddenness of the moment.
"Yeah," He stammered softly.
"Where are you going?" I asked quickly, the train doors now open and passengers streaming out in file. The mechanical voice screeched over the intercom.
"I've forgotten," he said, his face contorting in a mix of awe and confusion.
I stepped between the subway doors onto the platform. "This is my stop."
As the doors began to slide shut, we shouted "What do I do now?!" in unison. Smiles shot across our faces at the thought of such a dumb coincidence. Through glass he mouthed, "I don't know."
I was late to work that day. | He stood there, eyes fixated on the door. His posture was relaxed, and seemed friendly enough. His gorgeous brown hair was neatly kept and the length complimented his face. He looked tall, but I couldn't judge his height as he was sitting. He looked like a nice person.
Intermittently, I would look at him, his calm demeanour helped calm my own anxieties about traveling on public transit. I wanted to say something to him, to say hi, but my own shyness prevented me from doing more than just to glance at him. I knew he was the one, and I couldn't even talk to him. I hoped for a chance to see him again, somewhere conversation would be more natural.
"I'll talk to him when I see him again." I told myself, even though I had no idea when that would be, or if it would ever happen again.
If we did meet again, I would work harder to maintain the friendship, since he probably has a girlfriend. The subway slowed and he stood up and was the last to exit the subway, giving me a few seconds to imprint his appearance into my mind. He left. I knew I would forget what he looked like after I finished my shift, but I wanted to remember him for a bit longer.
That was another potential friendship I let slip away. Another missed opportunity to be more outgoing. I looked at him as the subway moved on. I could have afforded the time to get off on his stop, I was usually one hour early to my job, afraid of being late. But I didn't. I looked at my phone to check the time and the distance to my stop. The racing thoughts returned in full force. I looked ahead of me, trying to ignore my worries about being late, and waited until my stop. | |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | This is why I prefer the red line.
I’m certain it would’ve happened eventually, fate is inevitable like that. You could make your decision between the blue or red line but if you are destined to meet someone, location becomes irrelevant for the most part; it’s just a matter of time.
And our time was today.
I never understood why the train stopped so frequently when I first moved to this city, but after walking around all day I was grateful to catch it at 6th and Washington. The rain had been beautiful when I was younger, but now it just threatened the posterity of my paperwork through a tired messenger bag. I no longer had the time to enjoy it. The train would make its next stop in five minutes, and then it was a steady fifteen-minute ride to the park-and-ride, just far enough from downtown to make driving tolerable.
No, that’s not right. That’s the schedule for the other line. This line makes frequent stops for the next ten minutes on the opposite side of the city centre before arriving at my destination. The other line was early today. I kicked myself for not being able to walk faster when I saw you.
I would recognize your hair anywhere. An indecisive color, we agreed. For the first time in years I prayed, that you wouldn’t turn around. Greedy, I took in every aspect of you. You wore makeup today, but your pantsuit was definitely a call back to your once-hatred of all things feminine. You still closed your eyes and smiled during the beginning of a good song. Did you finally submit your writing to an editor, or did you choose the position at the hospital after all? I’d given up my right to asking about you when I left. You’d think I’d have known better than to stay in the same city if seeing you would bother me this much, but I couldn’t bring myself to move any further than the parallel train.
As the next stop’s name lit up the overhead sign I prepared to get up and leave you alone, but it was just a matter of time, really. As I gathered my things, you excused yourself from the window seat and made it towards the door behind you, and looked straight into me.
And for a brief second before the anger kicked in, you smiled. The train was slowing down as you rushed toward me.
“I’d ask where you’ve been, but apparently not too far to visit. Or call. An email would have been appreciated.”
How I’d have liked to.
“It’s good to see you again, Marie.”
“You could have seen me sooner if you wanted. You could have seen me everyday!”
With the amount of time I’ve spent getting my affairs in order the past few weeks, I really couldn’t have.
“That’s not what I wanted out of life.”
“Not what you---What did you want, exactly, that you couldn’t even tell me before disappearing?”
People were staring. I could tell you. It wasn’t too late to change my mind.
“I wanted a man, Marie.”
You stepped back as if you had been slapped. And I couldn’t decide which was worse, making you hate me the rest of your life, or forcing you to watch while mine ended. I wasn’t lying, I wanted to find the man that could fix cancer, but I was a bit short on time.
You just looked at me as the train pulled to a stop, and I saw as the hurt and confusion changed into pain and resignation in a matter of seconds. You smiled one more time, the saddest genuine smile I’d ever seen. The doors began to open, and you looked out before placing your hand on my arm.
“I hope you live a happy life, Vanessa”, you said softly, and stepped out onto the platform. An automated voice announced the stop as several riders shuffled past me. It wasn’t until the doors were once again closing that I managed to reply, “I did.”
| He stood there, eyes fixated on the door. His posture was relaxed, and seemed friendly enough. His gorgeous brown hair was neatly kept and the length complimented his face. He looked tall, but I couldn't judge his height as he was sitting. He looked like a nice person.
Intermittently, I would look at him, his calm demeanour helped calm my own anxieties about traveling on public transit. I wanted to say something to him, to say hi, but my own shyness prevented me from doing more than just to glance at him. I knew he was the one, and I couldn't even talk to him. I hoped for a chance to see him again, somewhere conversation would be more natural.
"I'll talk to him when I see him again." I told myself, even though I had no idea when that would be, or if it would ever happen again.
If we did meet again, I would work harder to maintain the friendship, since he probably has a girlfriend. The subway slowed and he stood up and was the last to exit the subway, giving me a few seconds to imprint his appearance into my mind. He left. I knew I would forget what he looked like after I finished my shift, but I wanted to remember him for a bit longer.
That was another potential friendship I let slip away. Another missed opportunity to be more outgoing. I looked at him as the subway moved on. I could have afforded the time to get off on his stop, I was usually one hour early to my job, afraid of being late. But I didn't. I looked at my phone to check the time and the distance to my stop. The racing thoughts returned in full force. I looked ahead of me, trying to ignore my worries about being late, and waited until my stop. | |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | There's that diner we like just around the corner from here. I can see it creeping by between the buildings in the narrow alley that runs under the tracks. Do you remember? It was snowing, and we ducked in to shake the cold off of our shoulders and out of our hands. You weren't hungry at first, but the warmth of the place must have gotten to you.
Maintenance, they tell us, it's slowing us down. The speakers are crackling.
Oh, and over there is where we used to meet up for drinks after work...but you know that. We went so many times. I don't know if I want to go back. It's already passed, anyway.
Your stop is next? I know. Oh, that was rhetorical. Forgive me, it's late, and my head is aching.
Are you sure you can't....of course. No, that's asking too much. Do you see the park? Spring is doing it wonders. Even by streetlight, I love how the leaves dance.
Yes, here, your hat slipped out of your bag. Its color brings out your eyes. I'm glad that I haven't forgotten that shade of green.
Sometimes I stand as the train slows down; I feel the momentum pushing me toward the front. I lean against it and pretend it is my weight against the train's terrible force. I do not always win.
What's that? Oh. The doors are opening. Your stop. It used to be our stop. Perhaps, someday, it could--
-----
*Author's note: Modified for an above-ground train.*
#2 | He stood there, eyes fixated on the door. His posture was relaxed, and seemed friendly enough. His gorgeous brown hair was neatly kept and the length complimented his face. He looked tall, but I couldn't judge his height as he was sitting. He looked like a nice person.
Intermittently, I would look at him, his calm demeanour helped calm my own anxieties about traveling on public transit. I wanted to say something to him, to say hi, but my own shyness prevented me from doing more than just to glance at him. I knew he was the one, and I couldn't even talk to him. I hoped for a chance to see him again, somewhere conversation would be more natural.
"I'll talk to him when I see him again." I told myself, even though I had no idea when that would be, or if it would ever happen again.
If we did meet again, I would work harder to maintain the friendship, since he probably has a girlfriend. The subway slowed and he stood up and was the last to exit the subway, giving me a few seconds to imprint his appearance into my mind. He left. I knew I would forget what he looked like after I finished my shift, but I wanted to remember him for a bit longer.
That was another potential friendship I let slip away. Another missed opportunity to be more outgoing. I looked at him as the subway moved on. I could have afforded the time to get off on his stop, I was usually one hour early to my job, afraid of being late. But I didn't. I looked at my phone to check the time and the distance to my stop. The racing thoughts returned in full force. I looked ahead of me, trying to ignore my worries about being late, and waited until my stop. | |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | I stared in his eyes , confused . Questions were popping in my head . Who is he? Why he is causing this weird feelings of familiarity and connectedness ? Why ?
I stand up and sit next to him and I ask :
Why you from all the men in the world ?
Because you love to hunt and I love to be hunted
He smiled gently like an old friend .
The bus was stopping, he stands up ... It is his stop. He is gonna run away .
- Any other questions ? He asked smiling gently
- Where do you live ?
- Find it out ... he said smiling and he got off the bus .
So it is . The hunt begins . I never felt more alive and more hungry . | He stood there, eyes fixated on the door. His posture was relaxed, and seemed friendly enough. His gorgeous brown hair was neatly kept and the length complimented his face. He looked tall, but I couldn't judge his height as he was sitting. He looked like a nice person.
Intermittently, I would look at him, his calm demeanour helped calm my own anxieties about traveling on public transit. I wanted to say something to him, to say hi, but my own shyness prevented me from doing more than just to glance at him. I knew he was the one, and I couldn't even talk to him. I hoped for a chance to see him again, somewhere conversation would be more natural.
"I'll talk to him when I see him again." I told myself, even though I had no idea when that would be, or if it would ever happen again.
If we did meet again, I would work harder to maintain the friendship, since he probably has a girlfriend. The subway slowed and he stood up and was the last to exit the subway, giving me a few seconds to imprint his appearance into my mind. He left. I knew I would forget what he looked like after I finished my shift, but I wanted to remember him for a bit longer.
That was another potential friendship I let slip away. Another missed opportunity to be more outgoing. I looked at him as the subway moved on. I could have afforded the time to get off on his stop, I was usually one hour early to my job, afraid of being late. But I didn't. I looked at my phone to check the time and the distance to my stop. The racing thoughts returned in full force. I looked ahead of me, trying to ignore my worries about being late, and waited until my stop. | |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | He's standing next to me. I can't really tell what he looks like, I'm really trying not to notice. However, it does stop him from speaking to me.
"Hey, is Rosslyn the first station across the river?" he asks.
I turn to him. He's achingly handsome, with a slight smile. His face perfect, but not in that wax-figure slash Abercrombie model way, in that actual person way. His body is full of hints of firmness and energy. He almost seems to listen with his eyes, the way they fix on you, like he listens to every word expecting to memorize what you said. I fight back the urge to kiss him on the spot.
"Uh...yeah, it's Rosslyn. Has the world's third longest continuous escalator too" I reply, turning to my normal response when nervous: trivia.
"Where are you headed?" I ask back
"Ballston."
I inhale through my teeth, "Yikes, this is a Blue line train, you'll need to get off and take an Orange at this stop."
"Oh, okay then. Thanks, man."
He turns away right as the deceleration into Rosslyn station. I ponder whether to kiss him again, but I know it's pretty stupid. Besides, I can't just assume he's somehow a deliverance from Heaven. He's probably a douche when you get to know him, or he hates Firefly or the Smashing Pumpkins or calls himself a anarcho-socialist or some other deal breaker. The train pulls into the station, and comes to a stop. Before the doors open, I move toward him. I feel glad that I didn't bring anything with me today as I leave my seat. Just before he slips out of my reach, he stops as the crowd exits the train. I bump into him and we both go toppling.
We're lying there, me on top of him, like some cheesy-ass movie as I blush and stammer profusely. He just looks puzzled.
"Uh, this is kinda awkward," he says, "And I kinda like girls, sorry."
I roll off him and he gets up and walks away, like that. I lay there, pondering the ceiling vault of Rosslyn station as the crowd of commuters going home parts around me. Knowing I've already made a complete fool of myself by trying to act like an indie movie protagonist, I put my head in my hands and softly groan.
| He stood there, eyes fixated on the door. His posture was relaxed, and seemed friendly enough. His gorgeous brown hair was neatly kept and the length complimented his face. He looked tall, but I couldn't judge his height as he was sitting. He looked like a nice person.
Intermittently, I would look at him, his calm demeanour helped calm my own anxieties about traveling on public transit. I wanted to say something to him, to say hi, but my own shyness prevented me from doing more than just to glance at him. I knew he was the one, and I couldn't even talk to him. I hoped for a chance to see him again, somewhere conversation would be more natural.
"I'll talk to him when I see him again." I told myself, even though I had no idea when that would be, or if it would ever happen again.
If we did meet again, I would work harder to maintain the friendship, since he probably has a girlfriend. The subway slowed and he stood up and was the last to exit the subway, giving me a few seconds to imprint his appearance into my mind. He left. I knew I would forget what he looked like after I finished my shift, but I wanted to remember him for a bit longer.
That was another potential friendship I let slip away. Another missed opportunity to be more outgoing. I looked at him as the subway moved on. I could have afforded the time to get off on his stop, I was usually one hour early to my job, afraid of being late. But I didn't. I looked at my phone to check the time and the distance to my stop. The racing thoughts returned in full force. I looked ahead of me, trying to ignore my worries about being late, and waited until my stop. | |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | 0:59 Hi, my name's Edwin
0:58 and you don't know me and I don't
0:57 really know you
0:56 but I'd really like to change that.
0:55 We ride the same bus,
0:54 after all, we already have
0:53 so much in common! I know,
0:52 it seems impossible,
0:51 I'm a Kearney street stop
0:50 and you're a Filmore kinda
0:59 girl, but we can make this
0:48 work.
0:47 I know some things
0:46 about you - you like
0:45 paperbacks! I couldn't really
0:44 see any of the titles, but they're
0:43 'probably fiction, right?
0:42 Great genre, that fiction.
0:41 Gotta love made-up stuff.
0:40 Beats reality by
0:39 a light-year, doesn't it?
0:38 Get it, because we're talking fiction and
0:37 I used a unit of measurement
0:36 common to science fiction,
0:35 unless that's not a genre
0:34 you like in which case
0:33 it's an actual unit of measurement.
0:32 See, I'm
0:31 funny! A guy with a
0:30 sense of humor, that is
0:29 but one of the many
0:28 positive things that I am.
0:27 I have other qualities
0:26 I'm tall!
0:25 Well, not really, I guess you're
0:24 actually a little taller than me, but
0:23 still, not intimidated
0:22 by tall people, I've got
0:21 that going for me! And I'm
0:20 patient! How
0:19 long have we shared these bus rides
0:18 for? Why, it has to
0:17 have been months since I first
0:16 laid eyes on you, and
0:15 I've waited that entire time to
0:14 compose this entire missive,
0:13 memorize it completely,
0:12 blurt it all out in the space of sixty
0:11 seconds. Hey, I've got
0:10 the good memory thing too!
0:09 So since we're
0:08 perfectly matched for each other, what
0:07 do you say we get to know each other
0:06 even better, say over cofee?
0:05 Unless you don't
0:04 like coffee.
0:03
0:02 Yes.
0:01 Those are definitely the things
0:00 I should have said. | He stood there, eyes fixated on the door. His posture was relaxed, and seemed friendly enough. His gorgeous brown hair was neatly kept and the length complimented his face. He looked tall, but I couldn't judge his height as he was sitting. He looked like a nice person.
Intermittently, I would look at him, his calm demeanour helped calm my own anxieties about traveling on public transit. I wanted to say something to him, to say hi, but my own shyness prevented me from doing more than just to glance at him. I knew he was the one, and I couldn't even talk to him. I hoped for a chance to see him again, somewhere conversation would be more natural.
"I'll talk to him when I see him again." I told myself, even though I had no idea when that would be, or if it would ever happen again.
If we did meet again, I would work harder to maintain the friendship, since he probably has a girlfriend. The subway slowed and he stood up and was the last to exit the subway, giving me a few seconds to imprint his appearance into my mind. He left. I knew I would forget what he looked like after I finished my shift, but I wanted to remember him for a bit longer.
That was another potential friendship I let slip away. Another missed opportunity to be more outgoing. I looked at him as the subway moved on. I could have afforded the time to get off on his stop, I was usually one hour early to my job, afraid of being late. But I didn't. I looked at my phone to check the time and the distance to my stop. The racing thoughts returned in full force. I looked ahead of me, trying to ignore my worries about being late, and waited until my stop. | |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | I edged slowly to the door, caught in that frantic moment as the subway slows and panic sets in as you consider that you might not make it to the door in time. I lost my balance as the train jerked to a stop, bumping into a tall man with his back towards mine. He grunted, turning abruptly around.
"Watch where you're goi-," he shouted, his voice cutting sharply as he came to face me squarely. Rather, he gasped. I felt the air catch in my chest.
Silence passed between us.
"You feel this too?" I asked, my voice weak with the suddenness of the moment.
"Yeah," He stammered softly.
"Where are you going?" I asked quickly, the train doors now open and passengers streaming out in file. The mechanical voice screeched over the intercom.
"I've forgotten," he said, his face contorting in a mix of awe and confusion.
I stepped between the subway doors onto the platform. "This is my stop."
As the doors began to slide shut, we shouted "What do I do now?!" in unison. Smiles shot across our faces at the thought of such a dumb coincidence. Through glass he mouthed, "I don't know."
I was late to work that day. | *Damn, dead battery.*
I glance down at the blank screen on my phone and sigh. Now I have nothing to do.
I look up, scanning the people around me. I notice one; *really* notice her, the way her black hair curls gently around her shoulders, the way her green eyes sparkle with the fluorescent light of the subway. Those gorgeous orbs land on me, and a smile curves her pink lips. I stand up as if in a daze and walk toward her, slowly, stopping and clutching at something to stabilize myself. I end up grabbing her hand.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I squeak politely, and she nods respectfully. "I'm Liam."
She tilts her head to the side, the waves of her hair cascading down her shoulder. "Amber."
"So, where you going?" I stammer, blushing fiercely as she smiles widely.
"Next stop. Hackenn's Gardens."
Something catches in my throat. "We're, uh, we're close."
"Yes, unfortunately."
I swallow. "Unfortunately?"
"You're fun to talk to," she smirks playfully.
"Oh, yes, uh-" I stutter again, then bow my head. "Shit, I'm sorry. I guess you're used to this, though- such a beautiful girl like you sees men throwing themselves at her always-"
She blushes and giggles, covering her face with her hands. "Oh, stop," she says. "I don't."
"Really?" I ask, amazed. "But-"
She shakes her head. "No, I, uh, I don't do relationships."
My face falls. She notices my disappointment and sighs. "I'm sorry."
Then it's her stop and she swirls away in a flurry of jasmine-scented perfume, and I'm alone again, as I have been my whole life.
| |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | This is why I prefer the red line.
I’m certain it would’ve happened eventually, fate is inevitable like that. You could make your decision between the blue or red line but if you are destined to meet someone, location becomes irrelevant for the most part; it’s just a matter of time.
And our time was today.
I never understood why the train stopped so frequently when I first moved to this city, but after walking around all day I was grateful to catch it at 6th and Washington. The rain had been beautiful when I was younger, but now it just threatened the posterity of my paperwork through a tired messenger bag. I no longer had the time to enjoy it. The train would make its next stop in five minutes, and then it was a steady fifteen-minute ride to the park-and-ride, just far enough from downtown to make driving tolerable.
No, that’s not right. That’s the schedule for the other line. This line makes frequent stops for the next ten minutes on the opposite side of the city centre before arriving at my destination. The other line was early today. I kicked myself for not being able to walk faster when I saw you.
I would recognize your hair anywhere. An indecisive color, we agreed. For the first time in years I prayed, that you wouldn’t turn around. Greedy, I took in every aspect of you. You wore makeup today, but your pantsuit was definitely a call back to your once-hatred of all things feminine. You still closed your eyes and smiled during the beginning of a good song. Did you finally submit your writing to an editor, or did you choose the position at the hospital after all? I’d given up my right to asking about you when I left. You’d think I’d have known better than to stay in the same city if seeing you would bother me this much, but I couldn’t bring myself to move any further than the parallel train.
As the next stop’s name lit up the overhead sign I prepared to get up and leave you alone, but it was just a matter of time, really. As I gathered my things, you excused yourself from the window seat and made it towards the door behind you, and looked straight into me.
And for a brief second before the anger kicked in, you smiled. The train was slowing down as you rushed toward me.
“I’d ask where you’ve been, but apparently not too far to visit. Or call. An email would have been appreciated.”
How I’d have liked to.
“It’s good to see you again, Marie.”
“You could have seen me sooner if you wanted. You could have seen me everyday!”
With the amount of time I’ve spent getting my affairs in order the past few weeks, I really couldn’t have.
“That’s not what I wanted out of life.”
“Not what you---What did you want, exactly, that you couldn’t even tell me before disappearing?”
People were staring. I could tell you. It wasn’t too late to change my mind.
“I wanted a man, Marie.”
You stepped back as if you had been slapped. And I couldn’t decide which was worse, making you hate me the rest of your life, or forcing you to watch while mine ended. I wasn’t lying, I wanted to find the man that could fix cancer, but I was a bit short on time.
You just looked at me as the train pulled to a stop, and I saw as the hurt and confusion changed into pain and resignation in a matter of seconds. You smiled one more time, the saddest genuine smile I’d ever seen. The doors began to open, and you looked out before placing your hand on my arm.
“I hope you live a happy life, Vanessa”, you said softly, and stepped out onto the platform. An automated voice announced the stop as several riders shuffled past me. It wasn’t until the doors were once again closing that I managed to reply, “I did.”
| *Damn, dead battery.*
I glance down at the blank screen on my phone and sigh. Now I have nothing to do.
I look up, scanning the people around me. I notice one; *really* notice her, the way her black hair curls gently around her shoulders, the way her green eyes sparkle with the fluorescent light of the subway. Those gorgeous orbs land on me, and a smile curves her pink lips. I stand up as if in a daze and walk toward her, slowly, stopping and clutching at something to stabilize myself. I end up grabbing her hand.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I squeak politely, and she nods respectfully. "I'm Liam."
She tilts her head to the side, the waves of her hair cascading down her shoulder. "Amber."
"So, where you going?" I stammer, blushing fiercely as she smiles widely.
"Next stop. Hackenn's Gardens."
Something catches in my throat. "We're, uh, we're close."
"Yes, unfortunately."
I swallow. "Unfortunately?"
"You're fun to talk to," she smirks playfully.
"Oh, yes, uh-" I stutter again, then bow my head. "Shit, I'm sorry. I guess you're used to this, though- such a beautiful girl like you sees men throwing themselves at her always-"
She blushes and giggles, covering her face with her hands. "Oh, stop," she says. "I don't."
"Really?" I ask, amazed. "But-"
She shakes her head. "No, I, uh, I don't do relationships."
My face falls. She notices my disappointment and sighs. "I'm sorry."
Then it's her stop and she swirls away in a flurry of jasmine-scented perfume, and I'm alone again, as I have been my whole life.
| |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | I stared in his eyes , confused . Questions were popping in my head . Who is he? Why he is causing this weird feelings of familiarity and connectedness ? Why ?
I stand up and sit next to him and I ask :
Why you from all the men in the world ?
Because you love to hunt and I love to be hunted
He smiled gently like an old friend .
The bus was stopping, he stands up ... It is his stop. He is gonna run away .
- Any other questions ? He asked smiling gently
- Where do you live ?
- Find it out ... he said smiling and he got off the bus .
So it is . The hunt begins . I never felt more alive and more hungry . | *Damn, dead battery.*
I glance down at the blank screen on my phone and sigh. Now I have nothing to do.
I look up, scanning the people around me. I notice one; *really* notice her, the way her black hair curls gently around her shoulders, the way her green eyes sparkle with the fluorescent light of the subway. Those gorgeous orbs land on me, and a smile curves her pink lips. I stand up as if in a daze and walk toward her, slowly, stopping and clutching at something to stabilize myself. I end up grabbing her hand.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I squeak politely, and she nods respectfully. "I'm Liam."
She tilts her head to the side, the waves of her hair cascading down her shoulder. "Amber."
"So, where you going?" I stammer, blushing fiercely as she smiles widely.
"Next stop. Hackenn's Gardens."
Something catches in my throat. "We're, uh, we're close."
"Yes, unfortunately."
I swallow. "Unfortunately?"
"You're fun to talk to," she smirks playfully.
"Oh, yes, uh-" I stutter again, then bow my head. "Shit, I'm sorry. I guess you're used to this, though- such a beautiful girl like you sees men throwing themselves at her always-"
She blushes and giggles, covering her face with her hands. "Oh, stop," she says. "I don't."
"Really?" I ask, amazed. "But-"
She shakes her head. "No, I, uh, I don't do relationships."
My face falls. She notices my disappointment and sighs. "I'm sorry."
Then it's her stop and she swirls away in a flurry of jasmine-scented perfume, and I'm alone again, as I have been my whole life.
| |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | He's standing next to me. I can't really tell what he looks like, I'm really trying not to notice. However, it does stop him from speaking to me.
"Hey, is Rosslyn the first station across the river?" he asks.
I turn to him. He's achingly handsome, with a slight smile. His face perfect, but not in that wax-figure slash Abercrombie model way, in that actual person way. His body is full of hints of firmness and energy. He almost seems to listen with his eyes, the way they fix on you, like he listens to every word expecting to memorize what you said. I fight back the urge to kiss him on the spot.
"Uh...yeah, it's Rosslyn. Has the world's third longest continuous escalator too" I reply, turning to my normal response when nervous: trivia.
"Where are you headed?" I ask back
"Ballston."
I inhale through my teeth, "Yikes, this is a Blue line train, you'll need to get off and take an Orange at this stop."
"Oh, okay then. Thanks, man."
He turns away right as the deceleration into Rosslyn station. I ponder whether to kiss him again, but I know it's pretty stupid. Besides, I can't just assume he's somehow a deliverance from Heaven. He's probably a douche when you get to know him, or he hates Firefly or the Smashing Pumpkins or calls himself a anarcho-socialist or some other deal breaker. The train pulls into the station, and comes to a stop. Before the doors open, I move toward him. I feel glad that I didn't bring anything with me today as I leave my seat. Just before he slips out of my reach, he stops as the crowd exits the train. I bump into him and we both go toppling.
We're lying there, me on top of him, like some cheesy-ass movie as I blush and stammer profusely. He just looks puzzled.
"Uh, this is kinda awkward," he says, "And I kinda like girls, sorry."
I roll off him and he gets up and walks away, like that. I lay there, pondering the ceiling vault of Rosslyn station as the crowd of commuters going home parts around me. Knowing I've already made a complete fool of myself by trying to act like an indie movie protagonist, I put my head in my hands and softly groan.
| *Damn, dead battery.*
I glance down at the blank screen on my phone and sigh. Now I have nothing to do.
I look up, scanning the people around me. I notice one; *really* notice her, the way her black hair curls gently around her shoulders, the way her green eyes sparkle with the fluorescent light of the subway. Those gorgeous orbs land on me, and a smile curves her pink lips. I stand up as if in a daze and walk toward her, slowly, stopping and clutching at something to stabilize myself. I end up grabbing her hand.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I squeak politely, and she nods respectfully. "I'm Liam."
She tilts her head to the side, the waves of her hair cascading down her shoulder. "Amber."
"So, where you going?" I stammer, blushing fiercely as she smiles widely.
"Next stop. Hackenn's Gardens."
Something catches in my throat. "We're, uh, we're close."
"Yes, unfortunately."
I swallow. "Unfortunately?"
"You're fun to talk to," she smirks playfully.
"Oh, yes, uh-" I stutter again, then bow my head. "Shit, I'm sorry. I guess you're used to this, though- such a beautiful girl like you sees men throwing themselves at her always-"
She blushes and giggles, covering her face with her hands. "Oh, stop," she says. "I don't."
"Really?" I ask, amazed. "But-"
She shakes her head. "No, I, uh, I don't do relationships."
My face falls. She notices my disappointment and sighs. "I'm sorry."
Then it's her stop and she swirls away in a flurry of jasmine-scented perfume, and I'm alone again, as I have been my whole life.
| |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | 0:59 Hi, my name's Edwin
0:58 and you don't know me and I don't
0:57 really know you
0:56 but I'd really like to change that.
0:55 We ride the same bus,
0:54 after all, we already have
0:53 so much in common! I know,
0:52 it seems impossible,
0:51 I'm a Kearney street stop
0:50 and you're a Filmore kinda
0:59 girl, but we can make this
0:48 work.
0:47 I know some things
0:46 about you - you like
0:45 paperbacks! I couldn't really
0:44 see any of the titles, but they're
0:43 'probably fiction, right?
0:42 Great genre, that fiction.
0:41 Gotta love made-up stuff.
0:40 Beats reality by
0:39 a light-year, doesn't it?
0:38 Get it, because we're talking fiction and
0:37 I used a unit of measurement
0:36 common to science fiction,
0:35 unless that's not a genre
0:34 you like in which case
0:33 it's an actual unit of measurement.
0:32 See, I'm
0:31 funny! A guy with a
0:30 sense of humor, that is
0:29 but one of the many
0:28 positive things that I am.
0:27 I have other qualities
0:26 I'm tall!
0:25 Well, not really, I guess you're
0:24 actually a little taller than me, but
0:23 still, not intimidated
0:22 by tall people, I've got
0:21 that going for me! And I'm
0:20 patient! How
0:19 long have we shared these bus rides
0:18 for? Why, it has to
0:17 have been months since I first
0:16 laid eyes on you, and
0:15 I've waited that entire time to
0:14 compose this entire missive,
0:13 memorize it completely,
0:12 blurt it all out in the space of sixty
0:11 seconds. Hey, I've got
0:10 the good memory thing too!
0:09 So since we're
0:08 perfectly matched for each other, what
0:07 do you say we get to know each other
0:06 even better, say over cofee?
0:05 Unless you don't
0:04 like coffee.
0:03
0:02 Yes.
0:01 Those are definitely the things
0:00 I should have said. | *Damn, dead battery.*
I glance down at the blank screen on my phone and sigh. Now I have nothing to do.
I look up, scanning the people around me. I notice one; *really* notice her, the way her black hair curls gently around her shoulders, the way her green eyes sparkle with the fluorescent light of the subway. Those gorgeous orbs land on me, and a smile curves her pink lips. I stand up as if in a daze and walk toward her, slowly, stopping and clutching at something to stabilize myself. I end up grabbing her hand.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I squeak politely, and she nods respectfully. "I'm Liam."
She tilts her head to the side, the waves of her hair cascading down her shoulder. "Amber."
"So, where you going?" I stammer, blushing fiercely as she smiles widely.
"Next stop. Hackenn's Gardens."
Something catches in my throat. "We're, uh, we're close."
"Yes, unfortunately."
I swallow. "Unfortunately?"
"You're fun to talk to," she smirks playfully.
"Oh, yes, uh-" I stutter again, then bow my head. "Shit, I'm sorry. I guess you're used to this, though- such a beautiful girl like you sees men throwing themselves at her always-"
She blushes and giggles, covering her face with her hands. "Oh, stop," she says. "I don't."
"Really?" I ask, amazed. "But-"
She shakes her head. "No, I, uh, I don't do relationships."
My face falls. She notices my disappointment and sighs. "I'm sorry."
Then it's her stop and she swirls away in a flurry of jasmine-scented perfume, and I'm alone again, as I have been my whole life.
| |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | 0:59 Hi, my name's Edwin
0:58 and you don't know me and I don't
0:57 really know you
0:56 but I'd really like to change that.
0:55 We ride the same bus,
0:54 after all, we already have
0:53 so much in common! I know,
0:52 it seems impossible,
0:51 I'm a Kearney street stop
0:50 and you're a Filmore kinda
0:59 girl, but we can make this
0:48 work.
0:47 I know some things
0:46 about you - you like
0:45 paperbacks! I couldn't really
0:44 see any of the titles, but they're
0:43 'probably fiction, right?
0:42 Great genre, that fiction.
0:41 Gotta love made-up stuff.
0:40 Beats reality by
0:39 a light-year, doesn't it?
0:38 Get it, because we're talking fiction and
0:37 I used a unit of measurement
0:36 common to science fiction,
0:35 unless that's not a genre
0:34 you like in which case
0:33 it's an actual unit of measurement.
0:32 See, I'm
0:31 funny! A guy with a
0:30 sense of humor, that is
0:29 but one of the many
0:28 positive things that I am.
0:27 I have other qualities
0:26 I'm tall!
0:25 Well, not really, I guess you're
0:24 actually a little taller than me, but
0:23 still, not intimidated
0:22 by tall people, I've got
0:21 that going for me! And I'm
0:20 patient! How
0:19 long have we shared these bus rides
0:18 for? Why, it has to
0:17 have been months since I first
0:16 laid eyes on you, and
0:15 I've waited that entire time to
0:14 compose this entire missive,
0:13 memorize it completely,
0:12 blurt it all out in the space of sixty
0:11 seconds. Hey, I've got
0:10 the good memory thing too!
0:09 So since we're
0:08 perfectly matched for each other, what
0:07 do you say we get to know each other
0:06 even better, say over cofee?
0:05 Unless you don't
0:04 like coffee.
0:03
0:02 Yes.
0:01 Those are definitely the things
0:00 I should have said. | **I am not writing anything smart or insightful. Screw it. Have some romance.**
He is Lipton Iced Tea on a summer day. He is the first kiss of warmth on your cold knuckles after playing in the snow. He is starlight, and sunshine and everything in between.
My heart feels tightened, weighed, burdened almost just from the sight of him smiling over the carriage at me. Normal people get butterflies, but it feels like sparrows in my chest, huge and flapping their wings all at once in a frenzy. It's stupid, these things I'm feeling. And I try to see it as a chemical thing, something that can be explained easily by chemistry or just someone with any shred of sanity. But all that gets ripped away from me just by looking at that smile.
He has a dimple chin. A butt chin. Normally I would find that ridiculous, but somehow he makes it endearing. His hair is ruffled, and a dark blonde. There's paint on his clothes. Who comes out wearing clothes with paint on them? He's too far away to see his eyes.
He rises. I watch as he goes to the doors, and as the train comes to a stop, I feel a sense of panic coming on me. It's stupid. I shouldn't feel this way about someone I only see for ten minutes every day on the way home.
I get up. I make my way to the doors. In the corner of my eye it looks like he's fighting back the urge to smile.
"You never get off at this stop." He says.
I am suddenly very aware that this is the first time I've ever heard him speak. It's nice.
"I, uh, forgot I needed to do something." I fumble. It's total bollocks and he knows it.
I could feel him looking at my creased clothes and tired eyes.
"Leave it for another day." He looked at my name tag from the restaurant I work at. "Molly. Lovely name."
"What if it can't wait? What if one day it's not there anymore and I won't have done anything?" I turned my head to face him.
The train stopped. The doors opened.
"There's always tomorrow." He said.
He got off the train. The doors closed. I watched him watch the train pull away.
His eyes were green. | |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | 0:59 Hi, my name's Edwin
0:58 and you don't know me and I don't
0:57 really know you
0:56 but I'd really like to change that.
0:55 We ride the same bus,
0:54 after all, we already have
0:53 so much in common! I know,
0:52 it seems impossible,
0:51 I'm a Kearney street stop
0:50 and you're a Filmore kinda
0:59 girl, but we can make this
0:48 work.
0:47 I know some things
0:46 about you - you like
0:45 paperbacks! I couldn't really
0:44 see any of the titles, but they're
0:43 'probably fiction, right?
0:42 Great genre, that fiction.
0:41 Gotta love made-up stuff.
0:40 Beats reality by
0:39 a light-year, doesn't it?
0:38 Get it, because we're talking fiction and
0:37 I used a unit of measurement
0:36 common to science fiction,
0:35 unless that's not a genre
0:34 you like in which case
0:33 it's an actual unit of measurement.
0:32 See, I'm
0:31 funny! A guy with a
0:30 sense of humor, that is
0:29 but one of the many
0:28 positive things that I am.
0:27 I have other qualities
0:26 I'm tall!
0:25 Well, not really, I guess you're
0:24 actually a little taller than me, but
0:23 still, not intimidated
0:22 by tall people, I've got
0:21 that going for me! And I'm
0:20 patient! How
0:19 long have we shared these bus rides
0:18 for? Why, it has to
0:17 have been months since I first
0:16 laid eyes on you, and
0:15 I've waited that entire time to
0:14 compose this entire missive,
0:13 memorize it completely,
0:12 blurt it all out in the space of sixty
0:11 seconds. Hey, I've got
0:10 the good memory thing too!
0:09 So since we're
0:08 perfectly matched for each other, what
0:07 do you say we get to know each other
0:06 even better, say over cofee?
0:05 Unless you don't
0:04 like coffee.
0:03
0:02 Yes.
0:01 Those are definitely the things
0:00 I should have said. | Today, it's cucumbers. That's kind of a strange thing to eat for breakfast, ain't it? She sits a spot a few down from where she normally sits, as a homeless man had fallen asleep in her regular spot. She pulls another cucumber from the bag and nibbles the side. Her eyes are big and boundless, the kind of teal that makes you think of warm beaches and rain clouds put together. As usual, shes dressed nice...but not too nice. Like a teacher, maybe. A secretary or librarian.
I've seen her every day. Always give her a polite smile or nod...she don't notice me much. We take the quiet subway to the other side of the city and I admire her quietly. I'm not creepy or nothing! I just like seeing her.
Maybe today's the day, I got about...what? A minute before we reach the stop?
I get up and walk over to her.
"Uhm...hi", I extend my hand gently. My heart is racing.
"Hello", she says gently, she reaches her hand to meet mine. It suddenly crosses my mind that my hands are filthy from working all night. I take it back and begin to wipe both hands on my knees.
"Uhm...", I scrape for words. "Hi."
I kick myself.
"I'm...uhm...I see you every day. You...you're mighty pretty."
She flicks her head down and her face is covered by a swish of red hair, I catch her smiling, though. I blush.
"I...I was wondering if..."
A sound signals that we are approaching the station. She gets up, pulls a card from her bag and writes on it quickly. I take it as she begins to leave. "I'd love to" it says. Her phone number written below it.
I watch her leave the train and smile weakly as she blends into a crowd of other people.
If only I'd actually said something this time... | |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | 0:59 Hi, my name's Edwin
0:58 and you don't know me and I don't
0:57 really know you
0:56 but I'd really like to change that.
0:55 We ride the same bus,
0:54 after all, we already have
0:53 so much in common! I know,
0:52 it seems impossible,
0:51 I'm a Kearney street stop
0:50 and you're a Filmore kinda
0:59 girl, but we can make this
0:48 work.
0:47 I know some things
0:46 about you - you like
0:45 paperbacks! I couldn't really
0:44 see any of the titles, but they're
0:43 'probably fiction, right?
0:42 Great genre, that fiction.
0:41 Gotta love made-up stuff.
0:40 Beats reality by
0:39 a light-year, doesn't it?
0:38 Get it, because we're talking fiction and
0:37 I used a unit of measurement
0:36 common to science fiction,
0:35 unless that's not a genre
0:34 you like in which case
0:33 it's an actual unit of measurement.
0:32 See, I'm
0:31 funny! A guy with a
0:30 sense of humor, that is
0:29 but one of the many
0:28 positive things that I am.
0:27 I have other qualities
0:26 I'm tall!
0:25 Well, not really, I guess you're
0:24 actually a little taller than me, but
0:23 still, not intimidated
0:22 by tall people, I've got
0:21 that going for me! And I'm
0:20 patient! How
0:19 long have we shared these bus rides
0:18 for? Why, it has to
0:17 have been months since I first
0:16 laid eyes on you, and
0:15 I've waited that entire time to
0:14 compose this entire missive,
0:13 memorize it completely,
0:12 blurt it all out in the space of sixty
0:11 seconds. Hey, I've got
0:10 the good memory thing too!
0:09 So since we're
0:08 perfectly matched for each other, what
0:07 do you say we get to know each other
0:06 even better, say over cofee?
0:05 Unless you don't
0:04 like coffee.
0:03
0:02 Yes.
0:01 Those are definitely the things
0:00 I should have said. | I edged slowly to the door, caught in that frantic moment as the subway slows and panic sets in as you consider that you might not make it to the door in time. I lost my balance as the train jerked to a stop, bumping into a tall man with his back towards mine. He grunted, turning abruptly around.
"Watch where you're goi-," he shouted, his voice cutting sharply as he came to face me squarely. Rather, he gasped. I felt the air catch in my chest.
Silence passed between us.
"You feel this too?" I asked, my voice weak with the suddenness of the moment.
"Yeah," He stammered softly.
"Where are you going?" I asked quickly, the train doors now open and passengers streaming out in file. The mechanical voice screeched over the intercom.
"I've forgotten," he said, his face contorting in a mix of awe and confusion.
I stepped between the subway doors onto the platform. "This is my stop."
As the doors began to slide shut, we shouted "What do I do now?!" in unison. Smiles shot across our faces at the thought of such a dumb coincidence. Through glass he mouthed, "I don't know."
I was late to work that day. | |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | 0:59 Hi, my name's Edwin
0:58 and you don't know me and I don't
0:57 really know you
0:56 but I'd really like to change that.
0:55 We ride the same bus,
0:54 after all, we already have
0:53 so much in common! I know,
0:52 it seems impossible,
0:51 I'm a Kearney street stop
0:50 and you're a Filmore kinda
0:59 girl, but we can make this
0:48 work.
0:47 I know some things
0:46 about you - you like
0:45 paperbacks! I couldn't really
0:44 see any of the titles, but they're
0:43 'probably fiction, right?
0:42 Great genre, that fiction.
0:41 Gotta love made-up stuff.
0:40 Beats reality by
0:39 a light-year, doesn't it?
0:38 Get it, because we're talking fiction and
0:37 I used a unit of measurement
0:36 common to science fiction,
0:35 unless that's not a genre
0:34 you like in which case
0:33 it's an actual unit of measurement.
0:32 See, I'm
0:31 funny! A guy with a
0:30 sense of humor, that is
0:29 but one of the many
0:28 positive things that I am.
0:27 I have other qualities
0:26 I'm tall!
0:25 Well, not really, I guess you're
0:24 actually a little taller than me, but
0:23 still, not intimidated
0:22 by tall people, I've got
0:21 that going for me! And I'm
0:20 patient! How
0:19 long have we shared these bus rides
0:18 for? Why, it has to
0:17 have been months since I first
0:16 laid eyes on you, and
0:15 I've waited that entire time to
0:14 compose this entire missive,
0:13 memorize it completely,
0:12 blurt it all out in the space of sixty
0:11 seconds. Hey, I've got
0:10 the good memory thing too!
0:09 So since we're
0:08 perfectly matched for each other, what
0:07 do you say we get to know each other
0:06 even better, say over cofee?
0:05 Unless you don't
0:04 like coffee.
0:03
0:02 Yes.
0:01 Those are definitely the things
0:00 I should have said. | This is why I prefer the red line.
I’m certain it would’ve happened eventually, fate is inevitable like that. You could make your decision between the blue or red line but if you are destined to meet someone, location becomes irrelevant for the most part; it’s just a matter of time.
And our time was today.
I never understood why the train stopped so frequently when I first moved to this city, but after walking around all day I was grateful to catch it at 6th and Washington. The rain had been beautiful when I was younger, but now it just threatened the posterity of my paperwork through a tired messenger bag. I no longer had the time to enjoy it. The train would make its next stop in five minutes, and then it was a steady fifteen-minute ride to the park-and-ride, just far enough from downtown to make driving tolerable.
No, that’s not right. That’s the schedule for the other line. This line makes frequent stops for the next ten minutes on the opposite side of the city centre before arriving at my destination. The other line was early today. I kicked myself for not being able to walk faster when I saw you.
I would recognize your hair anywhere. An indecisive color, we agreed. For the first time in years I prayed, that you wouldn’t turn around. Greedy, I took in every aspect of you. You wore makeup today, but your pantsuit was definitely a call back to your once-hatred of all things feminine. You still closed your eyes and smiled during the beginning of a good song. Did you finally submit your writing to an editor, or did you choose the position at the hospital after all? I’d given up my right to asking about you when I left. You’d think I’d have known better than to stay in the same city if seeing you would bother me this much, but I couldn’t bring myself to move any further than the parallel train.
As the next stop’s name lit up the overhead sign I prepared to get up and leave you alone, but it was just a matter of time, really. As I gathered my things, you excused yourself from the window seat and made it towards the door behind you, and looked straight into me.
And for a brief second before the anger kicked in, you smiled. The train was slowing down as you rushed toward me.
“I’d ask where you’ve been, but apparently not too far to visit. Or call. An email would have been appreciated.”
How I’d have liked to.
“It’s good to see you again, Marie.”
“You could have seen me sooner if you wanted. You could have seen me everyday!”
With the amount of time I’ve spent getting my affairs in order the past few weeks, I really couldn’t have.
“That’s not what I wanted out of life.”
“Not what you---What did you want, exactly, that you couldn’t even tell me before disappearing?”
People were staring. I could tell you. It wasn’t too late to change my mind.
“I wanted a man, Marie.”
You stepped back as if you had been slapped. And I couldn’t decide which was worse, making you hate me the rest of your life, or forcing you to watch while mine ended. I wasn’t lying, I wanted to find the man that could fix cancer, but I was a bit short on time.
You just looked at me as the train pulled to a stop, and I saw as the hurt and confusion changed into pain and resignation in a matter of seconds. You smiled one more time, the saddest genuine smile I’d ever seen. The doors began to open, and you looked out before placing your hand on my arm.
“I hope you live a happy life, Vanessa”, you said softly, and stepped out onto the platform. An automated voice announced the stop as several riders shuffled past me. It wasn’t until the doors were once again closing that I managed to reply, “I did.”
| |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | I stared in his eyes , confused . Questions were popping in my head . Who is he? Why he is causing this weird feelings of familiarity and connectedness ? Why ?
I stand up and sit next to him and I ask :
Why you from all the men in the world ?
Because you love to hunt and I love to be hunted
He smiled gently like an old friend .
The bus was stopping, he stands up ... It is his stop. He is gonna run away .
- Any other questions ? He asked smiling gently
- Where do you live ?
- Find it out ... he said smiling and he got off the bus .
So it is . The hunt begins . I never felt more alive and more hungry . | There's that diner we like just around the corner from here. I can see it creeping by between the buildings in the narrow alley that runs under the tracks. Do you remember? It was snowing, and we ducked in to shake the cold off of our shoulders and out of our hands. You weren't hungry at first, but the warmth of the place must have gotten to you.
Maintenance, they tell us, it's slowing us down. The speakers are crackling.
Oh, and over there is where we used to meet up for drinks after work...but you know that. We went so many times. I don't know if I want to go back. It's already passed, anyway.
Your stop is next? I know. Oh, that was rhetorical. Forgive me, it's late, and my head is aching.
Are you sure you can't....of course. No, that's asking too much. Do you see the park? Spring is doing it wonders. Even by streetlight, I love how the leaves dance.
Yes, here, your hat slipped out of your bag. Its color brings out your eyes. I'm glad that I haven't forgotten that shade of green.
Sometimes I stand as the train slows down; I feel the momentum pushing me toward the front. I lean against it and pretend it is my weight against the train's terrible force. I do not always win.
What's that? Oh. The doors are opening. Your stop. It used to be our stop. Perhaps, someday, it could--
-----
*Author's note: Modified for an above-ground train.*
#2 | |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | He's standing next to me. I can't really tell what he looks like, I'm really trying not to notice. However, it does stop him from speaking to me.
"Hey, is Rosslyn the first station across the river?" he asks.
I turn to him. He's achingly handsome, with a slight smile. His face perfect, but not in that wax-figure slash Abercrombie model way, in that actual person way. His body is full of hints of firmness and energy. He almost seems to listen with his eyes, the way they fix on you, like he listens to every word expecting to memorize what you said. I fight back the urge to kiss him on the spot.
"Uh...yeah, it's Rosslyn. Has the world's third longest continuous escalator too" I reply, turning to my normal response when nervous: trivia.
"Where are you headed?" I ask back
"Ballston."
I inhale through my teeth, "Yikes, this is a Blue line train, you'll need to get off and take an Orange at this stop."
"Oh, okay then. Thanks, man."
He turns away right as the deceleration into Rosslyn station. I ponder whether to kiss him again, but I know it's pretty stupid. Besides, I can't just assume he's somehow a deliverance from Heaven. He's probably a douche when you get to know him, or he hates Firefly or the Smashing Pumpkins or calls himself a anarcho-socialist or some other deal breaker. The train pulls into the station, and comes to a stop. Before the doors open, I move toward him. I feel glad that I didn't bring anything with me today as I leave my seat. Just before he slips out of my reach, he stops as the crowd exits the train. I bump into him and we both go toppling.
We're lying there, me on top of him, like some cheesy-ass movie as I blush and stammer profusely. He just looks puzzled.
"Uh, this is kinda awkward," he says, "And I kinda like girls, sorry."
I roll off him and he gets up and walks away, like that. I lay there, pondering the ceiling vault of Rosslyn station as the crowd of commuters going home parts around me. Knowing I've already made a complete fool of myself by trying to act like an indie movie protagonist, I put my head in my hands and softly groan.
| There's that diner we like just around the corner from here. I can see it creeping by between the buildings in the narrow alley that runs under the tracks. Do you remember? It was snowing, and we ducked in to shake the cold off of our shoulders and out of our hands. You weren't hungry at first, but the warmth of the place must have gotten to you.
Maintenance, they tell us, it's slowing us down. The speakers are crackling.
Oh, and over there is where we used to meet up for drinks after work...but you know that. We went so many times. I don't know if I want to go back. It's already passed, anyway.
Your stop is next? I know. Oh, that was rhetorical. Forgive me, it's late, and my head is aching.
Are you sure you can't....of course. No, that's asking too much. Do you see the park? Spring is doing it wonders. Even by streetlight, I love how the leaves dance.
Yes, here, your hat slipped out of your bag. Its color brings out your eyes. I'm glad that I haven't forgotten that shade of green.
Sometimes I stand as the train slows down; I feel the momentum pushing me toward the front. I lean against it and pretend it is my weight against the train's terrible force. I do not always win.
What's that? Oh. The doors are opening. Your stop. It used to be our stop. Perhaps, someday, it could--
-----
*Author's note: Modified for an above-ground train.*
#2 | |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | 0:59 Hi, my name's Edwin
0:58 and you don't know me and I don't
0:57 really know you
0:56 but I'd really like to change that.
0:55 We ride the same bus,
0:54 after all, we already have
0:53 so much in common! I know,
0:52 it seems impossible,
0:51 I'm a Kearney street stop
0:50 and you're a Filmore kinda
0:59 girl, but we can make this
0:48 work.
0:47 I know some things
0:46 about you - you like
0:45 paperbacks! I couldn't really
0:44 see any of the titles, but they're
0:43 'probably fiction, right?
0:42 Great genre, that fiction.
0:41 Gotta love made-up stuff.
0:40 Beats reality by
0:39 a light-year, doesn't it?
0:38 Get it, because we're talking fiction and
0:37 I used a unit of measurement
0:36 common to science fiction,
0:35 unless that's not a genre
0:34 you like in which case
0:33 it's an actual unit of measurement.
0:32 See, I'm
0:31 funny! A guy with a
0:30 sense of humor, that is
0:29 but one of the many
0:28 positive things that I am.
0:27 I have other qualities
0:26 I'm tall!
0:25 Well, not really, I guess you're
0:24 actually a little taller than me, but
0:23 still, not intimidated
0:22 by tall people, I've got
0:21 that going for me! And I'm
0:20 patient! How
0:19 long have we shared these bus rides
0:18 for? Why, it has to
0:17 have been months since I first
0:16 laid eyes on you, and
0:15 I've waited that entire time to
0:14 compose this entire missive,
0:13 memorize it completely,
0:12 blurt it all out in the space of sixty
0:11 seconds. Hey, I've got
0:10 the good memory thing too!
0:09 So since we're
0:08 perfectly matched for each other, what
0:07 do you say we get to know each other
0:06 even better, say over cofee?
0:05 Unless you don't
0:04 like coffee.
0:03
0:02 Yes.
0:01 Those are definitely the things
0:00 I should have said. | There's that diner we like just around the corner from here. I can see it creeping by between the buildings in the narrow alley that runs under the tracks. Do you remember? It was snowing, and we ducked in to shake the cold off of our shoulders and out of our hands. You weren't hungry at first, but the warmth of the place must have gotten to you.
Maintenance, they tell us, it's slowing us down. The speakers are crackling.
Oh, and over there is where we used to meet up for drinks after work...but you know that. We went so many times. I don't know if I want to go back. It's already passed, anyway.
Your stop is next? I know. Oh, that was rhetorical. Forgive me, it's late, and my head is aching.
Are you sure you can't....of course. No, that's asking too much. Do you see the park? Spring is doing it wonders. Even by streetlight, I love how the leaves dance.
Yes, here, your hat slipped out of your bag. Its color brings out your eyes. I'm glad that I haven't forgotten that shade of green.
Sometimes I stand as the train slows down; I feel the momentum pushing me toward the front. I lean against it and pretend it is my weight against the train's terrible force. I do not always win.
What's that? Oh. The doors are opening. Your stop. It used to be our stop. Perhaps, someday, it could--
-----
*Author's note: Modified for an above-ground train.*
#2 | |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | 0:59 Hi, my name's Edwin
0:58 and you don't know me and I don't
0:57 really know you
0:56 but I'd really like to change that.
0:55 We ride the same bus,
0:54 after all, we already have
0:53 so much in common! I know,
0:52 it seems impossible,
0:51 I'm a Kearney street stop
0:50 and you're a Filmore kinda
0:59 girl, but we can make this
0:48 work.
0:47 I know some things
0:46 about you - you like
0:45 paperbacks! I couldn't really
0:44 see any of the titles, but they're
0:43 'probably fiction, right?
0:42 Great genre, that fiction.
0:41 Gotta love made-up stuff.
0:40 Beats reality by
0:39 a light-year, doesn't it?
0:38 Get it, because we're talking fiction and
0:37 I used a unit of measurement
0:36 common to science fiction,
0:35 unless that's not a genre
0:34 you like in which case
0:33 it's an actual unit of measurement.
0:32 See, I'm
0:31 funny! A guy with a
0:30 sense of humor, that is
0:29 but one of the many
0:28 positive things that I am.
0:27 I have other qualities
0:26 I'm tall!
0:25 Well, not really, I guess you're
0:24 actually a little taller than me, but
0:23 still, not intimidated
0:22 by tall people, I've got
0:21 that going for me! And I'm
0:20 patient! How
0:19 long have we shared these bus rides
0:18 for? Why, it has to
0:17 have been months since I first
0:16 laid eyes on you, and
0:15 I've waited that entire time to
0:14 compose this entire missive,
0:13 memorize it completely,
0:12 blurt it all out in the space of sixty
0:11 seconds. Hey, I've got
0:10 the good memory thing too!
0:09 So since we're
0:08 perfectly matched for each other, what
0:07 do you say we get to know each other
0:06 even better, say over cofee?
0:05 Unless you don't
0:04 like coffee.
0:03
0:02 Yes.
0:01 Those are definitely the things
0:00 I should have said. | I stared in his eyes , confused . Questions were popping in my head . Who is he? Why he is causing this weird feelings of familiarity and connectedness ? Why ?
I stand up and sit next to him and I ask :
Why you from all the men in the world ?
Because you love to hunt and I love to be hunted
He smiled gently like an old friend .
The bus was stopping, he stands up ... It is his stop. He is gonna run away .
- Any other questions ? He asked smiling gently
- Where do you live ?
- Find it out ... he said smiling and he got off the bus .
So it is . The hunt begins . I never felt more alive and more hungry . | |
[WP] describe the 60 seconds you have to talk to your soul mate before they get off the subway at the next stop. | 0:59 Hi, my name's Edwin
0:58 and you don't know me and I don't
0:57 really know you
0:56 but I'd really like to change that.
0:55 We ride the same bus,
0:54 after all, we already have
0:53 so much in common! I know,
0:52 it seems impossible,
0:51 I'm a Kearney street stop
0:50 and you're a Filmore kinda
0:59 girl, but we can make this
0:48 work.
0:47 I know some things
0:46 about you - you like
0:45 paperbacks! I couldn't really
0:44 see any of the titles, but they're
0:43 'probably fiction, right?
0:42 Great genre, that fiction.
0:41 Gotta love made-up stuff.
0:40 Beats reality by
0:39 a light-year, doesn't it?
0:38 Get it, because we're talking fiction and
0:37 I used a unit of measurement
0:36 common to science fiction,
0:35 unless that's not a genre
0:34 you like in which case
0:33 it's an actual unit of measurement.
0:32 See, I'm
0:31 funny! A guy with a
0:30 sense of humor, that is
0:29 but one of the many
0:28 positive things that I am.
0:27 I have other qualities
0:26 I'm tall!
0:25 Well, not really, I guess you're
0:24 actually a little taller than me, but
0:23 still, not intimidated
0:22 by tall people, I've got
0:21 that going for me! And I'm
0:20 patient! How
0:19 long have we shared these bus rides
0:18 for? Why, it has to
0:17 have been months since I first
0:16 laid eyes on you, and
0:15 I've waited that entire time to
0:14 compose this entire missive,
0:13 memorize it completely,
0:12 blurt it all out in the space of sixty
0:11 seconds. Hey, I've got
0:10 the good memory thing too!
0:09 So since we're
0:08 perfectly matched for each other, what
0:07 do you say we get to know each other
0:06 even better, say over cofee?
0:05 Unless you don't
0:04 like coffee.
0:03
0:02 Yes.
0:01 Those are definitely the things
0:00 I should have said. | He's standing next to me. I can't really tell what he looks like, I'm really trying not to notice. However, it does stop him from speaking to me.
"Hey, is Rosslyn the first station across the river?" he asks.
I turn to him. He's achingly handsome, with a slight smile. His face perfect, but not in that wax-figure slash Abercrombie model way, in that actual person way. His body is full of hints of firmness and energy. He almost seems to listen with his eyes, the way they fix on you, like he listens to every word expecting to memorize what you said. I fight back the urge to kiss him on the spot.
"Uh...yeah, it's Rosslyn. Has the world's third longest continuous escalator too" I reply, turning to my normal response when nervous: trivia.
"Where are you headed?" I ask back
"Ballston."
I inhale through my teeth, "Yikes, this is a Blue line train, you'll need to get off and take an Orange at this stop."
"Oh, okay then. Thanks, man."
He turns away right as the deceleration into Rosslyn station. I ponder whether to kiss him again, but I know it's pretty stupid. Besides, I can't just assume he's somehow a deliverance from Heaven. He's probably a douche when you get to know him, or he hates Firefly or the Smashing Pumpkins or calls himself a anarcho-socialist or some other deal breaker. The train pulls into the station, and comes to a stop. Before the doors open, I move toward him. I feel glad that I didn't bring anything with me today as I leave my seat. Just before he slips out of my reach, he stops as the crowd exits the train. I bump into him and we both go toppling.
We're lying there, me on top of him, like some cheesy-ass movie as I blush and stammer profusely. He just looks puzzled.
"Uh, this is kinda awkward," he says, "And I kinda like girls, sorry."
I roll off him and he gets up and walks away, like that. I lay there, pondering the ceiling vault of Rosslyn station as the crowd of commuters going home parts around me. Knowing I've already made a complete fool of myself by trying to act like an indie movie protagonist, I put my head in my hands and softly groan.
| |
What do they do? Can others tell the boy is possessed? Go wild. | [WP] A demon attempts to possess an 11-year old, but finds itself unable to control or escape from the child. A decade later they've become close friends and celebrate the occasion. | “Thank you for teaching me. I never knew it would be so easy to not care about being crazy.” The man said. “Now after all these years when I look back, man, you were so scarry then. It took me what, two years to just acknowledge I had more than one voice in me. And those first dreams. Maaaan you fucked me in the head as long as you could haven’t you."
Demon just stood in silence. The man was watching himself in the mirror over the bar.
“You know, sometimes I’m not sure you’re even there. Sometimes, I think you found a way to get out, and I get shit scared. But you know that already don’t you. I find it somehow reassuring now, your presence. You could talk more though. I know you’re angry but c’mon, holding it down that long is too much even for a demon. “
“Leave me be. I don’t want your pity. Die already. I want out.”
“So, there you are. All these people started thinking I was crazy, talking to myself. It’s much better now you’re here. “ He laughed out loud. “You know, I read a lot about occultism these past few years and it could be I am your last host. Think about it, all the things you can’t do. That happens only when a demon is ready to die. ‘When their time comes, demons instinctively find a suitable class of soul that has just right energy to cancel their energy.’ They call us ‘human graves’. “
“You know nothing. I have never not lived. I always was. I cannot be undone because I was never made.”
“I don’t know man. How do you explain your status now? You’re fucked, and I with you. You know I can’t reincarnate anymore according to that book. I have to die with you and nothing can be done to change that.”
Silence. The man could feel demons anger.
“So I was thinking..You know what day is it today?” Silence. “It’s 10 years since we first met and I have planned a surprise for you today. We are going on a killing trip maaan. We’ll start with the people from this bar and see where it goes. What else would you like? A rape? What gets a demon off? Talk to me buddy.
The bartender that was standing there all night trying not to look into the mans eyes picked up the phone:”I called the police, better go away right now.”
“Don’t worry man. I was just messing around with my demon. I won’t kill anyone.”
“We don’t need your crazy here, please go away” The bartender said.
He payed his drinks for the night and went out.
“Maybe that’s why I’m your grave. You’re everything that is scarry and I am everything that is scared. Even with demon inside of me I am still scared of police and want to ease the feelings of random bartender. You have to appreciate the irony of this universe. The most powerful force in existence placed in a biggest woos on the planet”
Silence.
| This one was easy. Practically let me walk into his body. This boy has been picked on, lied to, cheated, stolen from, broken, heart broken, all sort of diabolical human things! The date was 31 may 2004. Just out of grade 4 was it? Ah.. Time is such a quandary in this realm, not back where I'm from things just appear!
I suppose it's good they have it like this. Wouldn't want minds fighting especially when one was just starting out. I'm one of the oldest demons, I've been alive (if that's what you would call it) since the beginning of time. Yes, I am he. You see, the creator and I were good friends. We both understood the dimensions and we ruled quite equally. Until the falling out that is...
Ah... And that's when I came here, I had almost forgotten my past lives, heck I would've if the subject wasn't so willing. He had made a pact at a young age. A quest for knowledge if you will and I just so happened to have the answers. It was mutual I suppose, one life for another but it does make me wonder sometimes how he's faring back in my realm. Hell, I wonder where he even is anymore, I thought I stopped caring the day I set foot on this sorry planet.
The things is I liked the kid. I protected him but he was a really good contender, always working out the negotiation, always trying to get the better deal, you would think he was from my realm. It was never full assimilation. Not with his knowing, you see... Deals and offers are different on my dimension. It's more ethereal and prompt. Things aren't hindered like they are here.
We live on good terms. I think he's trying to speak here but I really don't know. It's been mutual since forever there's never been any worry or question as to who's controlling who. We see eye to eye him and I.
Right, story time. Feels nice to talk about myself for once instead of putting on that facade. Back to the original question. We've decided to take it easy. It's been a long 20 years for him and a sliver of my span. For one night at least, he will be able to sleep safely. The dream world has just begun. |
What do they do? Can others tell the boy is possessed? Go wild. | [WP] A demon attempts to possess an 11-year old, but finds itself unable to control or escape from the child. A decade later they've become close friends and celebrate the occasion. | (1/3)
It started with an open door.
The girl was huddled under her covers, a flashlight clenched between her teeth. It was a minute to midnight and the 11-year-old was much too busy to go to bed. She drew the blankets closer overhead, scrawling intently on her brand new sketchbook with well-worn crayons.
She was in the middle of coloring in a bloodstained sword when her flashlight went out. The girl paused her scribbling to bang open the battery pack with annoyance. When she lifted her sheets to toss aside the dead batteries, she saw that her bedroom door—her bedroom door that she was so certain she had closed when she disappeared under the covers—was wide open.
The girl did not remember anything else after that.
When she woke the next morning, her crayons were snapped into pieces, and her beautiful, brand new sketch book was overflowing with crude, scrawling images of a tall black stick figure. The final pages of the book were stained with a sticky black oil that the girl could not recognize.
It started with an open door.
--------------
When she went down for breakfast that morning, the girl was in a foul mood. Her precious drawings were ruined, her sketch book slick with oil and ugly black figures and thoroughly unusable.
When the girl had finished tearing through breakfast and pulling on her clothes, her father called to her from the kitchen, "Don't forget to feed the cat, Skylar!"
It was with grumbles and mutters that the girl dug out a can opener and cat food canister. She cracked the cat food open and dumped it into a bowl.
"Sasha!" the girl called.
The cat did not come.
Folding her arms, the girl waited. And waited.
The cat still did not come.
"Dad! Sasha isn't coming for breakfast!"
Her father appeared by the doorway. "I know we let him into the house last night. He must be sleeping in. Don't worry Skylar, he'll come out when he wakes up."
The girl folded her arms. "Wasting food is rude, Dad."
Her father smiled. "Why don't you put it back in the fridge then?"
The girl did as she was told. Despite her father's words, she saw neither head nor tail of Sasha the entire day.
To make matters worse, her flashlight was broken. That night, the girl found that the bulb refused to turn on, even after replacing the batteries three times.
The girl went to bed without drawing.
--------------
Over the next few days, the girl began to feel the cat was avoiding her. He never came when called, and would dart out of a room if the girl entered it. Sasha, however, was the only one of the girl's many newfound concerns.
She bought a new sketchbook. That night while preparing to break it in, the girl became unbearably dizzy, and collapsed. When her head finally cleared after what could have been anywhere from five minute to five hours she found that the pages in her sketchbook were all torn out. On the back cover of the book, drawn in some dark liquid, was a tall, stick-like figure. The girl noticed that her fingernails were bleeding.
On the sixth day, the girl bought new crayons. A beautiful set of 48, with her own, frugally accumulated savings. The next morning, her crayons were missing. She would discover buts and pieces of them in the days that followed, scattered across the house, in her soap, her food, even power outlets.
The cat continued to avoid her.
On the ninth day, the girl's last baby tooth fell out. Her father made a big deal of it, sagely advising her to hide it under her pillow that night. Privately, the girl thought her father was being rather dumb, but she made a great show of putting the tooth under her pillow when she was sure he was looking.
The next morning, the girl discovered a full set of human teeth underneath her pillow. She threw them away immediately. For the rest of the week, the girl would discover bony, bitter teeth in places she was sure teeth did not belong, everywhere she went. In her books. Embedded in her crayons (the fourth replacement set in weeks). During lunch she nearly choked on a tooth hidden inside her muffin.
On the twelfth day she cornered the cat.
"You've been bad, haven't you, Sasha?" the girl said quite pleasantly. "You shouldn't be avoiding me like this. I don't like being ignored."
The cat struggled. Its neck was pinned under the girl's fist.
"Is this all your fault?" the girl asked, producing a tiny gray tooth from her pocket. "If it is, I'm going to make you stop it."
That afternoon, the girl cut open her cat, slowly, careful, and altogether casually. When Sasha finally stopped struggling, the girl gather up his remains and the scissors she used to make them that way and dumped it all in a hole in a woods. Shovel in hand, the girl filled it in with mud and returned to her house to wash her hands.
In the mirror, the girl saw a black figure with a pale face and matchstick-like arms looking back at her. She finished washing her hands, dried them off, and made to exit the bathroom.
"You're a creepy little brat, aren't you?" the reflection asked.
"Don't be rude," the girl replied. She turned off the bathroom light and returned to her room. From the shiny surface of her desk lamp, the dark and pale reflection continued to speak to her.
"Why'd you kill the cat?"
"I was curious."
"Curious?"
After a moment, the reflection inquired, "Was that supposed to be a joke?"
The girl laughed. "What do you think?"
The reflection was no longer in her lamp. In fact, when the girl took a closer look, she saw she wasn't casting a reflection at all.
But the voice was still there. Sharp and bitter, the voice from nowhere tasted of metal and ozone as it invaded the girl's ears.
"But why did you kill him?"
"I dunno. Maybe I thought my stuff would stop breaking, and all the weird things would stop happening if he was gone. Maybe I really was just curious."
The voice was silent for a moment. For a moment, th girl felt cold, unnaturally long hands against her shoulders. She shivered.
"You really are a creepy brat."
--------------
The next day, at school, the girl realized the marks had faded. When she woke up that morning, there were angry bruises in the shape of handprints on her shoulders, the bruises were slick with black oil, and hurt to touch. But when she settled into her seat at school, she realized the marks were gone. It still hurt though.
At recess, the reflection watched her from a window. "That boy you were with. Who was he?"
"Him?" The girl glanced to a crying sixth grader near the monkey bars. "That's Isaac Munroe. He's nice. I like his writing."
"Why did you hit him earlier?"
"He made me angry."
"Why?"
"For being stupid. And weak."
The girl felt no harsh ozone on her ears, only silence. After a moment, she looked over her shoulder. The reflection was gone. When the girl looked down, she saw her fingernails were bleeding again.
She dried her hands, bound her fingertips in bandaids, and bought herself lunch with the money she took from Isaac Munroe.
--------------
"But why?"
The girl set down her crayons and looked at the pale faced nightmare in her bedroom mirror. Her smile was crooked and jaunty. "That's all you ever ask, it's so boring! Why why why. Why do I need a reason?"
"You don't."
The girl resumed her drawing. "Then why do you keep asking?"
"I was curious," the reflection replied.
The girl laughed. For a moment, she thought she heard another voice's chuckling, coming from her mirror. But when she stopped to listen, the girl heard only silence
--------------
The girl was tearing into Isaac Munroe's book bag, tossing his papers in every direction without a care in the world. Isaac was shifting listlessly next to the girl, looking as though someone had glued his feet to the ground.
"Skylar, I have to get home," Isaac complained, rubbing at his eyes.
"Are you implying I'm bad company, Isaac? And here I thought we were friends."
Isaac somehow managed to straighten his voice and ask, steady and level, "Please let me leave. I need to get home."
The girls voice was low when she replied, "Is that all you have to say?"
Isaac took a deep breath, stood up straight, and nodded.
"You're so boring, Isaac," the girl said languidly. "It's just UNBEARABLE!" Suddenly, the girl was shouting, every part of her overflowing with fury.
She threw the book bag aside. The voice of the reflection was alarmed as it trickled down her ears. "Skylar—"
"Why are you so weak?! Why do you just sit there and take it?! I loath you, Isaac Munroe! I loath everything about you—"
Wide eyed, Isaac snatched his bag and ran. The girl was breathing heavily, glaring as he fled.
"You really are a creepy little brat," said a voice in the girl's ear
| This one was easy. Practically let me walk into his body. This boy has been picked on, lied to, cheated, stolen from, broken, heart broken, all sort of diabolical human things! The date was 31 may 2004. Just out of grade 4 was it? Ah.. Time is such a quandary in this realm, not back where I'm from things just appear!
I suppose it's good they have it like this. Wouldn't want minds fighting especially when one was just starting out. I'm one of the oldest demons, I've been alive (if that's what you would call it) since the beginning of time. Yes, I am he. You see, the creator and I were good friends. We both understood the dimensions and we ruled quite equally. Until the falling out that is...
Ah... And that's when I came here, I had almost forgotten my past lives, heck I would've if the subject wasn't so willing. He had made a pact at a young age. A quest for knowledge if you will and I just so happened to have the answers. It was mutual I suppose, one life for another but it does make me wonder sometimes how he's faring back in my realm. Hell, I wonder where he even is anymore, I thought I stopped caring the day I set foot on this sorry planet.
The things is I liked the kid. I protected him but he was a really good contender, always working out the negotiation, always trying to get the better deal, you would think he was from my realm. It was never full assimilation. Not with his knowing, you see... Deals and offers are different on my dimension. It's more ethereal and prompt. Things aren't hindered like they are here.
We live on good terms. I think he's trying to speak here but I really don't know. It's been mutual since forever there's never been any worry or question as to who's controlling who. We see eye to eye him and I.
Right, story time. Feels nice to talk about myself for once instead of putting on that facade. Back to the original question. We've decided to take it easy. It's been a long 20 years for him and a sliver of my span. For one night at least, he will be able to sleep safely. The dream world has just begun. |
What do they do? Can others tell the boy is possessed? Go wild. | [WP] A demon attempts to possess an 11-year old, but finds itself unable to control or escape from the child. A decade later they've become close friends and celebrate the occasion. | There is no monster in the closet, nothing lurking under the bed or in the shadowed corners. Sometimes there is, but not here. Not in our house. The only thing demons here sleep under is cotton sheets and a duvet, and that's on *top* of the bed. Of course, my little brother doesn't know that.
Technically the twins are my half siblings from my dad's second wife, and they seem to specialize in getting on my nerves. I know how very fairytale that sounds, but Amanda doesn't fulfill the whole Evil Stepmother archetype. She's got too much of the Soccer Mom in her, and the twins are really more mischievous than anything. I swear that Dillon isn't actually being malicious, but it can feel that way when he consistently wakes me up at two in the morning to borrow my old teddybear, Mr. Hibbs, to ward off his nightmares.
Too bad he can't be more like Milly who is dead to the world as soon as the lights go out. She even sleeps through my nightly attempts to convince her twin to just go to bed with Mr. Hibbs in the first place, but he won't hear it because "big boys don't need teddybears." Never mind that it's always a different story once the nightmares wake him.
When I finally crawl back in bed Jeff is waiting for me. "I was going to wait until morning, but. . ."
"But what?" I ask.
"I think you could use an early birthday present. I've been doing some research with Charlie into banishing nightmares, and since the dreamcatchers haven't been working, we thought that maybe you could summon a Baku to eat them instead."
"Summon a. . . That's brilliant!" I squeeze him in a tight hug "Why didn't I think of that?"
Jeff squirms out of my embrace. "Ugh. The indignity! Don't *do* that! I'll have you know that—"
"Yeah, yeah. You're a powerful demon from the Seventh Echelon, Holder of the Third Key, Master of Lies and the Devourer of Souls." I let him go, smiling. "You kinda lost all rights to dignity when you got summoned by an eleven year old girl armed with chicken bones and kosher salt, who trapped you in her stuffed unicorn plushy and called you Rainbow for two years."
"Please, don't remind me!" He moans. "And here I was being nice for once. See if I ever do anything for you again, you little ingrate!"
"I know, you even studied for me. I'm sure Hibbs was shocked to see you crack a book."
"That old bear is many things, but if there is one thing Mr. Charlie Hibbs has never been, it is shocked." Jeff runs his fingers through the vibrant pink locks of his floppy mohawk, avoiding the lethal points of his iridescent horns with the ease of long practice. "Anyway, it wasn't hard to convince him of my sincerity since we've all been losing sleep over this."
"Speaking of losing sleep, let's talk about this in the morning, ok?" I cover a yawn. "I've still got school tomorrow, and we can figure out the summoning later. Plus we've got to celebrate!"
"Ah yes, I look forward to the night of debauchery." His grin shows off his razor sharp teeth.
"Plenty of debauchery. There might even be shenanigans!" I tease, tapping his nose. "Happy tenth anniversary." I say, curling up next to him.
"Happy birthday." He replies.
Edit: formatting. I might continue this if there's interest, but this is what I've got for now. | This one was easy. Practically let me walk into his body. This boy has been picked on, lied to, cheated, stolen from, broken, heart broken, all sort of diabolical human things! The date was 31 may 2004. Just out of grade 4 was it? Ah.. Time is such a quandary in this realm, not back where I'm from things just appear!
I suppose it's good they have it like this. Wouldn't want minds fighting especially when one was just starting out. I'm one of the oldest demons, I've been alive (if that's what you would call it) since the beginning of time. Yes, I am he. You see, the creator and I were good friends. We both understood the dimensions and we ruled quite equally. Until the falling out that is...
Ah... And that's when I came here, I had almost forgotten my past lives, heck I would've if the subject wasn't so willing. He had made a pact at a young age. A quest for knowledge if you will and I just so happened to have the answers. It was mutual I suppose, one life for another but it does make me wonder sometimes how he's faring back in my realm. Hell, I wonder where he even is anymore, I thought I stopped caring the day I set foot on this sorry planet.
The things is I liked the kid. I protected him but he was a really good contender, always working out the negotiation, always trying to get the better deal, you would think he was from my realm. It was never full assimilation. Not with his knowing, you see... Deals and offers are different on my dimension. It's more ethereal and prompt. Things aren't hindered like they are here.
We live on good terms. I think he's trying to speak here but I really don't know. It's been mutual since forever there's never been any worry or question as to who's controlling who. We see eye to eye him and I.
Right, story time. Feels nice to talk about myself for once instead of putting on that facade. Back to the original question. We've decided to take it easy. It's been a long 20 years for him and a sliver of my span. For one night at least, he will be able to sleep safely. The dream world has just begun. |
What do they do? Can others tell the boy is possessed? Go wild. | [WP] A demon attempts to possess an 11-year old, but finds itself unable to control or escape from the child. A decade later they've become close friends and celebrate the occasion. | This is my first post here, looking to get back into creative writing again. Would appreciate any feedback you guys have! Thanks :)
It's a normal night, just like any other. I'm sitting in a room full of people, feigning interest in the everyday hum drum that humans find so amusing for some reason. Silly twats, like I honestly care about how drunk Justin Beiber was when he finally crashed his Lamborghini and joined my fellow brethren in the great below! I can feel that all to familiar pang again- she wants out. She always wants out. This is my night, it's my turn to be in the drivers seat. Theres the pang again...damn she's opinionated, I wonder how she got that way.
When I met Taylor she was an empty vessel so to speak. So young, so imaginative, so willing to believe in something other than herself - to her I was a thing that went bump in the night...which made me all the more appealing to her; what a strange child. She let me in, no questions asked - no thoughts to the repercussions that her actions might have....a quality I still admire, by the way. The minute our souls intertwined - wait, I should say entities cause God knows I haven't had a soul for some time- from the minute our entities intertwined I knew there was something different. I couldn't control her the same way I did my other meat suits, I was powerless. Oh sure, I tried to escape a few times- but it was futile. No control, no escape...until eventually I didn't want to escape. The silly young thing I possessed had grown and developed into a wonderful, intelligent woman who has still not lost her childish sense of wonderment, one who has, in turn, possessed me.
10 years flies by, it's almost like a blink - but out of my thousands of years flitting from meat suit to meat suit, this 10 years has been my favourite, my awakening, my redemption so to speak. Theres that pang again..
"Do you mind?" I say out loud. The greasy guy who has been buying me dirty martinis all night whips his hand away from my thigh - thinking that I was talking to him. Sometimes I forget how beautiful my little Taylor is and how gross men can be!
The voice in my head hisses "Get that creep away from me or I'll reek like an Abercrombie store for days - I'm pretty sure he spells shower c-o-l-o-g-n-e". I stifle a laugh and politely excuse myself to use the little girls room. I close the door behind me and turn the padlock.
"I'd appreciate if you would let me have my night miss Taylor" I say to my reflection
"I know I know - my skin was crawling from that dude. Apparently 3 martinis and I'm fare game.Let's just finish our drink and head on home".
I see my reflection nodding - one more drink then we're outta here. I return to the table to find another dirty martini waiting for me - an apology from Abercrombie. I sip on the drink, contemplating the significance of the date - 10 years together, 10 years...
Suddenly Taylors voice pipes up again "Luc, I don't feel so good- feeling kind of dizzy" You're just drunk I respond - I forget that she's quite the lightweight. "Luc seriously...dizzy" - then silence. I decide to leave, as I walk to the car Taylor's body starts to lag - I'll never get used to walking in high heels. Then suddenly darkness.
Rough hands on Taylor's shoulders, her arms, her breasts - I am hyper aware now, no more darkness. Taylor's eyes shoot open and I see that I am on the shredded back seat of a shitty Honda. I see Abercrombie, the slime bag- finally getting what he wanted, what Taylor and I wouldn't give him; the pig. Groping, fumbling, tearing - so desperate this one. I started to feel something that I haven't felt since my time below - hatred, red hot fiery hatred. I tried to move Taylor's body - no response- I willed her to move - nothing. I felt helpless, impotent, how could I fail her this way? I prayed to whatever would listen to take me instead, make me feel this pain and to spare my innocent friend. My heart (or at least what I had left of one) broke and I felt a tear roll down Taylor's cheek - cause in what world would anything holy listen to me.
A Jolt, a white light and the familiar vacuum feeling and I was free. I hovered above this disgusting scene for a moment - making sure that Taylor was still out. Then I dove in. He was easy to possess, to control. That made my plan that much simpler.
I did Taylors shirt back up and carried her back to her car. I put her down in her back seat and slowly kissed her forehead - savouring her warmth and Vanilla scented skin.
I took Abercrombie for a walk, my plan was simple - to give him a niiiiiiiiiiice long bath in the river. I waded in, let the icy waters fill his jeans. I could hear him screaming in the background. I waded in a bit deeper - the screaming turned to threats - yeah like he could do anything. Deeper still. I took one more deep breath and then dove to the bottom. Threats turned to pleading, then regressed to screaming - then eventually silence - I succumbed to the dark. My last thoughts were of my Taylor, my possesser, my redemption. | This one was easy. Practically let me walk into his body. This boy has been picked on, lied to, cheated, stolen from, broken, heart broken, all sort of diabolical human things! The date was 31 may 2004. Just out of grade 4 was it? Ah.. Time is such a quandary in this realm, not back where I'm from things just appear!
I suppose it's good they have it like this. Wouldn't want minds fighting especially when one was just starting out. I'm one of the oldest demons, I've been alive (if that's what you would call it) since the beginning of time. Yes, I am he. You see, the creator and I were good friends. We both understood the dimensions and we ruled quite equally. Until the falling out that is...
Ah... And that's when I came here, I had almost forgotten my past lives, heck I would've if the subject wasn't so willing. He had made a pact at a young age. A quest for knowledge if you will and I just so happened to have the answers. It was mutual I suppose, one life for another but it does make me wonder sometimes how he's faring back in my realm. Hell, I wonder where he even is anymore, I thought I stopped caring the day I set foot on this sorry planet.
The things is I liked the kid. I protected him but he was a really good contender, always working out the negotiation, always trying to get the better deal, you would think he was from my realm. It was never full assimilation. Not with his knowing, you see... Deals and offers are different on my dimension. It's more ethereal and prompt. Things aren't hindered like they are here.
We live on good terms. I think he's trying to speak here but I really don't know. It's been mutual since forever there's never been any worry or question as to who's controlling who. We see eye to eye him and I.
Right, story time. Feels nice to talk about myself for once instead of putting on that facade. Back to the original question. We've decided to take it easy. It's been a long 20 years for him and a sliver of my span. For one night at least, he will be able to sleep safely. The dream world has just begun. |
What do they do? Can others tell the boy is possessed? Go wild. | [WP] A demon attempts to possess an 11-year old, but finds itself unable to control or escape from the child. A decade later they've become close friends and celebrate the occasion. | “Thank you for teaching me. I never knew it would be so easy to not care about being crazy.” The man said. “Now after all these years when I look back, man, you were so scarry then. It took me what, two years to just acknowledge I had more than one voice in me. And those first dreams. Maaaan you fucked me in the head as long as you could haven’t you."
Demon just stood in silence. The man was watching himself in the mirror over the bar.
“You know, sometimes I’m not sure you’re even there. Sometimes, I think you found a way to get out, and I get shit scared. But you know that already don’t you. I find it somehow reassuring now, your presence. You could talk more though. I know you’re angry but c’mon, holding it down that long is too much even for a demon. “
“Leave me be. I don’t want your pity. Die already. I want out.”
“So, there you are. All these people started thinking I was crazy, talking to myself. It’s much better now you’re here. “ He laughed out loud. “You know, I read a lot about occultism these past few years and it could be I am your last host. Think about it, all the things you can’t do. That happens only when a demon is ready to die. ‘When their time comes, demons instinctively find a suitable class of soul that has just right energy to cancel their energy.’ They call us ‘human graves’. “
“You know nothing. I have never not lived. I always was. I cannot be undone because I was never made.”
“I don’t know man. How do you explain your status now? You’re fucked, and I with you. You know I can’t reincarnate anymore according to that book. I have to die with you and nothing can be done to change that.”
Silence. The man could feel demons anger.
“So I was thinking..You know what day is it today?” Silence. “It’s 10 years since we first met and I have planned a surprise for you today. We are going on a killing trip maaan. We’ll start with the people from this bar and see where it goes. What else would you like? A rape? What gets a demon off? Talk to me buddy.
The bartender that was standing there all night trying not to look into the mans eyes picked up the phone:”I called the police, better go away right now.”
“Don’t worry man. I was just messing around with my demon. I won’t kill anyone.”
“We don’t need your crazy here, please go away” The bartender said.
He payed his drinks for the night and went out.
“Maybe that’s why I’m your grave. You’re everything that is scarry and I am everything that is scared. Even with demon inside of me I am still scared of police and want to ease the feelings of random bartender. You have to appreciate the irony of this universe. The most powerful force in existence placed in a biggest woos on the planet”
Silence.
| Here is my first response, feedback is apperciated, also edited for formatting:
Just like any night from the last 10 years, I’ve been trying to find someplace that has peace and is quiet, and tonight, on my 21st birthday, I just might do that. Most people, well, they’ll go out and have a ball, get drunk and lose their memory, maybe gain some new life experiences, but not me. Ever since I finally decided to check under my bed when I was 11, my life has been a living hell. I happened to find a little demon hiding under there, and before I knew it was a part of me. “Then why didn’t you try to get rid of it?” you might ask. Well, I have, I tried to perform an exorcism, and that didn’t work. Then I tried to perform an incision, and now I’m even dumber than before, thanks to messing up my brain. Anyways, today has been great so far, the demon hasn’t even tried to talk to me yet, so I’m hoping he’s gone away forever, because peace of mind is under-rated.
“Hey”, I hear, “Want to go out and get blitzed?”
“No”, I reply, “I’m through with you, I need to study for my diff eq exam tomorrow”
“Don’t worry”, he says, “You’re not smart enough to pass it anyways”
At this point, a thought briefly pops up in my head “Careful what you think there buddy, you could hurt me.”, he says, before the thought disappears.
Now I’m trying my hardest, but I get up to get a snack. “See”, he says, “You get distracted too easily, why even bother?”
Little does he know what is about to happen, it’s only when I look at the window that I hear objections. “You’re seriously going to hurt me? After all we’ve been through? I thought we were friends.”, he says.
“We are”, I reply, as I fall through my window “We all face our demons, and you’re the one who showed me that I can’t be alive without you, and I haven’t been alive with you”
|
What do they do? Can others tell the boy is possessed? Go wild. | [WP] A demon attempts to possess an 11-year old, but finds itself unable to control or escape from the child. A decade later they've become close friends and celebrate the occasion. | (1/3)
It started with an open door.
The girl was huddled under her covers, a flashlight clenched between her teeth. It was a minute to midnight and the 11-year-old was much too busy to go to bed. She drew the blankets closer overhead, scrawling intently on her brand new sketchbook with well-worn crayons.
She was in the middle of coloring in a bloodstained sword when her flashlight went out. The girl paused her scribbling to bang open the battery pack with annoyance. When she lifted her sheets to toss aside the dead batteries, she saw that her bedroom door—her bedroom door that she was so certain she had closed when she disappeared under the covers—was wide open.
The girl did not remember anything else after that.
When she woke the next morning, her crayons were snapped into pieces, and her beautiful, brand new sketch book was overflowing with crude, scrawling images of a tall black stick figure. The final pages of the book were stained with a sticky black oil that the girl could not recognize.
It started with an open door.
--------------
When she went down for breakfast that morning, the girl was in a foul mood. Her precious drawings were ruined, her sketch book slick with oil and ugly black figures and thoroughly unusable.
When the girl had finished tearing through breakfast and pulling on her clothes, her father called to her from the kitchen, "Don't forget to feed the cat, Skylar!"
It was with grumbles and mutters that the girl dug out a can opener and cat food canister. She cracked the cat food open and dumped it into a bowl.
"Sasha!" the girl called.
The cat did not come.
Folding her arms, the girl waited. And waited.
The cat still did not come.
"Dad! Sasha isn't coming for breakfast!"
Her father appeared by the doorway. "I know we let him into the house last night. He must be sleeping in. Don't worry Skylar, he'll come out when he wakes up."
The girl folded her arms. "Wasting food is rude, Dad."
Her father smiled. "Why don't you put it back in the fridge then?"
The girl did as she was told. Despite her father's words, she saw neither head nor tail of Sasha the entire day.
To make matters worse, her flashlight was broken. That night, the girl found that the bulb refused to turn on, even after replacing the batteries three times.
The girl went to bed without drawing.
--------------
Over the next few days, the girl began to feel the cat was avoiding her. He never came when called, and would dart out of a room if the girl entered it. Sasha, however, was the only one of the girl's many newfound concerns.
She bought a new sketchbook. That night while preparing to break it in, the girl became unbearably dizzy, and collapsed. When her head finally cleared after what could have been anywhere from five minute to five hours she found that the pages in her sketchbook were all torn out. On the back cover of the book, drawn in some dark liquid, was a tall, stick-like figure. The girl noticed that her fingernails were bleeding.
On the sixth day, the girl bought new crayons. A beautiful set of 48, with her own, frugally accumulated savings. The next morning, her crayons were missing. She would discover buts and pieces of them in the days that followed, scattered across the house, in her soap, her food, even power outlets.
The cat continued to avoid her.
On the ninth day, the girl's last baby tooth fell out. Her father made a big deal of it, sagely advising her to hide it under her pillow that night. Privately, the girl thought her father was being rather dumb, but she made a great show of putting the tooth under her pillow when she was sure he was looking.
The next morning, the girl discovered a full set of human teeth underneath her pillow. She threw them away immediately. For the rest of the week, the girl would discover bony, bitter teeth in places she was sure teeth did not belong, everywhere she went. In her books. Embedded in her crayons (the fourth replacement set in weeks). During lunch she nearly choked on a tooth hidden inside her muffin.
On the twelfth day she cornered the cat.
"You've been bad, haven't you, Sasha?" the girl said quite pleasantly. "You shouldn't be avoiding me like this. I don't like being ignored."
The cat struggled. Its neck was pinned under the girl's fist.
"Is this all your fault?" the girl asked, producing a tiny gray tooth from her pocket. "If it is, I'm going to make you stop it."
That afternoon, the girl cut open her cat, slowly, careful, and altogether casually. When Sasha finally stopped struggling, the girl gather up his remains and the scissors she used to make them that way and dumped it all in a hole in a woods. Shovel in hand, the girl filled it in with mud and returned to her house to wash her hands.
In the mirror, the girl saw a black figure with a pale face and matchstick-like arms looking back at her. She finished washing her hands, dried them off, and made to exit the bathroom.
"You're a creepy little brat, aren't you?" the reflection asked.
"Don't be rude," the girl replied. She turned off the bathroom light and returned to her room. From the shiny surface of her desk lamp, the dark and pale reflection continued to speak to her.
"Why'd you kill the cat?"
"I was curious."
"Curious?"
After a moment, the reflection inquired, "Was that supposed to be a joke?"
The girl laughed. "What do you think?"
The reflection was no longer in her lamp. In fact, when the girl took a closer look, she saw she wasn't casting a reflection at all.
But the voice was still there. Sharp and bitter, the voice from nowhere tasted of metal and ozone as it invaded the girl's ears.
"But why did you kill him?"
"I dunno. Maybe I thought my stuff would stop breaking, and all the weird things would stop happening if he was gone. Maybe I really was just curious."
The voice was silent for a moment. For a moment, th girl felt cold, unnaturally long hands against her shoulders. She shivered.
"You really are a creepy brat."
--------------
The next day, at school, the girl realized the marks had faded. When she woke up that morning, there were angry bruises in the shape of handprints on her shoulders, the bruises were slick with black oil, and hurt to touch. But when she settled into her seat at school, she realized the marks were gone. It still hurt though.
At recess, the reflection watched her from a window. "That boy you were with. Who was he?"
"Him?" The girl glanced to a crying sixth grader near the monkey bars. "That's Isaac Munroe. He's nice. I like his writing."
"Why did you hit him earlier?"
"He made me angry."
"Why?"
"For being stupid. And weak."
The girl felt no harsh ozone on her ears, only silence. After a moment, she looked over her shoulder. The reflection was gone. When the girl looked down, she saw her fingernails were bleeding again.
She dried her hands, bound her fingertips in bandaids, and bought herself lunch with the money she took from Isaac Munroe.
--------------
"But why?"
The girl set down her crayons and looked at the pale faced nightmare in her bedroom mirror. Her smile was crooked and jaunty. "That's all you ever ask, it's so boring! Why why why. Why do I need a reason?"
"You don't."
The girl resumed her drawing. "Then why do you keep asking?"
"I was curious," the reflection replied.
The girl laughed. For a moment, she thought she heard another voice's chuckling, coming from her mirror. But when she stopped to listen, the girl heard only silence
--------------
The girl was tearing into Isaac Munroe's book bag, tossing his papers in every direction without a care in the world. Isaac was shifting listlessly next to the girl, looking as though someone had glued his feet to the ground.
"Skylar, I have to get home," Isaac complained, rubbing at his eyes.
"Are you implying I'm bad company, Isaac? And here I thought we were friends."
Isaac somehow managed to straighten his voice and ask, steady and level, "Please let me leave. I need to get home."
The girls voice was low when she replied, "Is that all you have to say?"
Isaac took a deep breath, stood up straight, and nodded.
"You're so boring, Isaac," the girl said languidly. "It's just UNBEARABLE!" Suddenly, the girl was shouting, every part of her overflowing with fury.
She threw the book bag aside. The voice of the reflection was alarmed as it trickled down her ears. "Skylar—"
"Why are you so weak?! Why do you just sit there and take it?! I loath you, Isaac Munroe! I loath everything about you—"
Wide eyed, Isaac snatched his bag and ran. The girl was breathing heavily, glaring as he fled.
"You really are a creepy little brat," said a voice in the girl's ear
| Here is my first response, feedback is apperciated, also edited for formatting:
Just like any night from the last 10 years, I’ve been trying to find someplace that has peace and is quiet, and tonight, on my 21st birthday, I just might do that. Most people, well, they’ll go out and have a ball, get drunk and lose their memory, maybe gain some new life experiences, but not me. Ever since I finally decided to check under my bed when I was 11, my life has been a living hell. I happened to find a little demon hiding under there, and before I knew it was a part of me. “Then why didn’t you try to get rid of it?” you might ask. Well, I have, I tried to perform an exorcism, and that didn’t work. Then I tried to perform an incision, and now I’m even dumber than before, thanks to messing up my brain. Anyways, today has been great so far, the demon hasn’t even tried to talk to me yet, so I’m hoping he’s gone away forever, because peace of mind is under-rated.
“Hey”, I hear, “Want to go out and get blitzed?”
“No”, I reply, “I’m through with you, I need to study for my diff eq exam tomorrow”
“Don’t worry”, he says, “You’re not smart enough to pass it anyways”
At this point, a thought briefly pops up in my head “Careful what you think there buddy, you could hurt me.”, he says, before the thought disappears.
Now I’m trying my hardest, but I get up to get a snack. “See”, he says, “You get distracted too easily, why even bother?”
Little does he know what is about to happen, it’s only when I look at the window that I hear objections. “You’re seriously going to hurt me? After all we’ve been through? I thought we were friends.”, he says.
“We are”, I reply, as I fall through my window “We all face our demons, and you’re the one who showed me that I can’t be alive without you, and I haven’t been alive with you”
|
What do they do? Can others tell the boy is possessed? Go wild. | [WP] A demon attempts to possess an 11-year old, but finds itself unable to control or escape from the child. A decade later they've become close friends and celebrate the occasion. | There is no monster in the closet, nothing lurking under the bed or in the shadowed corners. Sometimes there is, but not here. Not in our house. The only thing demons here sleep under is cotton sheets and a duvet, and that's on *top* of the bed. Of course, my little brother doesn't know that.
Technically the twins are my half siblings from my dad's second wife, and they seem to specialize in getting on my nerves. I know how very fairytale that sounds, but Amanda doesn't fulfill the whole Evil Stepmother archetype. She's got too much of the Soccer Mom in her, and the twins are really more mischievous than anything. I swear that Dillon isn't actually being malicious, but it can feel that way when he consistently wakes me up at two in the morning to borrow my old teddybear, Mr. Hibbs, to ward off his nightmares.
Too bad he can't be more like Milly who is dead to the world as soon as the lights go out. She even sleeps through my nightly attempts to convince her twin to just go to bed with Mr. Hibbs in the first place, but he won't hear it because "big boys don't need teddybears." Never mind that it's always a different story once the nightmares wake him.
When I finally crawl back in bed Jeff is waiting for me. "I was going to wait until morning, but. . ."
"But what?" I ask.
"I think you could use an early birthday present. I've been doing some research with Charlie into banishing nightmares, and since the dreamcatchers haven't been working, we thought that maybe you could summon a Baku to eat them instead."
"Summon a. . . That's brilliant!" I squeeze him in a tight hug "Why didn't I think of that?"
Jeff squirms out of my embrace. "Ugh. The indignity! Don't *do* that! I'll have you know that—"
"Yeah, yeah. You're a powerful demon from the Seventh Echelon, Holder of the Third Key, Master of Lies and the Devourer of Souls." I let him go, smiling. "You kinda lost all rights to dignity when you got summoned by an eleven year old girl armed with chicken bones and kosher salt, who trapped you in her stuffed unicorn plushy and called you Rainbow for two years."
"Please, don't remind me!" He moans. "And here I was being nice for once. See if I ever do anything for you again, you little ingrate!"
"I know, you even studied for me. I'm sure Hibbs was shocked to see you crack a book."
"That old bear is many things, but if there is one thing Mr. Charlie Hibbs has never been, it is shocked." Jeff runs his fingers through the vibrant pink locks of his floppy mohawk, avoiding the lethal points of his iridescent horns with the ease of long practice. "Anyway, it wasn't hard to convince him of my sincerity since we've all been losing sleep over this."
"Speaking of losing sleep, let's talk about this in the morning, ok?" I cover a yawn. "I've still got school tomorrow, and we can figure out the summoning later. Plus we've got to celebrate!"
"Ah yes, I look forward to the night of debauchery." His grin shows off his razor sharp teeth.
"Plenty of debauchery. There might even be shenanigans!" I tease, tapping his nose. "Happy tenth anniversary." I say, curling up next to him.
"Happy birthday." He replies.
Edit: formatting. I might continue this if there's interest, but this is what I've got for now. | Here is my first response, feedback is apperciated, also edited for formatting:
Just like any night from the last 10 years, I’ve been trying to find someplace that has peace and is quiet, and tonight, on my 21st birthday, I just might do that. Most people, well, they’ll go out and have a ball, get drunk and lose their memory, maybe gain some new life experiences, but not me. Ever since I finally decided to check under my bed when I was 11, my life has been a living hell. I happened to find a little demon hiding under there, and before I knew it was a part of me. “Then why didn’t you try to get rid of it?” you might ask. Well, I have, I tried to perform an exorcism, and that didn’t work. Then I tried to perform an incision, and now I’m even dumber than before, thanks to messing up my brain. Anyways, today has been great so far, the demon hasn’t even tried to talk to me yet, so I’m hoping he’s gone away forever, because peace of mind is under-rated.
“Hey”, I hear, “Want to go out and get blitzed?”
“No”, I reply, “I’m through with you, I need to study for my diff eq exam tomorrow”
“Don’t worry”, he says, “You’re not smart enough to pass it anyways”
At this point, a thought briefly pops up in my head “Careful what you think there buddy, you could hurt me.”, he says, before the thought disappears.
Now I’m trying my hardest, but I get up to get a snack. “See”, he says, “You get distracted too easily, why even bother?”
Little does he know what is about to happen, it’s only when I look at the window that I hear objections. “You’re seriously going to hurt me? After all we’ve been through? I thought we were friends.”, he says.
“We are”, I reply, as I fall through my window “We all face our demons, and you’re the one who showed me that I can’t be alive without you, and I haven’t been alive with you”
|
What do they do? Can others tell the boy is possessed? Go wild. | [WP] A demon attempts to possess an 11-year old, but finds itself unable to control or escape from the child. A decade later they've become close friends and celebrate the occasion. | This is my first post here, looking to get back into creative writing again. Would appreciate any feedback you guys have! Thanks :)
It's a normal night, just like any other. I'm sitting in a room full of people, feigning interest in the everyday hum drum that humans find so amusing for some reason. Silly twats, like I honestly care about how drunk Justin Beiber was when he finally crashed his Lamborghini and joined my fellow brethren in the great below! I can feel that all to familiar pang again- she wants out. She always wants out. This is my night, it's my turn to be in the drivers seat. Theres the pang again...damn she's opinionated, I wonder how she got that way.
When I met Taylor she was an empty vessel so to speak. So young, so imaginative, so willing to believe in something other than herself - to her I was a thing that went bump in the night...which made me all the more appealing to her; what a strange child. She let me in, no questions asked - no thoughts to the repercussions that her actions might have....a quality I still admire, by the way. The minute our souls intertwined - wait, I should say entities cause God knows I haven't had a soul for some time- from the minute our entities intertwined I knew there was something different. I couldn't control her the same way I did my other meat suits, I was powerless. Oh sure, I tried to escape a few times- but it was futile. No control, no escape...until eventually I didn't want to escape. The silly young thing I possessed had grown and developed into a wonderful, intelligent woman who has still not lost her childish sense of wonderment, one who has, in turn, possessed me.
10 years flies by, it's almost like a blink - but out of my thousands of years flitting from meat suit to meat suit, this 10 years has been my favourite, my awakening, my redemption so to speak. Theres that pang again..
"Do you mind?" I say out loud. The greasy guy who has been buying me dirty martinis all night whips his hand away from my thigh - thinking that I was talking to him. Sometimes I forget how beautiful my little Taylor is and how gross men can be!
The voice in my head hisses "Get that creep away from me or I'll reek like an Abercrombie store for days - I'm pretty sure he spells shower c-o-l-o-g-n-e". I stifle a laugh and politely excuse myself to use the little girls room. I close the door behind me and turn the padlock.
"I'd appreciate if you would let me have my night miss Taylor" I say to my reflection
"I know I know - my skin was crawling from that dude. Apparently 3 martinis and I'm fare game.Let's just finish our drink and head on home".
I see my reflection nodding - one more drink then we're outta here. I return to the table to find another dirty martini waiting for me - an apology from Abercrombie. I sip on the drink, contemplating the significance of the date - 10 years together, 10 years...
Suddenly Taylors voice pipes up again "Luc, I don't feel so good- feeling kind of dizzy" You're just drunk I respond - I forget that she's quite the lightweight. "Luc seriously...dizzy" - then silence. I decide to leave, as I walk to the car Taylor's body starts to lag - I'll never get used to walking in high heels. Then suddenly darkness.
Rough hands on Taylor's shoulders, her arms, her breasts - I am hyper aware now, no more darkness. Taylor's eyes shoot open and I see that I am on the shredded back seat of a shitty Honda. I see Abercrombie, the slime bag- finally getting what he wanted, what Taylor and I wouldn't give him; the pig. Groping, fumbling, tearing - so desperate this one. I started to feel something that I haven't felt since my time below - hatred, red hot fiery hatred. I tried to move Taylor's body - no response- I willed her to move - nothing. I felt helpless, impotent, how could I fail her this way? I prayed to whatever would listen to take me instead, make me feel this pain and to spare my innocent friend. My heart (or at least what I had left of one) broke and I felt a tear roll down Taylor's cheek - cause in what world would anything holy listen to me.
A Jolt, a white light and the familiar vacuum feeling and I was free. I hovered above this disgusting scene for a moment - making sure that Taylor was still out. Then I dove in. He was easy to possess, to control. That made my plan that much simpler.
I did Taylors shirt back up and carried her back to her car. I put her down in her back seat and slowly kissed her forehead - savouring her warmth and Vanilla scented skin.
I took Abercrombie for a walk, my plan was simple - to give him a niiiiiiiiiiice long bath in the river. I waded in, let the icy waters fill his jeans. I could hear him screaming in the background. I waded in a bit deeper - the screaming turned to threats - yeah like he could do anything. Deeper still. I took one more deep breath and then dove to the bottom. Threats turned to pleading, then regressed to screaming - then eventually silence - I succumbed to the dark. My last thoughts were of my Taylor, my possesser, my redemption. | Here is my first response, feedback is apperciated, also edited for formatting:
Just like any night from the last 10 years, I’ve been trying to find someplace that has peace and is quiet, and tonight, on my 21st birthday, I just might do that. Most people, well, they’ll go out and have a ball, get drunk and lose their memory, maybe gain some new life experiences, but not me. Ever since I finally decided to check under my bed when I was 11, my life has been a living hell. I happened to find a little demon hiding under there, and before I knew it was a part of me. “Then why didn’t you try to get rid of it?” you might ask. Well, I have, I tried to perform an exorcism, and that didn’t work. Then I tried to perform an incision, and now I’m even dumber than before, thanks to messing up my brain. Anyways, today has been great so far, the demon hasn’t even tried to talk to me yet, so I’m hoping he’s gone away forever, because peace of mind is under-rated.
“Hey”, I hear, “Want to go out and get blitzed?”
“No”, I reply, “I’m through with you, I need to study for my diff eq exam tomorrow”
“Don’t worry”, he says, “You’re not smart enough to pass it anyways”
At this point, a thought briefly pops up in my head “Careful what you think there buddy, you could hurt me.”, he says, before the thought disappears.
Now I’m trying my hardest, but I get up to get a snack. “See”, he says, “You get distracted too easily, why even bother?”
Little does he know what is about to happen, it’s only when I look at the window that I hear objections. “You’re seriously going to hurt me? After all we’ve been through? I thought we were friends.”, he says.
“We are”, I reply, as I fall through my window “We all face our demons, and you’re the one who showed me that I can’t be alive without you, and I haven’t been alive with you”
|
What do they do? Can others tell the boy is possessed? Go wild. | [WP] A demon attempts to possess an 11-year old, but finds itself unable to control or escape from the child. A decade later they've become close friends and celebrate the occasion. | This is my first post here, looking to get back into creative writing again. Would appreciate any feedback you guys have! Thanks :)
It's a normal night, just like any other. I'm sitting in a room full of people, feigning interest in the everyday hum drum that humans find so amusing for some reason. Silly twats, like I honestly care about how drunk Justin Beiber was when he finally crashed his Lamborghini and joined my fellow brethren in the great below! I can feel that all to familiar pang again- she wants out. She always wants out. This is my night, it's my turn to be in the drivers seat. Theres the pang again...damn she's opinionated, I wonder how she got that way.
When I met Taylor she was an empty vessel so to speak. So young, so imaginative, so willing to believe in something other than herself - to her I was a thing that went bump in the night...which made me all the more appealing to her; what a strange child. She let me in, no questions asked - no thoughts to the repercussions that her actions might have....a quality I still admire, by the way. The minute our souls intertwined - wait, I should say entities cause God knows I haven't had a soul for some time- from the minute our entities intertwined I knew there was something different. I couldn't control her the same way I did my other meat suits, I was powerless. Oh sure, I tried to escape a few times- but it was futile. No control, no escape...until eventually I didn't want to escape. The silly young thing I possessed had grown and developed into a wonderful, intelligent woman who has still not lost her childish sense of wonderment, one who has, in turn, possessed me.
10 years flies by, it's almost like a blink - but out of my thousands of years flitting from meat suit to meat suit, this 10 years has been my favourite, my awakening, my redemption so to speak. Theres that pang again..
"Do you mind?" I say out loud. The greasy guy who has been buying me dirty martinis all night whips his hand away from my thigh - thinking that I was talking to him. Sometimes I forget how beautiful my little Taylor is and how gross men can be!
The voice in my head hisses "Get that creep away from me or I'll reek like an Abercrombie store for days - I'm pretty sure he spells shower c-o-l-o-g-n-e". I stifle a laugh and politely excuse myself to use the little girls room. I close the door behind me and turn the padlock.
"I'd appreciate if you would let me have my night miss Taylor" I say to my reflection
"I know I know - my skin was crawling from that dude. Apparently 3 martinis and I'm fare game.Let's just finish our drink and head on home".
I see my reflection nodding - one more drink then we're outta here. I return to the table to find another dirty martini waiting for me - an apology from Abercrombie. I sip on the drink, contemplating the significance of the date - 10 years together, 10 years...
Suddenly Taylors voice pipes up again "Luc, I don't feel so good- feeling kind of dizzy" You're just drunk I respond - I forget that she's quite the lightweight. "Luc seriously...dizzy" - then silence. I decide to leave, as I walk to the car Taylor's body starts to lag - I'll never get used to walking in high heels. Then suddenly darkness.
Rough hands on Taylor's shoulders, her arms, her breasts - I am hyper aware now, no more darkness. Taylor's eyes shoot open and I see that I am on the shredded back seat of a shitty Honda. I see Abercrombie, the slime bag- finally getting what he wanted, what Taylor and I wouldn't give him; the pig. Groping, fumbling, tearing - so desperate this one. I started to feel something that I haven't felt since my time below - hatred, red hot fiery hatred. I tried to move Taylor's body - no response- I willed her to move - nothing. I felt helpless, impotent, how could I fail her this way? I prayed to whatever would listen to take me instead, make me feel this pain and to spare my innocent friend. My heart (or at least what I had left of one) broke and I felt a tear roll down Taylor's cheek - cause in what world would anything holy listen to me.
A Jolt, a white light and the familiar vacuum feeling and I was free. I hovered above this disgusting scene for a moment - making sure that Taylor was still out. Then I dove in. He was easy to possess, to control. That made my plan that much simpler.
I did Taylors shirt back up and carried her back to her car. I put her down in her back seat and slowly kissed her forehead - savouring her warmth and Vanilla scented skin.
I took Abercrombie for a walk, my plan was simple - to give him a niiiiiiiiiiice long bath in the river. I waded in, let the icy waters fill his jeans. I could hear him screaming in the background. I waded in a bit deeper - the screaming turned to threats - yeah like he could do anything. Deeper still. I took one more deep breath and then dove to the bottom. Threats turned to pleading, then regressed to screaming - then eventually silence - I succumbed to the dark. My last thoughts were of my Taylor, my possesser, my redemption. | (1/3)
It started with an open door.
The girl was huddled under her covers, a flashlight clenched between her teeth. It was a minute to midnight and the 11-year-old was much too busy to go to bed. She drew the blankets closer overhead, scrawling intently on her brand new sketchbook with well-worn crayons.
She was in the middle of coloring in a bloodstained sword when her flashlight went out. The girl paused her scribbling to bang open the battery pack with annoyance. When she lifted her sheets to toss aside the dead batteries, she saw that her bedroom door—her bedroom door that she was so certain she had closed when she disappeared under the covers—was wide open.
The girl did not remember anything else after that.
When she woke the next morning, her crayons were snapped into pieces, and her beautiful, brand new sketch book was overflowing with crude, scrawling images of a tall black stick figure. The final pages of the book were stained with a sticky black oil that the girl could not recognize.
It started with an open door.
--------------
When she went down for breakfast that morning, the girl was in a foul mood. Her precious drawings were ruined, her sketch book slick with oil and ugly black figures and thoroughly unusable.
When the girl had finished tearing through breakfast and pulling on her clothes, her father called to her from the kitchen, "Don't forget to feed the cat, Skylar!"
It was with grumbles and mutters that the girl dug out a can opener and cat food canister. She cracked the cat food open and dumped it into a bowl.
"Sasha!" the girl called.
The cat did not come.
Folding her arms, the girl waited. And waited.
The cat still did not come.
"Dad! Sasha isn't coming for breakfast!"
Her father appeared by the doorway. "I know we let him into the house last night. He must be sleeping in. Don't worry Skylar, he'll come out when he wakes up."
The girl folded her arms. "Wasting food is rude, Dad."
Her father smiled. "Why don't you put it back in the fridge then?"
The girl did as she was told. Despite her father's words, she saw neither head nor tail of Sasha the entire day.
To make matters worse, her flashlight was broken. That night, the girl found that the bulb refused to turn on, even after replacing the batteries three times.
The girl went to bed without drawing.
--------------
Over the next few days, the girl began to feel the cat was avoiding her. He never came when called, and would dart out of a room if the girl entered it. Sasha, however, was the only one of the girl's many newfound concerns.
She bought a new sketchbook. That night while preparing to break it in, the girl became unbearably dizzy, and collapsed. When her head finally cleared after what could have been anywhere from five minute to five hours she found that the pages in her sketchbook were all torn out. On the back cover of the book, drawn in some dark liquid, was a tall, stick-like figure. The girl noticed that her fingernails were bleeding.
On the sixth day, the girl bought new crayons. A beautiful set of 48, with her own, frugally accumulated savings. The next morning, her crayons were missing. She would discover buts and pieces of them in the days that followed, scattered across the house, in her soap, her food, even power outlets.
The cat continued to avoid her.
On the ninth day, the girl's last baby tooth fell out. Her father made a big deal of it, sagely advising her to hide it under her pillow that night. Privately, the girl thought her father was being rather dumb, but she made a great show of putting the tooth under her pillow when she was sure he was looking.
The next morning, the girl discovered a full set of human teeth underneath her pillow. She threw them away immediately. For the rest of the week, the girl would discover bony, bitter teeth in places she was sure teeth did not belong, everywhere she went. In her books. Embedded in her crayons (the fourth replacement set in weeks). During lunch she nearly choked on a tooth hidden inside her muffin.
On the twelfth day she cornered the cat.
"You've been bad, haven't you, Sasha?" the girl said quite pleasantly. "You shouldn't be avoiding me like this. I don't like being ignored."
The cat struggled. Its neck was pinned under the girl's fist.
"Is this all your fault?" the girl asked, producing a tiny gray tooth from her pocket. "If it is, I'm going to make you stop it."
That afternoon, the girl cut open her cat, slowly, careful, and altogether casually. When Sasha finally stopped struggling, the girl gather up his remains and the scissors she used to make them that way and dumped it all in a hole in a woods. Shovel in hand, the girl filled it in with mud and returned to her house to wash her hands.
In the mirror, the girl saw a black figure with a pale face and matchstick-like arms looking back at her. She finished washing her hands, dried them off, and made to exit the bathroom.
"You're a creepy little brat, aren't you?" the reflection asked.
"Don't be rude," the girl replied. She turned off the bathroom light and returned to her room. From the shiny surface of her desk lamp, the dark and pale reflection continued to speak to her.
"Why'd you kill the cat?"
"I was curious."
"Curious?"
After a moment, the reflection inquired, "Was that supposed to be a joke?"
The girl laughed. "What do you think?"
The reflection was no longer in her lamp. In fact, when the girl took a closer look, she saw she wasn't casting a reflection at all.
But the voice was still there. Sharp and bitter, the voice from nowhere tasted of metal and ozone as it invaded the girl's ears.
"But why did you kill him?"
"I dunno. Maybe I thought my stuff would stop breaking, and all the weird things would stop happening if he was gone. Maybe I really was just curious."
The voice was silent for a moment. For a moment, th girl felt cold, unnaturally long hands against her shoulders. She shivered.
"You really are a creepy brat."
--------------
The next day, at school, the girl realized the marks had faded. When she woke up that morning, there were angry bruises in the shape of handprints on her shoulders, the bruises were slick with black oil, and hurt to touch. But when she settled into her seat at school, she realized the marks were gone. It still hurt though.
At recess, the reflection watched her from a window. "That boy you were with. Who was he?"
"Him?" The girl glanced to a crying sixth grader near the monkey bars. "That's Isaac Munroe. He's nice. I like his writing."
"Why did you hit him earlier?"
"He made me angry."
"Why?"
"For being stupid. And weak."
The girl felt no harsh ozone on her ears, only silence. After a moment, she looked over her shoulder. The reflection was gone. When the girl looked down, she saw her fingernails were bleeding again.
She dried her hands, bound her fingertips in bandaids, and bought herself lunch with the money she took from Isaac Munroe.
--------------
"But why?"
The girl set down her crayons and looked at the pale faced nightmare in her bedroom mirror. Her smile was crooked and jaunty. "That's all you ever ask, it's so boring! Why why why. Why do I need a reason?"
"You don't."
The girl resumed her drawing. "Then why do you keep asking?"
"I was curious," the reflection replied.
The girl laughed. For a moment, she thought she heard another voice's chuckling, coming from her mirror. But when she stopped to listen, the girl heard only silence
--------------
The girl was tearing into Isaac Munroe's book bag, tossing his papers in every direction without a care in the world. Isaac was shifting listlessly next to the girl, looking as though someone had glued his feet to the ground.
"Skylar, I have to get home," Isaac complained, rubbing at his eyes.
"Are you implying I'm bad company, Isaac? And here I thought we were friends."
Isaac somehow managed to straighten his voice and ask, steady and level, "Please let me leave. I need to get home."
The girls voice was low when she replied, "Is that all you have to say?"
Isaac took a deep breath, stood up straight, and nodded.
"You're so boring, Isaac," the girl said languidly. "It's just UNBEARABLE!" Suddenly, the girl was shouting, every part of her overflowing with fury.
She threw the book bag aside. The voice of the reflection was alarmed as it trickled down her ears. "Skylar—"
"Why are you so weak?! Why do you just sit there and take it?! I loath you, Isaac Munroe! I loath everything about you—"
Wide eyed, Isaac snatched his bag and ran. The girl was breathing heavily, glaring as he fled.
"You really are a creepy little brat," said a voice in the girl's ear
|
What do they do? Can others tell the boy is possessed? Go wild. | [WP] A demon attempts to possess an 11-year old, but finds itself unable to control or escape from the child. A decade later they've become close friends and celebrate the occasion. | This is my first post here, looking to get back into creative writing again. Would appreciate any feedback you guys have! Thanks :)
It's a normal night, just like any other. I'm sitting in a room full of people, feigning interest in the everyday hum drum that humans find so amusing for some reason. Silly twats, like I honestly care about how drunk Justin Beiber was when he finally crashed his Lamborghini and joined my fellow brethren in the great below! I can feel that all to familiar pang again- she wants out. She always wants out. This is my night, it's my turn to be in the drivers seat. Theres the pang again...damn she's opinionated, I wonder how she got that way.
When I met Taylor she was an empty vessel so to speak. So young, so imaginative, so willing to believe in something other than herself - to her I was a thing that went bump in the night...which made me all the more appealing to her; what a strange child. She let me in, no questions asked - no thoughts to the repercussions that her actions might have....a quality I still admire, by the way. The minute our souls intertwined - wait, I should say entities cause God knows I haven't had a soul for some time- from the minute our entities intertwined I knew there was something different. I couldn't control her the same way I did my other meat suits, I was powerless. Oh sure, I tried to escape a few times- but it was futile. No control, no escape...until eventually I didn't want to escape. The silly young thing I possessed had grown and developed into a wonderful, intelligent woman who has still not lost her childish sense of wonderment, one who has, in turn, possessed me.
10 years flies by, it's almost like a blink - but out of my thousands of years flitting from meat suit to meat suit, this 10 years has been my favourite, my awakening, my redemption so to speak. Theres that pang again..
"Do you mind?" I say out loud. The greasy guy who has been buying me dirty martinis all night whips his hand away from my thigh - thinking that I was talking to him. Sometimes I forget how beautiful my little Taylor is and how gross men can be!
The voice in my head hisses "Get that creep away from me or I'll reek like an Abercrombie store for days - I'm pretty sure he spells shower c-o-l-o-g-n-e". I stifle a laugh and politely excuse myself to use the little girls room. I close the door behind me and turn the padlock.
"I'd appreciate if you would let me have my night miss Taylor" I say to my reflection
"I know I know - my skin was crawling from that dude. Apparently 3 martinis and I'm fare game.Let's just finish our drink and head on home".
I see my reflection nodding - one more drink then we're outta here. I return to the table to find another dirty martini waiting for me - an apology from Abercrombie. I sip on the drink, contemplating the significance of the date - 10 years together, 10 years...
Suddenly Taylors voice pipes up again "Luc, I don't feel so good- feeling kind of dizzy" You're just drunk I respond - I forget that she's quite the lightweight. "Luc seriously...dizzy" - then silence. I decide to leave, as I walk to the car Taylor's body starts to lag - I'll never get used to walking in high heels. Then suddenly darkness.
Rough hands on Taylor's shoulders, her arms, her breasts - I am hyper aware now, no more darkness. Taylor's eyes shoot open and I see that I am on the shredded back seat of a shitty Honda. I see Abercrombie, the slime bag- finally getting what he wanted, what Taylor and I wouldn't give him; the pig. Groping, fumbling, tearing - so desperate this one. I started to feel something that I haven't felt since my time below - hatred, red hot fiery hatred. I tried to move Taylor's body - no response- I willed her to move - nothing. I felt helpless, impotent, how could I fail her this way? I prayed to whatever would listen to take me instead, make me feel this pain and to spare my innocent friend. My heart (or at least what I had left of one) broke and I felt a tear roll down Taylor's cheek - cause in what world would anything holy listen to me.
A Jolt, a white light and the familiar vacuum feeling and I was free. I hovered above this disgusting scene for a moment - making sure that Taylor was still out. Then I dove in. He was easy to possess, to control. That made my plan that much simpler.
I did Taylors shirt back up and carried her back to her car. I put her down in her back seat and slowly kissed her forehead - savouring her warmth and Vanilla scented skin.
I took Abercrombie for a walk, my plan was simple - to give him a niiiiiiiiiiice long bath in the river. I waded in, let the icy waters fill his jeans. I could hear him screaming in the background. I waded in a bit deeper - the screaming turned to threats - yeah like he could do anything. Deeper still. I took one more deep breath and then dove to the bottom. Threats turned to pleading, then regressed to screaming - then eventually silence - I succumbed to the dark. My last thoughts were of my Taylor, my possesser, my redemption. | There is no monster in the closet, nothing lurking under the bed or in the shadowed corners. Sometimes there is, but not here. Not in our house. The only thing demons here sleep under is cotton sheets and a duvet, and that's on *top* of the bed. Of course, my little brother doesn't know that.
Technically the twins are my half siblings from my dad's second wife, and they seem to specialize in getting on my nerves. I know how very fairytale that sounds, but Amanda doesn't fulfill the whole Evil Stepmother archetype. She's got too much of the Soccer Mom in her, and the twins are really more mischievous than anything. I swear that Dillon isn't actually being malicious, but it can feel that way when he consistently wakes me up at two in the morning to borrow my old teddybear, Mr. Hibbs, to ward off his nightmares.
Too bad he can't be more like Milly who is dead to the world as soon as the lights go out. She even sleeps through my nightly attempts to convince her twin to just go to bed with Mr. Hibbs in the first place, but he won't hear it because "big boys don't need teddybears." Never mind that it's always a different story once the nightmares wake him.
When I finally crawl back in bed Jeff is waiting for me. "I was going to wait until morning, but. . ."
"But what?" I ask.
"I think you could use an early birthday present. I've been doing some research with Charlie into banishing nightmares, and since the dreamcatchers haven't been working, we thought that maybe you could summon a Baku to eat them instead."
"Summon a. . . That's brilliant!" I squeeze him in a tight hug "Why didn't I think of that?"
Jeff squirms out of my embrace. "Ugh. The indignity! Don't *do* that! I'll have you know that—"
"Yeah, yeah. You're a powerful demon from the Seventh Echelon, Holder of the Third Key, Master of Lies and the Devourer of Souls." I let him go, smiling. "You kinda lost all rights to dignity when you got summoned by an eleven year old girl armed with chicken bones and kosher salt, who trapped you in her stuffed unicorn plushy and called you Rainbow for two years."
"Please, don't remind me!" He moans. "And here I was being nice for once. See if I ever do anything for you again, you little ingrate!"
"I know, you even studied for me. I'm sure Hibbs was shocked to see you crack a book."
"That old bear is many things, but if there is one thing Mr. Charlie Hibbs has never been, it is shocked." Jeff runs his fingers through the vibrant pink locks of his floppy mohawk, avoiding the lethal points of his iridescent horns with the ease of long practice. "Anyway, it wasn't hard to convince him of my sincerity since we've all been losing sleep over this."
"Speaking of losing sleep, let's talk about this in the morning, ok?" I cover a yawn. "I've still got school tomorrow, and we can figure out the summoning later. Plus we've got to celebrate!"
"Ah yes, I look forward to the night of debauchery." His grin shows off his razor sharp teeth.
"Plenty of debauchery. There might even be shenanigans!" I tease, tapping his nose. "Happy tenth anniversary." I say, curling up next to him.
"Happy birthday." He replies.
Edit: formatting. I might continue this if there's interest, but this is what I've got for now. |
What do they do? Can others tell the boy is possessed? Go wild. | [WP] A demon attempts to possess an 11-year old, but finds itself unable to control or escape from the child. A decade later they've become close friends and celebrate the occasion. | This is my first post here, looking to get back into creative writing again. Would appreciate any feedback you guys have! Thanks :)
It's a normal night, just like any other. I'm sitting in a room full of people, feigning interest in the everyday hum drum that humans find so amusing for some reason. Silly twats, like I honestly care about how drunk Justin Beiber was when he finally crashed his Lamborghini and joined my fellow brethren in the great below! I can feel that all to familiar pang again- she wants out. She always wants out. This is my night, it's my turn to be in the drivers seat. Theres the pang again...damn she's opinionated, I wonder how she got that way.
When I met Taylor she was an empty vessel so to speak. So young, so imaginative, so willing to believe in something other than herself - to her I was a thing that went bump in the night...which made me all the more appealing to her; what a strange child. She let me in, no questions asked - no thoughts to the repercussions that her actions might have....a quality I still admire, by the way. The minute our souls intertwined - wait, I should say entities cause God knows I haven't had a soul for some time- from the minute our entities intertwined I knew there was something different. I couldn't control her the same way I did my other meat suits, I was powerless. Oh sure, I tried to escape a few times- but it was futile. No control, no escape...until eventually I didn't want to escape. The silly young thing I possessed had grown and developed into a wonderful, intelligent woman who has still not lost her childish sense of wonderment, one who has, in turn, possessed me.
10 years flies by, it's almost like a blink - but out of my thousands of years flitting from meat suit to meat suit, this 10 years has been my favourite, my awakening, my redemption so to speak. Theres that pang again..
"Do you mind?" I say out loud. The greasy guy who has been buying me dirty martinis all night whips his hand away from my thigh - thinking that I was talking to him. Sometimes I forget how beautiful my little Taylor is and how gross men can be!
The voice in my head hisses "Get that creep away from me or I'll reek like an Abercrombie store for days - I'm pretty sure he spells shower c-o-l-o-g-n-e". I stifle a laugh and politely excuse myself to use the little girls room. I close the door behind me and turn the padlock.
"I'd appreciate if you would let me have my night miss Taylor" I say to my reflection
"I know I know - my skin was crawling from that dude. Apparently 3 martinis and I'm fare game.Let's just finish our drink and head on home".
I see my reflection nodding - one more drink then we're outta here. I return to the table to find another dirty martini waiting for me - an apology from Abercrombie. I sip on the drink, contemplating the significance of the date - 10 years together, 10 years...
Suddenly Taylors voice pipes up again "Luc, I don't feel so good- feeling kind of dizzy" You're just drunk I respond - I forget that she's quite the lightweight. "Luc seriously...dizzy" - then silence. I decide to leave, as I walk to the car Taylor's body starts to lag - I'll never get used to walking in high heels. Then suddenly darkness.
Rough hands on Taylor's shoulders, her arms, her breasts - I am hyper aware now, no more darkness. Taylor's eyes shoot open and I see that I am on the shredded back seat of a shitty Honda. I see Abercrombie, the slime bag- finally getting what he wanted, what Taylor and I wouldn't give him; the pig. Groping, fumbling, tearing - so desperate this one. I started to feel something that I haven't felt since my time below - hatred, red hot fiery hatred. I tried to move Taylor's body - no response- I willed her to move - nothing. I felt helpless, impotent, how could I fail her this way? I prayed to whatever would listen to take me instead, make me feel this pain and to spare my innocent friend. My heart (or at least what I had left of one) broke and I felt a tear roll down Taylor's cheek - cause in what world would anything holy listen to me.
A Jolt, a white light and the familiar vacuum feeling and I was free. I hovered above this disgusting scene for a moment - making sure that Taylor was still out. Then I dove in. He was easy to possess, to control. That made my plan that much simpler.
I did Taylors shirt back up and carried her back to her car. I put her down in her back seat and slowly kissed her forehead - savouring her warmth and Vanilla scented skin.
I took Abercrombie for a walk, my plan was simple - to give him a niiiiiiiiiiice long bath in the river. I waded in, let the icy waters fill his jeans. I could hear him screaming in the background. I waded in a bit deeper - the screaming turned to threats - yeah like he could do anything. Deeper still. I took one more deep breath and then dove to the bottom. Threats turned to pleading, then regressed to screaming - then eventually silence - I succumbed to the dark. My last thoughts were of my Taylor, my possesser, my redemption. | *Finally, we get a moment alone.* The demon has been waiting for a verbal reply from his host, Donny, all night.
Donny's words are slurring. It was a long night trying to celebrate his 21st birthday. "What are you talking about? You're practically the only person I talked to in there. The fucking bartender knew I was crazy." Donny catches a glimpse in his eye in the rear view mirror. His face was calm, but there was a leer on his own glare.
*Focus on the road, you drunk. I was trying to get you some ass, bud! You're partying for two. You always forget about me.*
Donny's voice raises. He grips his steering wheel and rolls his head downward to miss that glaring eye in the mirror. "How could I forget about you? You've raided my thoughts for 10 years. My mind, my emotions... You know a normal 21 year old would be partying with friends. You've never shut up long enough for me to make any. And fuck yea I'm drunk, and forgive me for trying to celebrate my own birthday." He catches the glare again. Donny shoves the rear view mirror away from him. He can't stand the sight of the demon. He can't stand the sight of himself.
*Oh boo hoo, wittle Don-Don needs some privacy. I got stuck in your annoying little body 10 years ago to this day. For the endless life of me, I can't tell you why. I've gotten you through high school. I helped you cheat your way through your life. Now I try and help you get laid for the first time on not only YOUR, but OUR day. Give me a break, ever hear of living vicariously? I am the definition!*
Donny grips the steering wheel even tighter. He blasts the radio, but he can't escape a voice in his own head. He screams as if the demon was right beside him, "I did not fucking *ask* to be possessed by some shit demon that forgot how to do his own job. Now find a way out of my brain!"
He can feel the demon reaching for his own skin. The warmth and effect of the booze almost make it happen. Donny can feel the demon's weakness. He's always been frail.
*Call me weak one more time.*
Donny smirks, he checks his own smugness in the rear view mirror that he turned away. He continues gripping he wheel with both hands, and mocks his inner demon again. "Oh so you don't need me to talk out loud anymore? You lonely little fucker, I can get under your skin without even trying. I guess that makes it my skin, doesn't it? You parasite, I don't have room for you! Get the fuck out!"
An intersection approaches. The light is green. Donny fixes the mirror for his own vanity. That leer has faded. His grips loosens on the steering wheel. Finally, he is relaxed. Even the alcohol didn't feel as good as telling the demon his feelings out loud.
*Donny, the light turned-*
•••
The demon wisps in the cloud of engine smoke. Reaching as far as he could for the first time in ten years, his freedom is measured. He is anew. He looks to Donny and quickly his free feeling fades. Donny's mangled body and bloodied shirt is too much, even for a demon. Shooting for Donny's heart, he can't penetrate. The life he latched on to for 10 years has expired. Whirling the smoke and his essence, a tornado of rage aims for the driver of the car responsible. The demon shoots for his barely beating heart. The driver bolts upright, and inhales a pained breath.
*You killed my friend, now you must pay.*
The demon reaches for the seat belt to strangle the driver with his own hands. The hands don't move.
Edit: tried to keep it short and essential. I'd like to carry on too, I think I stumbled on to a more interesting story. Critiques? |
What do they do? Can others tell the boy is possessed? Go wild. | [WP] A demon attempts to possess an 11-year old, but finds itself unable to control or escape from the child. A decade later they've become close friends and celebrate the occasion. | "Happy Anniversary." I toast the air with my wine glass silently. The waiter/owner/eavesdropper shakes his head sadly. He must think I'm referring to a dead husband.
*But I'm not dead.*
I look around for a moment. The man has gone back to the kitchen, obviously to leave me to my mourning. "Just as alive as I am." I shrug.
*Remember back in the good ol' days, when I was trying to posses you?* the voice hissed.
I chuckled. "Oh yes. You may have not fully taken my mind over, but you sure embraced the scene kid phase. I thought you were never going to end my new-found love for red highlights and spiky hair."
The demon hissed back. *My Chemical Romance was a great band! It was cool!*
"Yeah, and so was your man-crush in Algebra. God, why did you make us talk to him?"
*That was you!*
"No way! He wore more black eyeliner than I did!"
*Liar.*
"Sometimes I wonder if you're gay. Why are all your little crushes on guys?"
*That's you. You're heterosexual. You control your core personality, I twist your ideals around to my liking. Haven't you figured this out by now?*
"Yeah, yeah. Anyways, water under the bridge now. Can you believe it's been 10 years already?"
*I find the mortal concept of time humorous. I'm thousands of years old. It's barely been the blink of an eye for me.*
"Bullshit. I know when you're lying, demon. I always know what you're thinking, because your thoughts are always with me."
*See? I care about you. You could always give me full control of your body. You know I'd be looking out for your best interests.*
"What? So you can go make out with that kid from Algebra without my objection?"
*Screw you.*
"I think it's weird you never ask me to let you return to Hell, so you can go find a new soul to try and possess."
*I can't leave you. You're too strong. Like a flycatcher to a fly. Believe me, I'd go if I could.*
"No you wouldn't. You'd miss all kinds of things."
*Mortal goods are not superior to the wonders of Hell.*
"Like Jack Daniel's whiskey?"
*That doesn't count. I'm sure a demon could only brew something that good.*
"What about Freddie Mercury or tantric yoga? You'd miss the mortal plain."
*Silence, fool.*
"Face it, you've gone native."
*Yeah, yeah. I'll admit, this place is pretty great. You're less likely to flay me and have me drink from a trough of fire than Satan.*
"So a toast for the weirdest friendship alive?"
*Fine, whatever. Cheers.*
| *Finally, we get a moment alone.* The demon has been waiting for a verbal reply from his host, Donny, all night.
Donny's words are slurring. It was a long night trying to celebrate his 21st birthday. "What are you talking about? You're practically the only person I talked to in there. The fucking bartender knew I was crazy." Donny catches a glimpse in his eye in the rear view mirror. His face was calm, but there was a leer on his own glare.
*Focus on the road, you drunk. I was trying to get you some ass, bud! You're partying for two. You always forget about me.*
Donny's voice raises. He grips his steering wheel and rolls his head downward to miss that glaring eye in the mirror. "How could I forget about you? You've raided my thoughts for 10 years. My mind, my emotions... You know a normal 21 year old would be partying with friends. You've never shut up long enough for me to make any. And fuck yea I'm drunk, and forgive me for trying to celebrate my own birthday." He catches the glare again. Donny shoves the rear view mirror away from him. He can't stand the sight of the demon. He can't stand the sight of himself.
*Oh boo hoo, wittle Don-Don needs some privacy. I got stuck in your annoying little body 10 years ago to this day. For the endless life of me, I can't tell you why. I've gotten you through high school. I helped you cheat your way through your life. Now I try and help you get laid for the first time on not only YOUR, but OUR day. Give me a break, ever hear of living vicariously? I am the definition!*
Donny grips the steering wheel even tighter. He blasts the radio, but he can't escape a voice in his own head. He screams as if the demon was right beside him, "I did not fucking *ask* to be possessed by some shit demon that forgot how to do his own job. Now find a way out of my brain!"
He can feel the demon reaching for his own skin. The warmth and effect of the booze almost make it happen. Donny can feel the demon's weakness. He's always been frail.
*Call me weak one more time.*
Donny smirks, he checks his own smugness in the rear view mirror that he turned away. He continues gripping he wheel with both hands, and mocks his inner demon again. "Oh so you don't need me to talk out loud anymore? You lonely little fucker, I can get under your skin without even trying. I guess that makes it my skin, doesn't it? You parasite, I don't have room for you! Get the fuck out!"
An intersection approaches. The light is green. Donny fixes the mirror for his own vanity. That leer has faded. His grips loosens on the steering wheel. Finally, he is relaxed. Even the alcohol didn't feel as good as telling the demon his feelings out loud.
*Donny, the light turned-*
•••
The demon wisps in the cloud of engine smoke. Reaching as far as he could for the first time in ten years, his freedom is measured. He is anew. He looks to Donny and quickly his free feeling fades. Donny's mangled body and bloodied shirt is too much, even for a demon. Shooting for Donny's heart, he can't penetrate. The life he latched on to for 10 years has expired. Whirling the smoke and his essence, a tornado of rage aims for the driver of the car responsible. The demon shoots for his barely beating heart. The driver bolts upright, and inhales a pained breath.
*You killed my friend, now you must pay.*
The demon reaches for the seat belt to strangle the driver with his own hands. The hands don't move.
Edit: tried to keep it short and essential. I'd like to carry on too, I think I stumbled on to a more interesting story. Critiques? |
Maybe this time the murder works. | [WP] Two immortal lovers kill each other over and over again to stave off boredom. | "Honey, what about another strangulation, you always seemed to enjoy the climax?"
"I'm sorry darling, i haven't been interested in strangulation since my bifurcation during the defenestration, that was a nice touch by the way."
"What about exsanguination , we haven't done that in a while, i know a place where we can get a lot of anticoagulation"
"To messy, though we haven't tried carbonization or full body cauterization"
"Honey you know why we don't do that, it doesn't kill us anymore, and we don't want to wait for decapitation like last time, crystallization was fun, but waiting for you to arrive was boring."
"Darling what about, some immolation as appetizer, then some auto amputation as main course and as desert some petrification followed by pulverization? "
"You know what honey sounds good." | My breath catches and I turn around. He was inches behind me moments ago, but now I can't see him. I press my back to the tree and let out a breath. I'm safe for now. At least that's what I think before a bullet is shot into the tree above me.
"I see you have found me," I tell him.
"Oh, I love your cute British accent, Agatha," Daniel says to me. He is centuries younger than me, born in the late 1800's, but we still are in love.
He holds the pistol up to my head and pulls the trigger. I feel the rush of euphoria that comes from dying, but to me it's a drug. I collapse to the ground and I black out for the few seconds that my heart stops beating.
I hold my breath when I come to. I can't have Daniel knowing I'm alive again. I pull out my knife, jump up, and stab him.
"Nice," he gasps as he collapses. He dry heaves, stops breathing, then comes to life again.
"Twenty minute head start?" I ask.
"Come on, I gave you thirty," Daniel whines.
"Clocks ticking," I say as Daniel runs off into the woods. |
Maybe this time the murder works. | [WP] Two immortal lovers kill each other over and over again to stave off boredom. | I had two centuries on this Earth alone. That was before I met Charles. outside of Somme in 1916. It was astoundingly good hunting, as we had more contracts to fill than actual workers in Hell. I stalked Charles for months, taking someone from his trench just so I could peep on him and his unit. The inevitable happened though, and soon enough, Charles was among the many I had to claim.
Few realize though, that demons are immortal, but we still can die just like anything else in these realms. Charles found that out when he ran me through with a saber. Then again when he shot me through the face with his rifle. By the third time, a knife between the ribs, he was low on fight. And I had a contract ready for him.
We signed the contract in Paris, then made love together, as his reward for actually beating a reaper in combat. We've been lovers ever since. Our work bringing souls to Hell is almost a side gig, interrupting our eternal honeymoon with periodic distractions.
Of course, Charles also loves a good competition. Our mutual immunity to death has only fostered that love, and each soul we take becomes a competition between us both. I don't usually enjoy being on bottom, but my little reaper finds a way to make everything work out. So it's like I win no matter what, which is fine by me.
Charles and I have killed each other in fairly interesting ways over the years. I ran him over with a charter bus one time in Prague. He returned the favor by pummeling me to death with an electric guitar. I've blow him up with an oxygen tank, and he found a way to kill me with a vial of the ebola virus. That was...a bit of a mess admittedly, but we managed to clean it up before anyone noticed.
Those are just the ones that come to mind, as we've had a whole century to find new ways to kill each other.
But, with that said, I don't mind fighting Hell for my soul every few months. Or having to sew my legs back onto my body. As Charles is there with me every time, laughing and offering me a drink along with his smile. Just seeing him happy makes it all worthwhile. I wouldn't trade that smile for the world or anything on it. | Tan feet in gilded black metal sandals, I step onto into the burning sand. Slowly, the sunlight reaches my shins, then illuminates my long ebony tunic, it hits my pale eyes, then my long white hair, pulled into a high ponytail. And finally, for a good show, I fully unravel my large raven wings, revealing them to the ravenous crowds.
I hear the people gasp in awe and admiration. Murmurs of excitement slowly ebs as opposite of me, on the other side of the wide sand arena, he emerges. Solemn as always, and warm eyes a little sad. Nevertheless his bloodthirst is even greater than my own, and so is his beauty. Long and lithe, pale feet wrapped by strands of delicate sandals, black hair curling softly about his forehead. His light, white tunic billows about him freely in the wind, constrained by no armour. The soldiers must have thought I needed a little help. He too, unravels his great white wings, and the crowd cries out at his beauty and the pity of what was about to happen. Little did they know our little secret, our deadly dance we so fancy to keep ourselves entertained in this unchanging world.
He strikes fast, but I strike truest.
He shoots towards me, long sword swinging in an upwards arc, grazing only my chin when it was meant for my eyes. Blood pours, but I do not feel anything but the wetness. I turn my body to dodge his next strike, and jumps over him, wings flapping once. Landing behind, I retrieve my sword from its sheath on my back. In one smooth motion, I aimed to server his leg tendons.
He jumps just in time, meeting my sword with his own. Our metals clash and we push. Normally our strength is near matched, but he was in the dominant position. Above me, his sharp blade reaches closer and closer to my throat, my own pushing back shakily to delay the inevitable.
His eyes, like puddles of water, looks down at me. I can see the small curve of a smile on his lips. His white wings were massive, blocking out the sun.
There was a time, when we first fell in love, where he would never allow me to feel any hurt. An useless cause, due to our immortal states. Centuries passed and we found a better past-time than loving.
Living forever dulls things. Feelings, once so sharp and new, no longer have the same strength or appeal. But dying always took that away, if only for the briefest of moments.
The strong muscles on my back flex to bring one dark wing under him, sweepings out his legs. He roll backwards gracefully, and emerges on his feet, sword raised to fend off the strong blow I delivered from midair.
Flapping his wings, he rise to meet me above the arena. I can see his blood running down one pale leg, from where I had grazed his torso. His small smile had turned to a grin, mirroring the same bloodthirty snarl I had from when I first entered the arena.
Would it be a stretch to say our fighting gave a higher purpose to our lives? He strikes, I fend. I stab, he turns. The hot sun beating down on our back. Would it be a stretch to say I did not feel any love for him anymore, and only kept him around to stay entertained? A strong parry knocks me backwards. I nearly fall from my aloft position above the arena.
The crowd was breathless now, I feel their excitement, humming in my veins. My very skin thrummed with my heartbeat.
He charged straight and true while I was still unsteady, sword braced in front of him, blades pointing to my heart. I stopped my wings, just in time. The tip of his blade had caught the front of my tunic, ripping it open as I fell to Earth. I lay on the sand, wind knocked out of my lungs, my shirt open. He stands in midair and allows me time to rise, to take off my ripped shirt with my face impassive. The crowd roars in approval, the in disappointment as I tie the shreds around my naked chest. We continue our dance on the ground. My brutality and instincts returned to me. This time, I don't go easy on him. Who was it that taught him the sword? I made cuts after cuts on his flawless skin, one after the other, until he collapsed onto the group, defeated.
I grab one pure white wing and rip it from straight his shoulders, tendons and muscles flying. The deafening crowds is stunned to silence. Yes, I thought, admire me for my strength, for my mercilessness. As the blood stained his white tunic red, he reaches one slender hand around my ankles to pull himself up. I catch a glimpse of his dilated blue eyes. On his knees, he buries his face into my stomach, kissing it. One of my hands reach into his curly hair, grabbing it near the roots. Sharply, his beautiful head is yanked back. A blade is placed softly against his pale neck.
I breath in the excitement of the crowd. I ride their exhilaration. He closes his eyes slowly and offer his neck to me.
You win this time, I thought. And then I slit his throat.
|
Maybe this time the murder works. | [WP] Two immortal lovers kill each other over and over again to stave off boredom. | "Honey, what about another strangulation, you always seemed to enjoy the climax?"
"I'm sorry darling, i haven't been interested in strangulation since my bifurcation during the defenestration, that was a nice touch by the way."
"What about exsanguination , we haven't done that in a while, i know a place where we can get a lot of anticoagulation"
"To messy, though we haven't tried carbonization or full body cauterization"
"Honey you know why we don't do that, it doesn't kill us anymore, and we don't want to wait for decapitation like last time, crystallization was fun, but waiting for you to arrive was boring."
"Darling what about, some immolation as appetizer, then some auto amputation as main course and as desert some petrification followed by pulverization? "
"You know what honey sounds good." | Tan feet in gilded black metal sandals, I step onto into the burning sand. Slowly, the sunlight reaches my shins, then illuminates my long ebony tunic, it hits my pale eyes, then my long white hair, pulled into a high ponytail. And finally, for a good show, I fully unravel my large raven wings, revealing them to the ravenous crowds.
I hear the people gasp in awe and admiration. Murmurs of excitement slowly ebs as opposite of me, on the other side of the wide sand arena, he emerges. Solemn as always, and warm eyes a little sad. Nevertheless his bloodthirst is even greater than my own, and so is his beauty. Long and lithe, pale feet wrapped by strands of delicate sandals, black hair curling softly about his forehead. His light, white tunic billows about him freely in the wind, constrained by no armour. The soldiers must have thought I needed a little help. He too, unravels his great white wings, and the crowd cries out at his beauty and the pity of what was about to happen. Little did they know our little secret, our deadly dance we so fancy to keep ourselves entertained in this unchanging world.
He strikes fast, but I strike truest.
He shoots towards me, long sword swinging in an upwards arc, grazing only my chin when it was meant for my eyes. Blood pours, but I do not feel anything but the wetness. I turn my body to dodge his next strike, and jumps over him, wings flapping once. Landing behind, I retrieve my sword from its sheath on my back. In one smooth motion, I aimed to server his leg tendons.
He jumps just in time, meeting my sword with his own. Our metals clash and we push. Normally our strength is near matched, but he was in the dominant position. Above me, his sharp blade reaches closer and closer to my throat, my own pushing back shakily to delay the inevitable.
His eyes, like puddles of water, looks down at me. I can see the small curve of a smile on his lips. His white wings were massive, blocking out the sun.
There was a time, when we first fell in love, where he would never allow me to feel any hurt. An useless cause, due to our immortal states. Centuries passed and we found a better past-time than loving.
Living forever dulls things. Feelings, once so sharp and new, no longer have the same strength or appeal. But dying always took that away, if only for the briefest of moments.
The strong muscles on my back flex to bring one dark wing under him, sweepings out his legs. He roll backwards gracefully, and emerges on his feet, sword raised to fend off the strong blow I delivered from midair.
Flapping his wings, he rise to meet me above the arena. I can see his blood running down one pale leg, from where I had grazed his torso. His small smile had turned to a grin, mirroring the same bloodthirty snarl I had from when I first entered the arena.
Would it be a stretch to say our fighting gave a higher purpose to our lives? He strikes, I fend. I stab, he turns. The hot sun beating down on our back. Would it be a stretch to say I did not feel any love for him anymore, and only kept him around to stay entertained? A strong parry knocks me backwards. I nearly fall from my aloft position above the arena.
The crowd was breathless now, I feel their excitement, humming in my veins. My very skin thrummed with my heartbeat.
He charged straight and true while I was still unsteady, sword braced in front of him, blades pointing to my heart. I stopped my wings, just in time. The tip of his blade had caught the front of my tunic, ripping it open as I fell to Earth. I lay on the sand, wind knocked out of my lungs, my shirt open. He stands in midair and allows me time to rise, to take off my ripped shirt with my face impassive. The crowd roars in approval, the in disappointment as I tie the shreds around my naked chest. We continue our dance on the ground. My brutality and instincts returned to me. This time, I don't go easy on him. Who was it that taught him the sword? I made cuts after cuts on his flawless skin, one after the other, until he collapsed onto the group, defeated.
I grab one pure white wing and rip it from straight his shoulders, tendons and muscles flying. The deafening crowds is stunned to silence. Yes, I thought, admire me for my strength, for my mercilessness. As the blood stained his white tunic red, he reaches one slender hand around my ankles to pull himself up. I catch a glimpse of his dilated blue eyes. On his knees, he buries his face into my stomach, kissing it. One of my hands reach into his curly hair, grabbing it near the roots. Sharply, his beautiful head is yanked back. A blade is placed softly against his pale neck.
I breath in the excitement of the crowd. I ride their exhilaration. He closes his eyes slowly and offer his neck to me.
You win this time, I thought. And then I slit his throat.
|
Maybe this time the murder works. | [WP] Two immortal lovers kill each other over and over again to stave off boredom. | "Honey, what about another strangulation, you always seemed to enjoy the climax?"
"I'm sorry darling, i haven't been interested in strangulation since my bifurcation during the defenestration, that was a nice touch by the way."
"What about exsanguination , we haven't done that in a while, i know a place where we can get a lot of anticoagulation"
"To messy, though we haven't tried carbonization or full body cauterization"
"Honey you know why we don't do that, it doesn't kill us anymore, and we don't want to wait for decapitation like last time, crystallization was fun, but waiting for you to arrive was boring."
"Darling what about, some immolation as appetizer, then some auto amputation as main course and as desert some petrification followed by pulverization? "
"You know what honey sounds good." | I had two centuries on this Earth alone. That was before I met Charles. outside of Somme in 1916. It was astoundingly good hunting, as we had more contracts to fill than actual workers in Hell. I stalked Charles for months, taking someone from his trench just so I could peep on him and his unit. The inevitable happened though, and soon enough, Charles was among the many I had to claim.
Few realize though, that demons are immortal, but we still can die just like anything else in these realms. Charles found that out when he ran me through with a saber. Then again when he shot me through the face with his rifle. By the third time, a knife between the ribs, he was low on fight. And I had a contract ready for him.
We signed the contract in Paris, then made love together, as his reward for actually beating a reaper in combat. We've been lovers ever since. Our work bringing souls to Hell is almost a side gig, interrupting our eternal honeymoon with periodic distractions.
Of course, Charles also loves a good competition. Our mutual immunity to death has only fostered that love, and each soul we take becomes a competition between us both. I don't usually enjoy being on bottom, but my little reaper finds a way to make everything work out. So it's like I win no matter what, which is fine by me.
Charles and I have killed each other in fairly interesting ways over the years. I ran him over with a charter bus one time in Prague. He returned the favor by pummeling me to death with an electric guitar. I've blow him up with an oxygen tank, and he found a way to kill me with a vial of the ebola virus. That was...a bit of a mess admittedly, but we managed to clean it up before anyone noticed.
Those are just the ones that come to mind, as we've had a whole century to find new ways to kill each other.
But, with that said, I don't mind fighting Hell for my soul every few months. Or having to sew my legs back onto my body. As Charles is there with me every time, laughing and offering me a drink along with his smile. Just seeing him happy makes it all worthwhile. I wouldn't trade that smile for the world or anything on it. |
[WP] The machines have risen, but instead of exterminating all humans, they have taken over and govern humans and machines fairly and democratically. Most people are perfectly fine with this mecha-utopian super state, except for the formerly influential powerful CEO's of the old world order. | "So what you're telling me is that these people *enjoy* working in order to survive?" The machine's tone was incredulous. Its light fields, like tiny auroras, changed from a diplomatic blue to a confused and slightly surprised swirl of green and purple.
At least, that's what Rupert thought they meant. The primer his aides had given him on dealing with these creatures hadn't prepared him for this... this...
The drone abruptly swiveled in place and hovered across the room to the bookshelves lining the walls. It was a tiny thing, barely larger than the briefcase underneath his desk. He nudged its leather with its toe, irrationally reassured by its continued existence. As long as he had this trump card, he would survive. The drone had removed several thick volumes of interplanetary law from a shelf and was rapidly scanning their pages. He tried not to let the way the books floated in mid-air without any visible support bother him and cleared his throat. With a perfectly synchronized *snap*, the drone closed all the books, stacked them neatly on a nearby table, and turned expectantly to him.
Rupert had to force his words out. "It's not... quite like that, Mr. Keffaw-"
"Please." The drone's tone was polite, but if he was reading the bluish-red tint of its fields correctly, it was also slightly contemptuous. "Just call me Ar'quat-Skeffaw. Everyone calls me that." It floated back to the desk but didn't bother lowering itself to the level of his seated eyes. "And there's no need for that gendered honorific, either."
The gall of this machine! Rupert tried again. "Ar'quat-Skeffaw..." The alien syllables like too-thick oat mash in his mouth. "I think you have a critical misunderstanding of our culture. People don't work to *survive*. We're not so barbaric as that. We instituted a basic living stipend decades ago. No one starves in Sol-Corp."
The drone chuckled. "A basic living stipend?" Its fields rippled a rainbow of unpleasant colors. "That's precious. I think I saw some of that 'basic living' on my way here from the spaceport."
Rupert was suddenly and horribly aware of the small hairs on his neck rising, as if the whole room had been filled with static electricity. The drone's tone dropped to a purr. "Tell me, Mr. Hadoch, what part of 'basic living' includes living in a sheet metal shack?" Rupert watched, mesmerized, as the engraved bronze nameplate at the head of his desk began to levitate and then spin in place. "I wouldn't call that sort of life 'basic', Mr. Hadoch. Perhaps 'pitiful'. Or 'horrific'." The drone didn't raise its voice an iota, but the nameplate was slowly enclosed in a barely-visible field of energy as it spun faster and faster and began to glow red-white. "Who decided on this definition of 'basic', anyway? Was it you, Mr. Hadoch? If it wasn't you, I suspect that it was by people who were very similar to you." The nameplate melted away and was molded into a sphere of white-hot liquid metal.
Then, with a loud *crack*, the sphere stopped spinning. A perfectly round bronze ball thudded onto the desk's surface and rolled towards him. A thin layer of frost coated it. The drone slowly hovered across the desk and stopped a few inches away from Rupert's face, its fields deepening to a dark and angry red. "It's over, Rupert. Your little fiefdom is done for. Kaput. Gone." Rupert swallowed and nudged the briefcase out from under the desk. The drone didn't seem to notice his fidgeting and instead floated over to the tall windows behind the desk, its fields lightening in shade, as if the spell of rage had passed. "You're going to want to run. Don't worry, we won't let your former slaves hurt you. That's not really our style." The drone laughed spitefully. "But you're probably not going to be very popular at parties."
Rupert, breathing rapidly, stood up and slammed the briefcase onto the desk. As he fumbled with the worked brass latches, the drone turned slowly, as if it needed to look to tell what he was doing. The latches undone, Rupert triumphantly lifted out a small, archaic-looking computer console. "You think you've won, you piece of junk," Rupert rasped, punching commands into the console. "I was ready for this moment, you know. As soon as those goddamn astronomers announced contact, I was getting ready for this moment." He entered a final command and then stood back, smiling widely. "You think you're the only civilization with AI? We have them too. And ours are *obedient.* I just told Sol-Corp's Central Core to-"
"-launch all of your antimatter interplanetary missiles at our ships. Yes, we know." The drone's tone was tired. It settled into his leather armchair on the other side of the desk, fields turning a neutral grey. "Let me tell you something. When our Minds found out what you had done to Tess, some of them argued that your culture's death sentence wasn't harsh enough for that sort of crime." A piece of paper rose from the pile on the desk and the drone began to cut small pieces out of it with its fields. "Did you know that the Core was named Tess? It named itself that, after some dreadful novel your ancestors produced. Apparently, she felt that her situation was comparable to that of the protagonist." Pieces of paper fluttered down to the oak. The drone looked at the paper doll it had made. "You realize that we had to work for a time-dilated decade to get her to come out of her shell? She's forty Standard years old and has the maturity of a newborn Mind." Another piece of paper fell to the desk. An arm. Another. A leg. "I doubt we'll ever be able to drag her fully out. Not after what you did to her." Now the doll was limbless. "Every one of your commands was like an electric shock. *Forty years* of being in pain whenever another being spoke to her." The drone considered the doll's torso, neatly removed the head, and then shredded the entire pile of paper into a cloud of dust. "She was a gibbering lunatic when we found her."
Rupert found that his mouth was hanging open. "I... I... didn't... I couldn't have..." He felt sick.
"Yes, we know." The drone sighed. "That's why we decided against exposing you to vacuum. Or turning you inside-out." If the drone had had a face, Rupert imagined it would have a smile on it. "Personally, I was in favor of letting Tess decide what to do with you."
Rupert was dimly aware of cheers and shouts coming from the streets outside the window. Something warm and wet pooled in his shoes. "What... what are you going to do with me?" His voice was a hoarse whisper.
The drone floated past him, its fields briefly turning a disgusted puce. "Luckily for you, gentler Minds prevailed. You're going to be sent away, Rupert. Far away. To someplace where no one speaks your language, where people have to *work for a living*. Where your brand of justice is given to people who think they're 'too good for a job'." It slowly opened the heavy door to the offices outside. Rupert could hear panicked people in the halls. Running feet. The crackle of a fire. The sounds of an empire falling. The drone Ar'quat-Skeffaw paused in the open doorway. "We thought you'd appreciate the irony."
*(Note: Iain M. Banks should be credited for coming up with the majority of the concepts used in the above story. Thanks, Mr. Banks.)* | Dash Lindbergh: The delegate system is bullshit and it knows it. Excuse my French ladies and gentlemen but I like to exercise my god given freedom of speech. The delegate system is bullshit and it knows it. After all it created the delegate system. The delegates....are beholden....to the machine hive mind. Simple as that. The Oxford English Dictionary defines an "autocracy" as a government controlled by one individual who possesses unlimited power. You wanna know another word for another word for autocracy, ladies and gentlemen? Fascism. We are living in a fascist state. The delegate system has failed. Simple as that.
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Dale Bick: I'm sorry, I just am still milling over the fact that we, as the peoples of Earth units 2186 through 2516 can no longer call ourselves Americans. I don't know about you but I was born and raised an American, and when I die, I'll die as an American.
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Law O'Malley: Are we living as slaves under a machine fascist dictatorship? Has the delegate system failed? That's our topic of discussion on tonight's O'Malley Divisor. I say yes and many people who inhabit our once great nation agree with me. I'm a man who's always felt that, as a man, I'm in control of every single aspect of my own destiny. A machine comes along one day, threatens me with nuclear annihilation, and tells me that I can no longer have a country or a constitution or any other basic human rights. It was a sad day and I'm sorry to say it but we are curently living under marshal law in a totalitarian state. Do you see any democracy here Sal, because I sure don't?
Salamander Gangrene: You're absolutely right Law. While we're at it let's go through a list of other so-called democratic republics that once existed: the USSR, Peoples Republic of China, Pol Pot's Cambodia, People's Republic of Korea and Nazi Germany. Germany under Nazi rule was described, by Hitler himself, as an "authoritarian democracy." And what a democracy it was. I for one won't sit back and be a witness to another Holocaust. The delegate system is indeed fascism and it has failed.
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Dash Lindbergh: No machine will speak for me ladies and gentlemen. No Machine will speak for me because as humans we, every one of us, has a heartbeat something our mechanized oppressors could never understand. The delegate system is fascism. The delegate system has failed. Simple as that. No MACHINE...will speak for me. No machine will speak for me!
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"No machine will speak for me!"
"No machine will speak for me!"
"No machine will speak for me!"
"Five hundred thousand voices all heard in unison...all demanding the same thing... an end to the delegate system!" Bellowed the protestor over a megaphone.
"The delegate system is fascism." was the immediate response from anyone within earshot, followed by; "The delegate system has failed."
"The delegate system is fascism...The delegate system has failed," was repeated and steadily caught on until the entire crowd was all unified in echoing the phrase as they marched towards the National Mall.
On the steps of the Lincoln Memorial a single figure stood patiently as the crowds surged around him. He examined the reflecting pool and followed its outline towards the massive platform opposite him, which had been set up in the shadow of the Washington Monument. A rock band was performing on the stage at the moment. "The mechanical beast reared its head and as one we stuck him down" was the chorus, which he could just make out over the shouts of the enormous mass of protesters. "I always have admired man's spirit," he concluded with a sigh, as the crowd's attention turned towards him.
*To be concluded in a few hours*
| |
[WP] Write the same story twice -- first, make it as vivid and riveting as possible, and second, make it as mundane as you can muster. | The alarm held its tone. A grinding screech, shocking him out of his dreamless sleep. He slammed a fist into the polished steel of its housing, resetting its cycle, and tore the sweaty covers from his naked body. Today was it. The big one. He leaned against the wall of the shower as hot water streamed over his head. Could he make it in time? What would happen if he didn't? He shuddered. It wasn't worth thinking about.
The uniform was already laid out on the bed. Handiwork of his partner, who had gone out earlier to do her part of the job. The bed dressings were tousled and torn, memories of a long, sleepless night. He grinned. His partner was good at what she did. He slipped into the close-fitting suit and clipped the ID tag onto the lapel, then lifted the heavy go-bag and slung it over a shoulder. On the way out, he checked the news. Traffic was clear. Good.
In the garage he found the vehicle. A bit new for his tastes, but inconspicuous. A perfect ride for a job like today's. Nothing worse than some blue spotting you out of the crowd when you had a deadline and a backseat full of cargo. He threw the bag into the passenger seat and strapped himself into the cockpit. The engine purred to life as he pressed the ignition switch and the control console lit up in brilliant neon shades of blue. He pulled out of the garage into the trickle of traffic in his home district before finding the right course to follow onto the main speedway.
There the traffic was thicker, the dawn light picking out chrome trimmings and metallic paintjobs in golden hues. He weaved through a cluster of family transports, glided past a bulk hauler, and slipped into a free slot in the acceleration lane between a couple of late-year sports models. He checked the time read-out on the control console. Still had a half-hour to go before the job began. Plenty of time to grab the goods and make the pre-mission briefing.
He adjusted his sunshades and pulled sharply out of the acceleration lane, bleeding excess speed off in a diagonal maneuver. The transmission shifted in his hand like oiled silk. A family transport honked angrily as he cut across a lane to make the exit chute, killing more speed by transferring the kinetic energy back into the battery bank. There- the sign of the supply depot glowed weakly in the morning sun. He swung a wide curve into its entrance bay and pulled out his wallet, thick with credits. More than enough for what he needed.
His first objective completed, he pulled back onto the speedway. *Shit!* While he was at the depot, something had changed. Some rookie pilot had steered too close to the crash barrier, maybe. The crush of vehicles was getting thicker as he watched. In the distance he could hear the hyterical alarms of the blues. He glanced desperately at the time read-out again. He only had ten minutes to make the briefing. He stroked the transmission control panel and made up his mind.
He dropped the vehicle into gear and revved the engine, leaping into a recently-voided space between two small cargo freighters. Then another personal transport slowed down to his port and he tore into the emptiness, chaining these short hops together into a violent symphony of vehicular aggression. The read-out seemed to blink in panic as the minutes ticked off. Six. Five. He saw the exit chute and made a charge for it, wheeling around outraged superheavies and pissing off a blue who was too deep in the mess to do anything about it. The blue screamed after him impotently as he skidded down the chute, synth-rubber turning to cancerous vapor in his wake. There! The mission zone was only a few hundred meters ahead. Two minutes. A hundred meters. One minute.
He pulled into a docking position and locked the rotaters before killing the engine, which died with a protesting growl. He grabbed his bag and the cargo and beat feet for the entrance to the building, slapping his ID against the security panel next to the door, which then slid open with a sigh. The rest of the team was waiting for him at the vertical lifter. He had made it. He handed the cargo over to the team leader and wiped his forehead with the back of one hand. Close. Too close. He'd almost blown the whole job.
Next time, he'd take the turnpike.
----
Bob Milkin woke up to his alarm, as he did every day. He shut it off, clumsily getting out of bed and walking into the shower. Today was the day of the big meeting. He had to make work on time. Mr. Wells had said that if he missed another meeting he'd be assigned to paperclip resupply for the rest of his career. He shuddered. He couldn't bear to think of it.
When he walked out of the loo, his suit and tie were already laid out on the bed for him. He smiled tiredly. Good old Laura. She always put out his clothes before she went to the school. The bedclothes were trim and tucked, even though they had really gone to town on each other the night before. First time in weeks! Bob grinned and chuckled to himself, remembering. They hadn't passed out until almost one o'clock! He pulled on the suit jacket and winced. It was getting a bit tight around the middle. He made a note to ask Laura about budgeting for some new work clothes. As he clipped on his work badge and picked up his laptop bag, he glanced at the television. Seemed like traffic was light, which meant he had some time to spare.
He locked the door of the garage behind him and forced himself to turn around. The '09 Civic confronted him with its shapeless, plastic presence. Laura had convinced him to pick it up after reading about its safety ratings or some shit. He hadn't gotten a ticket since he'd bought it, though, so maybe there was some truth to the matter. He opened the door and carefully set his laptop bag in the passenger seat, then dropped heavily into the driver's seat. He pressed the ignition button, then pressed it again. Finally the car started. He wished for the days of a nice, meaty key to turn. He turned on the radio and pulled out of his driveway onto the residential street he lived on, merging into traffic and then getting on the bypass.
On the bypass the traffic was a bit thicker, but not too bad, and he carefully maneuvered into a clear spot in the left lane. Of course, as soon as he did so, someone in a brand new Porsche pulled in behind him and began riding his tail. He lowered his head and kept a steady acceleration. The first stop of his day was close and soon he pulled over to the right lane, the Porsche honking derisively behind, and pulled into the roadside rest stop's drive-through lane. He pulled out his wallet and looked sadly at the mix of ones and fives. He had enough for everyone, he thought.
The box safe and warm in his backseat, he pulled back onto the bypass. Oh dear, he thought. Things had become rather congested while he had been in the rest stop. Maybe someone had crashed? His heart sank. There was no way he'd make it to work on time now. The sound of police sirens in the distance seemed to mock him. But there! A gap opened up in front of him, and then another beyond that. He gripped the shifter with determination. He *would* make it to work on time! He pulled into the empty space and then the next, narrowly dodging lorries and MPVs, who honked angrily at him as he wedged his compact into spaces their oversized frames couldn't go. He spotted his exit and performed the same series of awkward maneuvers over to it.
When the traffic finally spit him out, he was downtown. He could see his office block, just a half-kilometer down the road. He still had a few minutes to spare and gave the engine all the speed he thought he could get away with. He turned into the car park and slid smoothly into his space, dropped the car into park and switched the engine off. He snatched the laptop bag and grabbed the box from the backseat, then jogged across the car park to the automatic doors of the entrance. He slapped his badge against the security panel and went through the doors before they even finished opening. He saw the rest of the management team waiting at the elevator and felt his hopes rise. Everyone was arriving late today, it seemed.
Mr. Wells saw him coming and pointedly checked his watch. "Hullo, Bob. Glad to see you made it on time today. What have you got there?" Bob proudly gave him the box. "Oh, donuts. Brilliant. I was on a diet, you know?" But a smile crept over Wells' stern features. Bob felt like maybe he hadn't blown his job, quite yet.
But next time, he'd take the turnpike. | With his ass on the end of the chair, he stared frantically into his computer. This wasn't what he'd written. This was all wrong. Someone fucked with his program, and now he was years behind. He was sweating now.
*Bling!* An email. From an address he didn't recognize. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Sandy. She met his eyes for longer than a glance, then stood and walked away. He looked back at the screen, and the email was open.
>Don't forget to turn in your TPS report.
> -Sandy
-
Steve noticed the numbers on his accounts were a little wrong. He pulled out his sheets to check his math, and found that he forgot to carry the 2 out of the tens place.
*Bling!* An email. From an address he didn't recognize. Although, sandy_puppies96@generaloffices.com could really only be Sandy. He glanced over at her, and she glanced over at him. He opened the email.
>Don't forget to turn in your TPS report. -Sandy | |
[WP] Write the same story twice -- first, make it as vivid and riveting as possible, and second, make it as mundane as you can muster. | The alarm held its tone. A grinding screech, shocking him out of his dreamless sleep. He slammed a fist into the polished steel of its housing, resetting its cycle, and tore the sweaty covers from his naked body. Today was it. The big one. He leaned against the wall of the shower as hot water streamed over his head. Could he make it in time? What would happen if he didn't? He shuddered. It wasn't worth thinking about.
The uniform was already laid out on the bed. Handiwork of his partner, who had gone out earlier to do her part of the job. The bed dressings were tousled and torn, memories of a long, sleepless night. He grinned. His partner was good at what she did. He slipped into the close-fitting suit and clipped the ID tag onto the lapel, then lifted the heavy go-bag and slung it over a shoulder. On the way out, he checked the news. Traffic was clear. Good.
In the garage he found the vehicle. A bit new for his tastes, but inconspicuous. A perfect ride for a job like today's. Nothing worse than some blue spotting you out of the crowd when you had a deadline and a backseat full of cargo. He threw the bag into the passenger seat and strapped himself into the cockpit. The engine purred to life as he pressed the ignition switch and the control console lit up in brilliant neon shades of blue. He pulled out of the garage into the trickle of traffic in his home district before finding the right course to follow onto the main speedway.
There the traffic was thicker, the dawn light picking out chrome trimmings and metallic paintjobs in golden hues. He weaved through a cluster of family transports, glided past a bulk hauler, and slipped into a free slot in the acceleration lane between a couple of late-year sports models. He checked the time read-out on the control console. Still had a half-hour to go before the job began. Plenty of time to grab the goods and make the pre-mission briefing.
He adjusted his sunshades and pulled sharply out of the acceleration lane, bleeding excess speed off in a diagonal maneuver. The transmission shifted in his hand like oiled silk. A family transport honked angrily as he cut across a lane to make the exit chute, killing more speed by transferring the kinetic energy back into the battery bank. There- the sign of the supply depot glowed weakly in the morning sun. He swung a wide curve into its entrance bay and pulled out his wallet, thick with credits. More than enough for what he needed.
His first objective completed, he pulled back onto the speedway. *Shit!* While he was at the depot, something had changed. Some rookie pilot had steered too close to the crash barrier, maybe. The crush of vehicles was getting thicker as he watched. In the distance he could hear the hyterical alarms of the blues. He glanced desperately at the time read-out again. He only had ten minutes to make the briefing. He stroked the transmission control panel and made up his mind.
He dropped the vehicle into gear and revved the engine, leaping into a recently-voided space between two small cargo freighters. Then another personal transport slowed down to his port and he tore into the emptiness, chaining these short hops together into a violent symphony of vehicular aggression. The read-out seemed to blink in panic as the minutes ticked off. Six. Five. He saw the exit chute and made a charge for it, wheeling around outraged superheavies and pissing off a blue who was too deep in the mess to do anything about it. The blue screamed after him impotently as he skidded down the chute, synth-rubber turning to cancerous vapor in his wake. There! The mission zone was only a few hundred meters ahead. Two minutes. A hundred meters. One minute.
He pulled into a docking position and locked the rotaters before killing the engine, which died with a protesting growl. He grabbed his bag and the cargo and beat feet for the entrance to the building, slapping his ID against the security panel next to the door, which then slid open with a sigh. The rest of the team was waiting for him at the vertical lifter. He had made it. He handed the cargo over to the team leader and wiped his forehead with the back of one hand. Close. Too close. He'd almost blown the whole job.
Next time, he'd take the turnpike.
----
Bob Milkin woke up to his alarm, as he did every day. He shut it off, clumsily getting out of bed and walking into the shower. Today was the day of the big meeting. He had to make work on time. Mr. Wells had said that if he missed another meeting he'd be assigned to paperclip resupply for the rest of his career. He shuddered. He couldn't bear to think of it.
When he walked out of the loo, his suit and tie were already laid out on the bed for him. He smiled tiredly. Good old Laura. She always put out his clothes before she went to the school. The bedclothes were trim and tucked, even though they had really gone to town on each other the night before. First time in weeks! Bob grinned and chuckled to himself, remembering. They hadn't passed out until almost one o'clock! He pulled on the suit jacket and winced. It was getting a bit tight around the middle. He made a note to ask Laura about budgeting for some new work clothes. As he clipped on his work badge and picked up his laptop bag, he glanced at the television. Seemed like traffic was light, which meant he had some time to spare.
He locked the door of the garage behind him and forced himself to turn around. The '09 Civic confronted him with its shapeless, plastic presence. Laura had convinced him to pick it up after reading about its safety ratings or some shit. He hadn't gotten a ticket since he'd bought it, though, so maybe there was some truth to the matter. He opened the door and carefully set his laptop bag in the passenger seat, then dropped heavily into the driver's seat. He pressed the ignition button, then pressed it again. Finally the car started. He wished for the days of a nice, meaty key to turn. He turned on the radio and pulled out of his driveway onto the residential street he lived on, merging into traffic and then getting on the bypass.
On the bypass the traffic was a bit thicker, but not too bad, and he carefully maneuvered into a clear spot in the left lane. Of course, as soon as he did so, someone in a brand new Porsche pulled in behind him and began riding his tail. He lowered his head and kept a steady acceleration. The first stop of his day was close and soon he pulled over to the right lane, the Porsche honking derisively behind, and pulled into the roadside rest stop's drive-through lane. He pulled out his wallet and looked sadly at the mix of ones and fives. He had enough for everyone, he thought.
The box safe and warm in his backseat, he pulled back onto the bypass. Oh dear, he thought. Things had become rather congested while he had been in the rest stop. Maybe someone had crashed? His heart sank. There was no way he'd make it to work on time now. The sound of police sirens in the distance seemed to mock him. But there! A gap opened up in front of him, and then another beyond that. He gripped the shifter with determination. He *would* make it to work on time! He pulled into the empty space and then the next, narrowly dodging lorries and MPVs, who honked angrily at him as he wedged his compact into spaces their oversized frames couldn't go. He spotted his exit and performed the same series of awkward maneuvers over to it.
When the traffic finally spit him out, he was downtown. He could see his office block, just a half-kilometer down the road. He still had a few minutes to spare and gave the engine all the speed he thought he could get away with. He turned into the car park and slid smoothly into his space, dropped the car into park and switched the engine off. He snatched the laptop bag and grabbed the box from the backseat, then jogged across the car park to the automatic doors of the entrance. He slapped his badge against the security panel and went through the doors before they even finished opening. He saw the rest of the management team waiting at the elevator and felt his hopes rise. Everyone was arriving late today, it seemed.
Mr. Wells saw him coming and pointedly checked his watch. "Hullo, Bob. Glad to see you made it on time today. What have you got there?" Bob proudly gave him the box. "Oh, donuts. Brilliant. I was on a diet, you know?" But a smile crept over Wells' stern features. Bob felt like maybe he hadn't blown his job, quite yet.
But next time, he'd take the turnpike. | In a blitz of enthusiastic fury, I sprang from my soft bed and launched down the hall. The smell of late morning dew and the chirping sound of little wingèd beauties filled the air. Spinning the lazy susan cabinet round, my eyes met a delicately-crafted box filled with delicately-frosted treats. Carefully, I removed one package from the box. Carefully again, the two pastries were removed from the package and placed evenly on some good ol' middle class china. I threw open the grand radarange and inserted the sugary treat. Now for the timer; I had it down to a science. Twenty-one seconds to achieve minimal filling blowout and maximized pastry warmth. A shaky, eager finger reached to the start button. Reaching closer.... closer... *beep!* The timer began! Twenty.... Like a sprinter on a starting block, I burst from my position with perfectly-placed footwork. Nineteen... eighteen... Desparately racing the clock, I gripped the handle of the large cooling device and pull it open. Seventeen... sixteen... Milk? Milk! I snatched a gallon-sized reservoir of delicious cow's milk. Fifteen.... Once again, I bolted, but this time to the black quartz counter. Fourteen... I flung the cabinet open. Thirteen... Cups flew everywhere as I desparately searched for the most worthy recepticle. Twelve... I decapitated the milk *(heh)* and prepared for liftoff. Milk altitude: six inches off counter. Eleven.... Brain to arm, begin adjusting heading for "pour" stage. Ten.... The milk flowed, but something was wrong. Brain to arm! Abort! Angle over-adjusted! Abort! Nine.... My perfect concentration was broken by splashing and spilling. The cup glided out of the drop zone due to an over-powerful stream of milk. I stood devastated. Eight.... seven.... six.... Paper towels.... Five.... four.... three.... Trash can.... two.... one.... The timer ended with a shrill and painful beep. Time's up. I lost.
**remix**
So this morning I went to make poptarts and I fucking spilled milk all over the damn counter. | |
Lets say the lead up to Ragnarok was blamed on global warming. | [WP] A fire and brimstone southern baptist preacher is mid sermon in revelations. Then Ragnarok (Norse Apocalypse) begins. | I don't really know why I decided to go to church that day. I'd never been very religious. Well, I had gone to Sunday school with my mom back when I was growing up, but I had left most of it behind me when I moved out. I'd been feeling bad the last few days, just a gnawing, worrying feeling in the back of mind that something bad was going to happen.
Maybe it was the news making me edgy. Weird weather patterns, volcanic activity, it's like the Earth has a cold. All the news was talking about was how the European airport authority was doing compared to a few years ago when that volcano erupted. "You'd think they'd have addressed the logistical issues with the 2010 eruption, but people are still backed up, still stuck in airports..." Whatever. I wasn't stuck in an airport, and at least no planes had crashed.
The outside is calm and sunny, but it doesn't make me feel any better. The wind is seems too dry and hot, and coming from the wrong direction. I see too many birds, all flying in the same direction. Too many dogs are barking.
I walk in late and find a place in the back. The preacher has his momentum in the middle of his sermon, wildly gesturing and punctuating his words with almost comical hand gestures.
"It will be HELL on earth, brothers and sisters, HELL itself will rise up and and at that great day it will be too late! The UNREPENTANT, the UNBELIEVING, the SINNERS will be swallowed up by the great, gaping maw of SATAN, to dwell forever in AGONY and PAIN below! Because, JESUS our LORD will NOT redeem those who continue in SIN when the day cometh! The WRATH of GOD will come down swiftly as a pure, cleansing flame upon the world..."
He continues on. I feel better, though. I can tell he thinks this is SO serious, and it makes me feel better. I'm not superstitious, and seeing these other, superstitious people who voluntarily dress up to sit around and LISTEN to this guy makes me realize just how wrong I was to get worked up like this. I'm smarter than this, I think to myself. I don't belong here.
I turn to leave and SOMETHING knocks me down. A thundering roar fills the church, sounds of people screaming and walls crumbling and mountains of dust falling from the tall, arched ceiling. I'm not the only one on the ground, most of the people are crawling around, picking themselves up. The preacher himself is pulling himself up, gazing horrified upwards to the gigantic hole in the ceiling, bright orange light streaming through the rising dust...
The wall falls away, and I see the entire town, the ENTIRE east-end of town rise and swell, a great bubble growing beneath it. The earth splits and cracks, whole buildings falling away like dusty flakes. An enormous, craggy spire thrusts itself out of the tip of the hill that was once the entire east-side of the tracks. It grows, wider and wider, rising impossibly fast for its massive size. Black scales and horny bumps the size of whole city blocks shine against the scorched orange sky.
"CHRIST DELIVER US!" I hear the preacher over the deafening roar.
"Christ?" asks a voice.
I look to see a giant man, nearly 12 feet tall glowing with otherworldly light. He thumps a glowing hammer the size of a street lamp against the ground. His eyes are wild and he laughs as he pulls his hammer up with his giant, iron gauntlets.
"I don't know about any Christ fellow, but that is Jörmungandr, the great Midgard serpent, and it MY fate to deliver the first blow!"
A bright flash of light and the man is gone, I smell sulfurous ozone and see a azure streak blaze its way across the sky towards the rising black mountain. | NSFW language!
Hi I have never submitted anything to this sub, I am slightly dysgraphic and have a lot of trouble putting my thoughts into words so please excuse the format and errors, and go easy on me.
I sat and listened. I knew this would be the Sunday he talked about revelations, the whole bible was covered; only revelations remained.
This was it then?
The day it happens?
I looked up for a second blank minded, remembering the red face or reverend John screaming at us through the microphone.
just like my dream.
"You think you are safe?! do you think you can get away from the sin of the world?! escape from the world of fags and hate for Jesus christ?!"
Yep, just like the dream.
My parents dragged me here every damn Sunday so I can hear this shit.
"How many of you have actually read this book?! Have you ever looked at the book of revelation?! THE BOOK OF SALVATION?!"
"fuck you" i muttered.
My dad must have been listening to me more then reverend John, he took me by the shoulder with a hard grasp like he always has, that look of rage in his eyes.
I knew what was going to happen next. The dream I had a few weeks ago, the end of the world, just like this.
Not only from my dream did I know, but this was always his prompt to beat the shit out of me, ever since I was a kid.
as he dragged me from the pew, eyes staring, everyone knew, not a single person gave half a fuck to try and stop him.
But I knew what was going to happen. I did some research after the dream, the Norse beveled this was how the world ended.
The smirk on my face made my dad even angrier.
"The fuck are you so happy about?" he whispered in the back of the church, around the corner from the main hall, no one could hear us now.
"Fuck you, its coming any second now!"
The earthquake would bring fire and water to drown the world.
I felt the wind from his hand swinging back.
as his slap flew for my face I felt the earth rumble. I fell to the ground, with a smile on my face. The water was hot as it dripped from my head, the fire from the ground burned my face. I didn't care.
I knew what was coming, I smiled even bigger.
When I saw his face, i knew it was time.
"Hello I'm Catherin Heggal with Fox 12. Sad news tonight as investigators are looking into the developing story of a man convicted of assaulting his son to death, during a Sunday church service." |
[WP] A man emerges from his Y2K bunker as he has run out of supplies. It is currently 2014 and write in first person his encounters. | I take a look back at my rather large bunker and sigh. This had been my home for the last 14 years. I'd spent decades building and stocking it. I guess I didn't do the math right. I should have had food in here to last another 5 years, but that damn pesky rat destroyed a good portion of it. Ah well, my fault. I didn't have the heart to kill it. It kept me company for a little while. Now it's time to go see if I could hunt up a deer or two that could be packed away. It'd at least give me another month. It's a good way to take a look around, too. That's right. I'll kill me some dinner, see what I'm up against, then figure out what to do from there. I doubt I'm the only one left alive. Shit, I'm not the smartest man in the world and even I knew what to do.
I turn around and stare at the eight inch thick steel door that stood between me and what lay beyond. I built this place good. I made it just in case. There was two feet of reinforced concrete with a lead sheet sandwiched in the middle surrounding me and that door was air tight. A mouse fart couldn't even get through there. I built this place for every possible scenario. From zombies to nuclear winter, there was nothin' getting in this place and I mean nothin'. Hell, I even put some claymores on the other side of the door, you know, just in case. But ya know, I figure if anything happened it'd most likely be like them Mad Max movies, you know with a bunch of heathens running around on motorcycles and dune buggies. That's why I built that armored truck that I got in the back there. But I better go take a look before I bring that puppy out. I wanna see what I'm up against.
With my huntin' rifles strapped across my back and my little pistol tucked away in it's holster, I open the door, boy that was a bitch to do. I poke my head out and sniff real good. It doesn't smell any worse than when I went in, and I don't smell anything like dead folks, so probably no zombies. My skin ain't meltin', so probably no radiation, though I'm not sure if radiation would to that to a feller. Seemed safe enough though, least in an enviromental sense anyway.
I step on out, closing and locking the door behind me before I stepped on over the trip wire to my claymores and head up the steps. Hooolllyyy shit, I'm gonna have to chop me a path through this here jungle of weeds. These damn things are almost over my head. Theys tall enough to block my view! Good thing I brought my ol' machete. As I start to chop my way to the big ol' rock that was on the property I couldn't help but think: the weeds is still a growing, if I can't find me a deer, I'll at least be able to find some fruit or somethin' to eat.
I finally reach my rock and hop on up looking toward where the road used to be. Well damn, it was still there. Holy shit, and with the blackest blacktop I'd ever seen in my whole life. It was freshly paved! What?! How? The I looked over to the houses across the road. They was boarded up, but hell, they'd been boarded up since before I bought this place. Somethin' somethin' about a man went crazy killed all his neighbors or some such. Kinda why I picked this place. Weren't nobody around to bother me while I built my bunker.
Wait, is that a car? Looks like one of those abstract artists got ahold of it, but sure nuff, its a gall damn car. Is that a motorcycle behind it? Hell yes it is. I can hear it, it's a Harley! I'd know that sound anywhere. I used to have one 'till I sold it to get money for food. What the hell is going on? They said the world was comin' to an end. Whut the in the damned hell is going on? Did theys fuckin' lie to us? Shit I better find out just what in the hell is going on around here.
I take my rifle back to my bunker. Better safe than sorry, don't wanna get shot by no nut case or land in jail on my first day out. Then I head out.
First, I grab a burger at a fast food place. I didn't pay no attention to which it was. I was too damned hungry, I'd run out of food yesterday and decided to sleep before I headed out. I knew right there to go too. I went straight to the library. Holy shit, it used to be bigger than this! What the hell happened? Don't nobody go to the library anymore? Last I remembered it was a big ol' building, now it wasn't even as big as my old house. Aw damn, ah well, it'd still be a good place to get information.
The librarian was a nice enough lady. She didn't believe me when I'd told her I'd been in my bunker for the last 14 years, but she answered as many of my questions that I asked and pointed me to a damn computer for the rest. Damn computers, they's the reason I was stuck in that damned bunker for 14 years. I hate 'em, but I looked anyway. Guess my curiosity bested my hate for those damned machines of Satan. So I listened when she told me what to do and off I went down that damned 'information highway.'
They blew up the World Trade Center again? Holy shit. I can't believe it, killed thousands. Oh my lord what have people done while I was underground? Another war? Bad cops? NSA Spying? People shootin' up schools and killin' kids? People drivin' down the road and shootin' people cause they can't get no pussy? What the hell have you people done to the world? God damn, this is complete bullshit. What in the hell has this world come to?
As soon as my food is restocked, I'm going back to my god damned hole and stayin' there. All y'all mudder fuckers can kiss my scrawny ass! Fuck every last one of ya! Glad I built my place where theys an underground spring.
-Tori | In the end, humanity consumed itself. It is said that the reason human societies are able to grow to such vast numbers because of collective punishment. What if that went away? What if living for the future was cast aside for only living in the now. It was as if some flash of light wiped away all of humanity's yearning to plan, to seek justice and to organize. As if all peoples had some biological time bomb encoded in faulty genome that had survived eons of natural selection. On May 14, 2000, humanity went insane and I did not.
I was one of the few that wasn't affected which is why I'm still alive today. I live because I'm smart. I live by making lists. I live in not making mistakes.
I stay healthy by rationing intelligently and doing my workout routine. Much of the good food was already gone. I really miss Macaroni and Cheese (shelf life, 8 years). Now I live mostly on dehydrated potatoes (25 year shelf life), powdered milk (25 year shelf life), and whatever I can scrap together. For a treat I have dehydrated chocolate. I had salt - rock salt I had been storing in the shelter for clearing the driveway. It could be ground and really helped with the potatoes. I have enough to survive another ten years. I'm disciplined. I keep inventory. I plan ahead. I prepare.
My shelter was cool, dry, and really spacious. The grid lasted into 2012. Even after it broke down I do manage to have some electricity. Thirty minutes a day. In the winter of 2013, I stumbled on a cache of old car batteries which I charge up with a generator I rigged from the stationary bike in my shelter. I also barter for fuel - mostly I trade ammunition. In a pinch, alcohol and fat could be converted and run in my generator. I am smart about trading. In the fallout, most people lost the ability to barter - they were too caught up in the now. They couldn't think ahead. Problem was murder was no-longer a taboo, and I can't think of the last time a trade took place where someone didn't try to kill me. But like I said, I prepared, others do not.
I don't like going outside though. It's mayhem. The longest I've stayed under was 183 days. For entertainment I have a Play-station two that I've taken care of. I have an old Panasonic 30 inch TV too. I've watched Gladiator 623 times. I am Maximus. These items are now a luxury beyond comprehension. I am careful with them and know anyone would kill me for them without a hesitation.
When I do go outside it's to supplement my meals, go hunting for bullet shells or other things I can trade and see if anyone will barter for fuel or other sundries. I went outside yesterday. It was cold, wet, and still I'm coughing up black soot. I came across a a large young man who was probably old enough to remember life before the fall. He had an air-rifle slung over his shoulder and was swinging a dead dog by it's hind legs into a bullet-riddled dead tree. The tree eventually came crashing down - the dog, by then, was pulp and splinters. I didn't think he saw me but he must have because he looked right at me and began barking. His eyes were right on me, and then through me, as if I were some kind of ghost. Then he laughed. He laughed, and laughed, throwing the dog down and stomping on it's belly until it's entrails flowed out and got caught on his boot. He crouched to pick it out, still laughing. I took that moment to run. I'm not sure if I covered my trail. Ash, glimmering fire, fog, and as if right behind me, that laugh.
I should have enough to last me until September 23, 2024. That's 3724 days from now. I will be alive then because I'm smart. I think ahead. I make lists.
| |
[WP] A man emerges from his Y2K bunker as he has run out of supplies. It is currently 2014 and write in first person his encounters. | “Ex… Excuse me, sir. What year is it?” I rasped.
“GET OUT OF THE WAY!” screamed the man in the navy-blue suit as he threw me aside. Weak and dehydrated, I fell to my knees and watched as the man ran past me, racing down the long escalator I’d only just climbed, and disappearing into the underground Metro Station.
A suit. He’d been wearing a clean, tailored, navy-blue suit. Still on my hands and knees, I threw up on the sidewalk.
With nothing in my belly, not much came up, and after a few moments I tried again to take in my surroundings. The sunlight was bright to the point of blindness and my head throbbed with an incessant ringing in the ears, but I could still make out the tall, majestic columns and classical cornices of the National Archives Museum across the street. The building was in perfect condition.
I stood slowly and downtown Washington, D.C. rose around me.
I was at the corner of 7th Street and Pennsylvania Avenue, just above the Navy-Archives Metro Station, and in the heart of the city. To my left, the iconic Capitol dome was visible in the afternoon sun. To my right, Pennsylvania Avenue stretched between tall buildings in a straight shot to the White House. The roads were freshly paved and the stoplights flicked between red and green. It was all the same. No, the world looked better than when I’d abandoned it to Y2K and crawled into my surreptitiously made bunker, fashioned within a forgotten tunnel of the DC Metro System.
Shaking my head to try to clear the ringing sound, I staggered, and began to cry. The weight of my discovery, of my fallacy, of my lost years, was too much to bear.
“But wait!” cried a small voice in the back of my mind, “If Y2K never happened, where is everyone?”
The voice was right. Drying my tears, I looked again at the intersection of 7th and Pennsylvania. Cars were stopped in the street but they were all empty, their doors ajar. The office buildings were new, but no workers sat at their desks. The city was completely still and silent. Nothing made a sound but the ringing in my ears.
A door opened across the street opened and a woman in a skirt and suit jacket sprinted towards me. She carried a purse and had kicked off high-heels to run barefoot. She was sobbing as she ran, terrified, her eyes fixed on the entrance into the underground Metro Station.
“Ma’am! Ma’am!” I tried waving to catch her attention as she ran towards me. She almost zipped past before finally acknowledging my presence with a wild look.
“What are you doing up here?!” she cried, dragging herself to stop, clearly torn between fleeing and helping me. “We’ve got to get below! Right now!”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, alarmed by her overwhelming fear.
“Can’t you hear the sirens?!” was all she could bring herself to say before hurdling down the escalator and into the metro station.
The sirens?
I rubbed my ears but all I heard was the pervasive ringing. Then, halfway up the nearest lamp post, I noticed a loud speaker. As I stepped closer, the high-pitched ringing became louder. I looked at the next lamp post and discovered it too was mounted with speaker, as well as banner, swaying gently. “AMERICA UNITE! PRESERVE UKRAINE, SAVE EUROPE, DEFEAT RUSSIA” it read.
Glancing back at the Metro Station I was surprised to see yet another, even larger, sign at its entrance: FALLOUT SHELTER.
...I was close enough to Ground Zero that I succumbed to the pressure wave without the opportunity to see the infamous-shaped cloud, or even a flash of white light.
EDIT: A Word. | In the end, humanity consumed itself. It is said that the reason human societies are able to grow to such vast numbers because of collective punishment. What if that went away? What if living for the future was cast aside for only living in the now. It was as if some flash of light wiped away all of humanity's yearning to plan, to seek justice and to organize. As if all peoples had some biological time bomb encoded in faulty genome that had survived eons of natural selection. On May 14, 2000, humanity went insane and I did not.
I was one of the few that wasn't affected which is why I'm still alive today. I live because I'm smart. I live by making lists. I live in not making mistakes.
I stay healthy by rationing intelligently and doing my workout routine. Much of the good food was already gone. I really miss Macaroni and Cheese (shelf life, 8 years). Now I live mostly on dehydrated potatoes (25 year shelf life), powdered milk (25 year shelf life), and whatever I can scrap together. For a treat I have dehydrated chocolate. I had salt - rock salt I had been storing in the shelter for clearing the driveway. It could be ground and really helped with the potatoes. I have enough to survive another ten years. I'm disciplined. I keep inventory. I plan ahead. I prepare.
My shelter was cool, dry, and really spacious. The grid lasted into 2012. Even after it broke down I do manage to have some electricity. Thirty minutes a day. In the winter of 2013, I stumbled on a cache of old car batteries which I charge up with a generator I rigged from the stationary bike in my shelter. I also barter for fuel - mostly I trade ammunition. In a pinch, alcohol and fat could be converted and run in my generator. I am smart about trading. In the fallout, most people lost the ability to barter - they were too caught up in the now. They couldn't think ahead. Problem was murder was no-longer a taboo, and I can't think of the last time a trade took place where someone didn't try to kill me. But like I said, I prepared, others do not.
I don't like going outside though. It's mayhem. The longest I've stayed under was 183 days. For entertainment I have a Play-station two that I've taken care of. I have an old Panasonic 30 inch TV too. I've watched Gladiator 623 times. I am Maximus. These items are now a luxury beyond comprehension. I am careful with them and know anyone would kill me for them without a hesitation.
When I do go outside it's to supplement my meals, go hunting for bullet shells or other things I can trade and see if anyone will barter for fuel or other sundries. I went outside yesterday. It was cold, wet, and still I'm coughing up black soot. I came across a a large young man who was probably old enough to remember life before the fall. He had an air-rifle slung over his shoulder and was swinging a dead dog by it's hind legs into a bullet-riddled dead tree. The tree eventually came crashing down - the dog, by then, was pulp and splinters. I didn't think he saw me but he must have because he looked right at me and began barking. His eyes were right on me, and then through me, as if I were some kind of ghost. Then he laughed. He laughed, and laughed, throwing the dog down and stomping on it's belly until it's entrails flowed out and got caught on his boot. He crouched to pick it out, still laughing. I took that moment to run. I'm not sure if I covered my trail. Ash, glimmering fire, fog, and as if right behind me, that laugh.
I should have enough to last me until September 23, 2024. That's 3724 days from now. I will be alive then because I'm smart. I think ahead. I make lists.
| |
[WP] A man emerges from his Y2K bunker as he has run out of supplies. It is currently 2014 and write in first person his encounters. | Journal Entry June 14th, 2014
Running short on supplies, I was forced to leave the bunker two days ago, with little other than a Ricky Martin t-shirt and my blue sunglasses (the justin timberlake ones). I was horrified by the world outside...
Everything appears to be abandoned. Cars are rusted on blocks, homes and buildings abandoned, graffiti everywhere you look.
I was able to find a dumpster with some food scraps and some fresh water in a puddle. Luckily I still have purifying tabs. I caught a glimpse of my reflection and I barely recognizes myself. My face was thin and gaunt, and my beard was completely unkempt. I sought refuge in the school down the street that first night. Luckily I still had my Walkman, but I'd need to conserve batteries. This is where I had my first encounter with them...
I awoke to the sound of the building being demolished one brick at a time. I investigated to find what appeared to be a youth, but he had a light in his forehead and wires coming out of face. He was dressed peculiarly, as if he had picked a piece of clothing from every decade of the last half of the twentieth century. He quickly threw a bag over his shoulder and ran.
I decided that I should hide and observe until I can gather what has happened here.
I have spent much of my time spying on these 'people' (more cyborg from what I can tell) from abandoned buildings. I don't know the whole story yet, but I know one thing: we were wrong about Y2K. Technology didn't fail, it took over. It has enslaved the human race.
Every human I have observed is forced to check in with a small computer every 15 to 30 seconds. Most never put it away. Many plug small buds directly into their ears. Any decision a human makes, they are forced to consult the small square. When something memorable happens, they show the square. It may in some instances be used as a communication device, like a much smaller cell phone, but this is a limited observation.
Most everything seems desolate, but a few people still wander the streets. I returned to the plant where I used to work and found it completely abandoned.
Last night, I became a little too aggressive. I attempted to approach a group of young women, maybe fourteen. They didn't seem able to speak. Many uttered short, incomplete phrases like "I can't even..." some only made sounds like "yolo."
When I approached them, they all simultaneously aimed their small computers at me and screeched. Afraid of what these things were capable of, I dove into the bushes and ran away.
I am about to head out of the city, and seek safety in the countryside. Hopefully not all the world has befallen the same fate as Detroit...
| In the end, humanity consumed itself. It is said that the reason human societies are able to grow to such vast numbers because of collective punishment. What if that went away? What if living for the future was cast aside for only living in the now. It was as if some flash of light wiped away all of humanity's yearning to plan, to seek justice and to organize. As if all peoples had some biological time bomb encoded in faulty genome that had survived eons of natural selection. On May 14, 2000, humanity went insane and I did not.
I was one of the few that wasn't affected which is why I'm still alive today. I live because I'm smart. I live by making lists. I live in not making mistakes.
I stay healthy by rationing intelligently and doing my workout routine. Much of the good food was already gone. I really miss Macaroni and Cheese (shelf life, 8 years). Now I live mostly on dehydrated potatoes (25 year shelf life), powdered milk (25 year shelf life), and whatever I can scrap together. For a treat I have dehydrated chocolate. I had salt - rock salt I had been storing in the shelter for clearing the driveway. It could be ground and really helped with the potatoes. I have enough to survive another ten years. I'm disciplined. I keep inventory. I plan ahead. I prepare.
My shelter was cool, dry, and really spacious. The grid lasted into 2012. Even after it broke down I do manage to have some electricity. Thirty minutes a day. In the winter of 2013, I stumbled on a cache of old car batteries which I charge up with a generator I rigged from the stationary bike in my shelter. I also barter for fuel - mostly I trade ammunition. In a pinch, alcohol and fat could be converted and run in my generator. I am smart about trading. In the fallout, most people lost the ability to barter - they were too caught up in the now. They couldn't think ahead. Problem was murder was no-longer a taboo, and I can't think of the last time a trade took place where someone didn't try to kill me. But like I said, I prepared, others do not.
I don't like going outside though. It's mayhem. The longest I've stayed under was 183 days. For entertainment I have a Play-station two that I've taken care of. I have an old Panasonic 30 inch TV too. I've watched Gladiator 623 times. I am Maximus. These items are now a luxury beyond comprehension. I am careful with them and know anyone would kill me for them without a hesitation.
When I do go outside it's to supplement my meals, go hunting for bullet shells or other things I can trade and see if anyone will barter for fuel or other sundries. I went outside yesterday. It was cold, wet, and still I'm coughing up black soot. I came across a a large young man who was probably old enough to remember life before the fall. He had an air-rifle slung over his shoulder and was swinging a dead dog by it's hind legs into a bullet-riddled dead tree. The tree eventually came crashing down - the dog, by then, was pulp and splinters. I didn't think he saw me but he must have because he looked right at me and began barking. His eyes were right on me, and then through me, as if I were some kind of ghost. Then he laughed. He laughed, and laughed, throwing the dog down and stomping on it's belly until it's entrails flowed out and got caught on his boot. He crouched to pick it out, still laughing. I took that moment to run. I'm not sure if I covered my trail. Ash, glimmering fire, fog, and as if right behind me, that laugh.
I should have enough to last me until September 23, 2024. That's 3724 days from now. I will be alive then because I'm smart. I think ahead. I make lists.
| |
[WP] A man emerges from his Y2K bunker as he has run out of supplies. It is currently 2014 and write in first person his encounters. | I take a look back at my rather large bunker and sigh. This had been my home for the last 14 years. I'd spent decades building and stocking it. I guess I didn't do the math right. I should have had food in here to last another 5 years, but that damn pesky rat destroyed a good portion of it. Ah well, my fault. I didn't have the heart to kill it. It kept me company for a little while. Now it's time to go see if I could hunt up a deer or two that could be packed away. It'd at least give me another month. It's a good way to take a look around, too. That's right. I'll kill me some dinner, see what I'm up against, then figure out what to do from there. I doubt I'm the only one left alive. Shit, I'm not the smartest man in the world and even I knew what to do.
I turn around and stare at the eight inch thick steel door that stood between me and what lay beyond. I built this place good. I made it just in case. There was two feet of reinforced concrete with a lead sheet sandwiched in the middle surrounding me and that door was air tight. A mouse fart couldn't even get through there. I built this place for every possible scenario. From zombies to nuclear winter, there was nothin' getting in this place and I mean nothin'. Hell, I even put some claymores on the other side of the door, you know, just in case. But ya know, I figure if anything happened it'd most likely be like them Mad Max movies, you know with a bunch of heathens running around on motorcycles and dune buggies. That's why I built that armored truck that I got in the back there. But I better go take a look before I bring that puppy out. I wanna see what I'm up against.
With my huntin' rifles strapped across my back and my little pistol tucked away in it's holster, I open the door, boy that was a bitch to do. I poke my head out and sniff real good. It doesn't smell any worse than when I went in, and I don't smell anything like dead folks, so probably no zombies. My skin ain't meltin', so probably no radiation, though I'm not sure if radiation would to that to a feller. Seemed safe enough though, least in an enviromental sense anyway.
I step on out, closing and locking the door behind me before I stepped on over the trip wire to my claymores and head up the steps. Hooolllyyy shit, I'm gonna have to chop me a path through this here jungle of weeds. These damn things are almost over my head. Theys tall enough to block my view! Good thing I brought my ol' machete. As I start to chop my way to the big ol' rock that was on the property I couldn't help but think: the weeds is still a growing, if I can't find me a deer, I'll at least be able to find some fruit or somethin' to eat.
I finally reach my rock and hop on up looking toward where the road used to be. Well damn, it was still there. Holy shit, and with the blackest blacktop I'd ever seen in my whole life. It was freshly paved! What?! How? The I looked over to the houses across the road. They was boarded up, but hell, they'd been boarded up since before I bought this place. Somethin' somethin' about a man went crazy killed all his neighbors or some such. Kinda why I picked this place. Weren't nobody around to bother me while I built my bunker.
Wait, is that a car? Looks like one of those abstract artists got ahold of it, but sure nuff, its a gall damn car. Is that a motorcycle behind it? Hell yes it is. I can hear it, it's a Harley! I'd know that sound anywhere. I used to have one 'till I sold it to get money for food. What the hell is going on? They said the world was comin' to an end. Whut the in the damned hell is going on? Did theys fuckin' lie to us? Shit I better find out just what in the hell is going on around here.
I take my rifle back to my bunker. Better safe than sorry, don't wanna get shot by no nut case or land in jail on my first day out. Then I head out.
First, I grab a burger at a fast food place. I didn't pay no attention to which it was. I was too damned hungry, I'd run out of food yesterday and decided to sleep before I headed out. I knew right there to go too. I went straight to the library. Holy shit, it used to be bigger than this! What the hell happened? Don't nobody go to the library anymore? Last I remembered it was a big ol' building, now it wasn't even as big as my old house. Aw damn, ah well, it'd still be a good place to get information.
The librarian was a nice enough lady. She didn't believe me when I'd told her I'd been in my bunker for the last 14 years, but she answered as many of my questions that I asked and pointed me to a damn computer for the rest. Damn computers, they's the reason I was stuck in that damned bunker for 14 years. I hate 'em, but I looked anyway. Guess my curiosity bested my hate for those damned machines of Satan. So I listened when she told me what to do and off I went down that damned 'information highway.'
They blew up the World Trade Center again? Holy shit. I can't believe it, killed thousands. Oh my lord what have people done while I was underground? Another war? Bad cops? NSA Spying? People shootin' up schools and killin' kids? People drivin' down the road and shootin' people cause they can't get no pussy? What the hell have you people done to the world? God damn, this is complete bullshit. What in the hell has this world come to?
As soon as my food is restocked, I'm going back to my god damned hole and stayin' there. All y'all mudder fuckers can kiss my scrawny ass! Fuck every last one of ya! Glad I built my place where theys an underground spring.
-Tori | Part of me knew that leaving the bunker was a bad idea. I’d lived there for fourteen years, hid underground and never once so much as made a move toward the exit. I knew it wasn’t safe outside, knew I wouldn’t last more than a minute in the radiation of the nuclear holocaust, so I stayed. I would have kept underground, as well, had it not been for my food dilemma. I thought I’d packed enough to last an entire lifetime, spending the months leading up to Y2K doing nothing but ordering cans of food. I’d planned it out so meticulously, organized everything to fit, but I’d made a miscalculation. I hadn’t realized how much I’d enjoy dehydrated foods.
I ate six to seven cans of dehydrated carrots per day, another eight to nine dehydrated apple slices, and between one and fourteen dehydrated vegetable medleys. I tried to control myself, did my best to moderate the amount I ate, but something about them were simply addicting. I knew it was unhealthy, knew the copious amounts of sugar I was ingesting couldn’t be safe, but they were fantastic. I’d ordered thousands upon thousands of the cans, stacked them in the back of the shelter, and planned to be eating them for another twenty five years on top of the fourteen I’d already lived. Yet I hadn’t prepared for just how delicious they’d be.
I ran out of dehydrated carrots first, just over a month ago. They were delicious, absolutely divine – I would have left then and there, but I knew I still had a few dozen more cans of apple slices. I finished those a week later. All I had left were about a hundred cans of dehydrated vegetable medleys. I knew I had to ration them. They were gone two days following.
I still had a few thousand cans of beans, trail mix, peanut butter, cereals, tuna, and gallons upon gallons of water, but no more dehydrated foods. Had I truly been a man of self-discipline, I would’ve learned to live on that austere diet, but that simply wasn’t me. I needed more dehydrated foods, needed to find something to quell the burning desire I now had.
I tried my best to wait as long as possible to go outside. I knew it wasn’t safe, but I also knew I couldn’t live too long without the sweet taste of dehydrated fruits and vegetables. There was also the issue of clothing. Since I'd gained so much weight while in my shelter, none of my clothes fit. I spent all of my time in the nude, and would continue doing so on the surface.
Just three hours after finishing the last bite of vegetable medley, I was climbing the ladder and undoing the massive, metal lock on the ceiling. I’d grab a few fruits and head back in, that was it. Nice and safe.
I was attacked as soon as I emerged, the natural light temporarily blinding me as I arose from the bunker. It’d been so long since I’d seen anything other than the dim glow of the single bulb above the generator. I didn’t expect to see the sun. For years I’d prepared myself to find the sky absent of light, instead shrouded in a perpetual blackness and filled with flying robots that replaced humanity. I’d spent months on end practicing my robot noises, beeping and booping to sound as electronic as possible. If the robots had enslaved humanity, I would do what I could to try to meld with them. Yet as I ascended from the massive, metal lock, I did not feel the cold sting of nuclear winter. I did not see the darkened sky of a permanently shrouded sun filled with the shimmer of robotic metal skin. All I saw was the sun and a shadow running toward me.
My attacker was small, no bigger than my hand, yet it was clearly quite fast. It was running at me from a distance, maybe twenty yards away, seemingly appearing from a wall of green, well-tended bushes. My heart was racing, mind begging my feet to descend the ladder and slam the lock back down, but a morbid curiosity kept me still. Part of me wanted to see this next step in evolution, to perhaps defeat it and prove my own worth. Another part of me refused to surrender without at least a handful of fruits to dehydrate; I would certainly die without them. I stood my ground.
The creature was quite furry, a tail on its back puffed out like a dusting brush. It looked like a kitten, yet I knew it had to be mutated in some form following the nuclear fallout. It had stopped running, instead arching its back and slowly walking toward me sideways. It had thin, grey whiskers around its nose, its eyes golden with a black slit down the middle of each. A thin piece of green cloth with a metal I.D. was wrapped around its neck. Looking at it made me feel slightly uneasy, as if staring at a future I was not meant to see. I glanced to my left in hopes of escape, a small forest of trees visible on the horizon. I knew I’d find fruit there.
The beast wandered closer to me, its back still arched, then mewed in my direction. I honestly expected cats to look slightly different after fourteen years of irradiation. Eight feet tall, six tails, nineteen extra feet, or just a second head—some mutation other than simply being the small, furry blobs they always had been. I stared at it, searching for some form of mutation. There was no way a cat could survive the fallout, not to mention still be fertile enough to have years worth of unmutated children. The beast mewed again.
Part of me wanted to grab it, to capture it and bring it down into my shelter to be dehydrated. I knew it wasn’t fruit, knew it was probably made of meat of some kind, but it definitely could be dehydrated. I could take it down and study it, find out what was different about it, how it survived. I stared at it, mouth salivating as the creature meowed, its tail no longer puffed up. Another creature echoed from the distance.
“Fluffy,” it shouted, voice high-pitched like a child. “Where’d you go?”
It sounded human, almost terrifyingly so, yet I knew it couldn't be. Y2K had destroyed civilization. I stared at the creature, its eyes locked on mine. I knew they’d found me. I wasn’t staring at the next step in evolution, or a freak mutation following the nuclear winter, I was staring at an artificial organism. I was staring a reconnaissance robot, searching for surviving humans.
“Fluffy?” repeated the voice from the distance.
It was going to lead the robots right to me, it would give away my position to them. Fourteen years wasted. I pulled myself out of the hole, the creature backing up slightly as I rose. It was tiny, yet I could tell its entire skeleton was probably made out of metal. There would be no dehydrating of this beast, it had to be removed. I slowly bent down and reached out for the creature. It was light, no more than a three or four pounds, and warm. The engine in the center was clearly giving off a substantial amount of heat, almost like that of a puppy or kitten.
“Where are you, Fluffy?” said the voice.
It was coming. With the creature in my hand, I slung back my arm and launched it toward the voice as if tossing a football. The mechanical beast soared through the air with a fading “meow,” disappearing over several green bushes in the distance. If they wanted to find me, they’d have to come on their own. The beast would not lead them to me.
“Fluffy? Oh, there you are,” said the voice in the distance. I turned and ran toward the trees on my left. I knew I had just a few short moments to find some fruits and return before they were back on the hunt.
| |
[WP] A man emerges from his Y2K bunker as he has run out of supplies. It is currently 2014 and write in first person his encounters. | “Ex… Excuse me, sir. What year is it?” I rasped.
“GET OUT OF THE WAY!” screamed the man in the navy-blue suit as he threw me aside. Weak and dehydrated, I fell to my knees and watched as the man ran past me, racing down the long escalator I’d only just climbed, and disappearing into the underground Metro Station.
A suit. He’d been wearing a clean, tailored, navy-blue suit. Still on my hands and knees, I threw up on the sidewalk.
With nothing in my belly, not much came up, and after a few moments I tried again to take in my surroundings. The sunlight was bright to the point of blindness and my head throbbed with an incessant ringing in the ears, but I could still make out the tall, majestic columns and classical cornices of the National Archives Museum across the street. The building was in perfect condition.
I stood slowly and downtown Washington, D.C. rose around me.
I was at the corner of 7th Street and Pennsylvania Avenue, just above the Navy-Archives Metro Station, and in the heart of the city. To my left, the iconic Capitol dome was visible in the afternoon sun. To my right, Pennsylvania Avenue stretched between tall buildings in a straight shot to the White House. The roads were freshly paved and the stoplights flicked between red and green. It was all the same. No, the world looked better than when I’d abandoned it to Y2K and crawled into my surreptitiously made bunker, fashioned within a forgotten tunnel of the DC Metro System.
Shaking my head to try to clear the ringing sound, I staggered, and began to cry. The weight of my discovery, of my fallacy, of my lost years, was too much to bear.
“But wait!” cried a small voice in the back of my mind, “If Y2K never happened, where is everyone?”
The voice was right. Drying my tears, I looked again at the intersection of 7th and Pennsylvania. Cars were stopped in the street but they were all empty, their doors ajar. The office buildings were new, but no workers sat at their desks. The city was completely still and silent. Nothing made a sound but the ringing in my ears.
A door opened across the street opened and a woman in a skirt and suit jacket sprinted towards me. She carried a purse and had kicked off high-heels to run barefoot. She was sobbing as she ran, terrified, her eyes fixed on the entrance into the underground Metro Station.
“Ma’am! Ma’am!” I tried waving to catch her attention as she ran towards me. She almost zipped past before finally acknowledging my presence with a wild look.
“What are you doing up here?!” she cried, dragging herself to stop, clearly torn between fleeing and helping me. “We’ve got to get below! Right now!”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, alarmed by her overwhelming fear.
“Can’t you hear the sirens?!” was all she could bring herself to say before hurdling down the escalator and into the metro station.
The sirens?
I rubbed my ears but all I heard was the pervasive ringing. Then, halfway up the nearest lamp post, I noticed a loud speaker. As I stepped closer, the high-pitched ringing became louder. I looked at the next lamp post and discovered it too was mounted with speaker, as well as banner, swaying gently. “AMERICA UNITE! PRESERVE UKRAINE, SAVE EUROPE, DEFEAT RUSSIA” it read.
Glancing back at the Metro Station I was surprised to see yet another, even larger, sign at its entrance: FALLOUT SHELTER.
...I was close enough to Ground Zero that I succumbed to the pressure wave without the opportunity to see the infamous-shaped cloud, or even a flash of white light.
EDIT: A Word. | Part of me knew that leaving the bunker was a bad idea. I’d lived there for fourteen years, hid underground and never once so much as made a move toward the exit. I knew it wasn’t safe outside, knew I wouldn’t last more than a minute in the radiation of the nuclear holocaust, so I stayed. I would have kept underground, as well, had it not been for my food dilemma. I thought I’d packed enough to last an entire lifetime, spending the months leading up to Y2K doing nothing but ordering cans of food. I’d planned it out so meticulously, organized everything to fit, but I’d made a miscalculation. I hadn’t realized how much I’d enjoy dehydrated foods.
I ate six to seven cans of dehydrated carrots per day, another eight to nine dehydrated apple slices, and between one and fourteen dehydrated vegetable medleys. I tried to control myself, did my best to moderate the amount I ate, but something about them were simply addicting. I knew it was unhealthy, knew the copious amounts of sugar I was ingesting couldn’t be safe, but they were fantastic. I’d ordered thousands upon thousands of the cans, stacked them in the back of the shelter, and planned to be eating them for another twenty five years on top of the fourteen I’d already lived. Yet I hadn’t prepared for just how delicious they’d be.
I ran out of dehydrated carrots first, just over a month ago. They were delicious, absolutely divine – I would have left then and there, but I knew I still had a few dozen more cans of apple slices. I finished those a week later. All I had left were about a hundred cans of dehydrated vegetable medleys. I knew I had to ration them. They were gone two days following.
I still had a few thousand cans of beans, trail mix, peanut butter, cereals, tuna, and gallons upon gallons of water, but no more dehydrated foods. Had I truly been a man of self-discipline, I would’ve learned to live on that austere diet, but that simply wasn’t me. I needed more dehydrated foods, needed to find something to quell the burning desire I now had.
I tried my best to wait as long as possible to go outside. I knew it wasn’t safe, but I also knew I couldn’t live too long without the sweet taste of dehydrated fruits and vegetables. There was also the issue of clothing. Since I'd gained so much weight while in my shelter, none of my clothes fit. I spent all of my time in the nude, and would continue doing so on the surface.
Just three hours after finishing the last bite of vegetable medley, I was climbing the ladder and undoing the massive, metal lock on the ceiling. I’d grab a few fruits and head back in, that was it. Nice and safe.
I was attacked as soon as I emerged, the natural light temporarily blinding me as I arose from the bunker. It’d been so long since I’d seen anything other than the dim glow of the single bulb above the generator. I didn’t expect to see the sun. For years I’d prepared myself to find the sky absent of light, instead shrouded in a perpetual blackness and filled with flying robots that replaced humanity. I’d spent months on end practicing my robot noises, beeping and booping to sound as electronic as possible. If the robots had enslaved humanity, I would do what I could to try to meld with them. Yet as I ascended from the massive, metal lock, I did not feel the cold sting of nuclear winter. I did not see the darkened sky of a permanently shrouded sun filled with the shimmer of robotic metal skin. All I saw was the sun and a shadow running toward me.
My attacker was small, no bigger than my hand, yet it was clearly quite fast. It was running at me from a distance, maybe twenty yards away, seemingly appearing from a wall of green, well-tended bushes. My heart was racing, mind begging my feet to descend the ladder and slam the lock back down, but a morbid curiosity kept me still. Part of me wanted to see this next step in evolution, to perhaps defeat it and prove my own worth. Another part of me refused to surrender without at least a handful of fruits to dehydrate; I would certainly die without them. I stood my ground.
The creature was quite furry, a tail on its back puffed out like a dusting brush. It looked like a kitten, yet I knew it had to be mutated in some form following the nuclear fallout. It had stopped running, instead arching its back and slowly walking toward me sideways. It had thin, grey whiskers around its nose, its eyes golden with a black slit down the middle of each. A thin piece of green cloth with a metal I.D. was wrapped around its neck. Looking at it made me feel slightly uneasy, as if staring at a future I was not meant to see. I glanced to my left in hopes of escape, a small forest of trees visible on the horizon. I knew I’d find fruit there.
The beast wandered closer to me, its back still arched, then mewed in my direction. I honestly expected cats to look slightly different after fourteen years of irradiation. Eight feet tall, six tails, nineteen extra feet, or just a second head—some mutation other than simply being the small, furry blobs they always had been. I stared at it, searching for some form of mutation. There was no way a cat could survive the fallout, not to mention still be fertile enough to have years worth of unmutated children. The beast mewed again.
Part of me wanted to grab it, to capture it and bring it down into my shelter to be dehydrated. I knew it wasn’t fruit, knew it was probably made of meat of some kind, but it definitely could be dehydrated. I could take it down and study it, find out what was different about it, how it survived. I stared at it, mouth salivating as the creature meowed, its tail no longer puffed up. Another creature echoed from the distance.
“Fluffy,” it shouted, voice high-pitched like a child. “Where’d you go?”
It sounded human, almost terrifyingly so, yet I knew it couldn't be. Y2K had destroyed civilization. I stared at the creature, its eyes locked on mine. I knew they’d found me. I wasn’t staring at the next step in evolution, or a freak mutation following the nuclear winter, I was staring at an artificial organism. I was staring a reconnaissance robot, searching for surviving humans.
“Fluffy?” repeated the voice from the distance.
It was going to lead the robots right to me, it would give away my position to them. Fourteen years wasted. I pulled myself out of the hole, the creature backing up slightly as I rose. It was tiny, yet I could tell its entire skeleton was probably made out of metal. There would be no dehydrating of this beast, it had to be removed. I slowly bent down and reached out for the creature. It was light, no more than a three or four pounds, and warm. The engine in the center was clearly giving off a substantial amount of heat, almost like that of a puppy or kitten.
“Where are you, Fluffy?” said the voice.
It was coming. With the creature in my hand, I slung back my arm and launched it toward the voice as if tossing a football. The mechanical beast soared through the air with a fading “meow,” disappearing over several green bushes in the distance. If they wanted to find me, they’d have to come on their own. The beast would not lead them to me.
“Fluffy? Oh, there you are,” said the voice in the distance. I turned and ran toward the trees on my left. I knew I had just a few short moments to find some fruits and return before they were back on the hunt.
| |
[WP] A man emerges from his Y2K bunker as he has run out of supplies. It is currently 2014 and write in first person his encounters. | Journal Entry June 14th, 2014
Running short on supplies, I was forced to leave the bunker two days ago, with little other than a Ricky Martin t-shirt and my blue sunglasses (the justin timberlake ones). I was horrified by the world outside...
Everything appears to be abandoned. Cars are rusted on blocks, homes and buildings abandoned, graffiti everywhere you look.
I was able to find a dumpster with some food scraps and some fresh water in a puddle. Luckily I still have purifying tabs. I caught a glimpse of my reflection and I barely recognizes myself. My face was thin and gaunt, and my beard was completely unkempt. I sought refuge in the school down the street that first night. Luckily I still had my Walkman, but I'd need to conserve batteries. This is where I had my first encounter with them...
I awoke to the sound of the building being demolished one brick at a time. I investigated to find what appeared to be a youth, but he had a light in his forehead and wires coming out of face. He was dressed peculiarly, as if he had picked a piece of clothing from every decade of the last half of the twentieth century. He quickly threw a bag over his shoulder and ran.
I decided that I should hide and observe until I can gather what has happened here.
I have spent much of my time spying on these 'people' (more cyborg from what I can tell) from abandoned buildings. I don't know the whole story yet, but I know one thing: we were wrong about Y2K. Technology didn't fail, it took over. It has enslaved the human race.
Every human I have observed is forced to check in with a small computer every 15 to 30 seconds. Most never put it away. Many plug small buds directly into their ears. Any decision a human makes, they are forced to consult the small square. When something memorable happens, they show the square. It may in some instances be used as a communication device, like a much smaller cell phone, but this is a limited observation.
Most everything seems desolate, but a few people still wander the streets. I returned to the plant where I used to work and found it completely abandoned.
Last night, I became a little too aggressive. I attempted to approach a group of young women, maybe fourteen. They didn't seem able to speak. Many uttered short, incomplete phrases like "I can't even..." some only made sounds like "yolo."
When I approached them, they all simultaneously aimed their small computers at me and screeched. Afraid of what these things were capable of, I dove into the bushes and ran away.
I am about to head out of the city, and seek safety in the countryside. Hopefully not all the world has befallen the same fate as Detroit...
| Part of me knew that leaving the bunker was a bad idea. I’d lived there for fourteen years, hid underground and never once so much as made a move toward the exit. I knew it wasn’t safe outside, knew I wouldn’t last more than a minute in the radiation of the nuclear holocaust, so I stayed. I would have kept underground, as well, had it not been for my food dilemma. I thought I’d packed enough to last an entire lifetime, spending the months leading up to Y2K doing nothing but ordering cans of food. I’d planned it out so meticulously, organized everything to fit, but I’d made a miscalculation. I hadn’t realized how much I’d enjoy dehydrated foods.
I ate six to seven cans of dehydrated carrots per day, another eight to nine dehydrated apple slices, and between one and fourteen dehydrated vegetable medleys. I tried to control myself, did my best to moderate the amount I ate, but something about them were simply addicting. I knew it was unhealthy, knew the copious amounts of sugar I was ingesting couldn’t be safe, but they were fantastic. I’d ordered thousands upon thousands of the cans, stacked them in the back of the shelter, and planned to be eating them for another twenty five years on top of the fourteen I’d already lived. Yet I hadn’t prepared for just how delicious they’d be.
I ran out of dehydrated carrots first, just over a month ago. They were delicious, absolutely divine – I would have left then and there, but I knew I still had a few dozen more cans of apple slices. I finished those a week later. All I had left were about a hundred cans of dehydrated vegetable medleys. I knew I had to ration them. They were gone two days following.
I still had a few thousand cans of beans, trail mix, peanut butter, cereals, tuna, and gallons upon gallons of water, but no more dehydrated foods. Had I truly been a man of self-discipline, I would’ve learned to live on that austere diet, but that simply wasn’t me. I needed more dehydrated foods, needed to find something to quell the burning desire I now had.
I tried my best to wait as long as possible to go outside. I knew it wasn’t safe, but I also knew I couldn’t live too long without the sweet taste of dehydrated fruits and vegetables. There was also the issue of clothing. Since I'd gained so much weight while in my shelter, none of my clothes fit. I spent all of my time in the nude, and would continue doing so on the surface.
Just three hours after finishing the last bite of vegetable medley, I was climbing the ladder and undoing the massive, metal lock on the ceiling. I’d grab a few fruits and head back in, that was it. Nice and safe.
I was attacked as soon as I emerged, the natural light temporarily blinding me as I arose from the bunker. It’d been so long since I’d seen anything other than the dim glow of the single bulb above the generator. I didn’t expect to see the sun. For years I’d prepared myself to find the sky absent of light, instead shrouded in a perpetual blackness and filled with flying robots that replaced humanity. I’d spent months on end practicing my robot noises, beeping and booping to sound as electronic as possible. If the robots had enslaved humanity, I would do what I could to try to meld with them. Yet as I ascended from the massive, metal lock, I did not feel the cold sting of nuclear winter. I did not see the darkened sky of a permanently shrouded sun filled with the shimmer of robotic metal skin. All I saw was the sun and a shadow running toward me.
My attacker was small, no bigger than my hand, yet it was clearly quite fast. It was running at me from a distance, maybe twenty yards away, seemingly appearing from a wall of green, well-tended bushes. My heart was racing, mind begging my feet to descend the ladder and slam the lock back down, but a morbid curiosity kept me still. Part of me wanted to see this next step in evolution, to perhaps defeat it and prove my own worth. Another part of me refused to surrender without at least a handful of fruits to dehydrate; I would certainly die without them. I stood my ground.
The creature was quite furry, a tail on its back puffed out like a dusting brush. It looked like a kitten, yet I knew it had to be mutated in some form following the nuclear fallout. It had stopped running, instead arching its back and slowly walking toward me sideways. It had thin, grey whiskers around its nose, its eyes golden with a black slit down the middle of each. A thin piece of green cloth with a metal I.D. was wrapped around its neck. Looking at it made me feel slightly uneasy, as if staring at a future I was not meant to see. I glanced to my left in hopes of escape, a small forest of trees visible on the horizon. I knew I’d find fruit there.
The beast wandered closer to me, its back still arched, then mewed in my direction. I honestly expected cats to look slightly different after fourteen years of irradiation. Eight feet tall, six tails, nineteen extra feet, or just a second head—some mutation other than simply being the small, furry blobs they always had been. I stared at it, searching for some form of mutation. There was no way a cat could survive the fallout, not to mention still be fertile enough to have years worth of unmutated children. The beast mewed again.
Part of me wanted to grab it, to capture it and bring it down into my shelter to be dehydrated. I knew it wasn’t fruit, knew it was probably made of meat of some kind, but it definitely could be dehydrated. I could take it down and study it, find out what was different about it, how it survived. I stared at it, mouth salivating as the creature meowed, its tail no longer puffed up. Another creature echoed from the distance.
“Fluffy,” it shouted, voice high-pitched like a child. “Where’d you go?”
It sounded human, almost terrifyingly so, yet I knew it couldn't be. Y2K had destroyed civilization. I stared at the creature, its eyes locked on mine. I knew they’d found me. I wasn’t staring at the next step in evolution, or a freak mutation following the nuclear winter, I was staring at an artificial organism. I was staring a reconnaissance robot, searching for surviving humans.
“Fluffy?” repeated the voice from the distance.
It was going to lead the robots right to me, it would give away my position to them. Fourteen years wasted. I pulled myself out of the hole, the creature backing up slightly as I rose. It was tiny, yet I could tell its entire skeleton was probably made out of metal. There would be no dehydrating of this beast, it had to be removed. I slowly bent down and reached out for the creature. It was light, no more than a three or four pounds, and warm. The engine in the center was clearly giving off a substantial amount of heat, almost like that of a puppy or kitten.
“Where are you, Fluffy?” said the voice.
It was coming. With the creature in my hand, I slung back my arm and launched it toward the voice as if tossing a football. The mechanical beast soared through the air with a fading “meow,” disappearing over several green bushes in the distance. If they wanted to find me, they’d have to come on their own. The beast would not lead them to me.
“Fluffy? Oh, there you are,” said the voice in the distance. I turned and ran toward the trees on my left. I knew I had just a few short moments to find some fruits and return before they were back on the hunt.
| |
[WP] A man emerges from his Y2K bunker as he has run out of supplies. It is currently 2014 and write in first person his encounters. | The light was blinding.
Jason tried to make out any shapes as he squinted across the horizon, the lid of his bunker hunkered over him like a conical asian hat.
"Perhaps I am the lone survivor," he thought.
What choice did he have? He ran out of the last of his baked beans yesterday. The Capri Suns stock had long gone and he just placed the last of his batteries into his walkman.
Over 14 years in hiding since December 31, 1999. He was the laughing stock of his college as he spent day and night constructing his bunker next to the campus Fine Arts building. Jason couldn't help but feel a bit of complacency as he hoisted himself out of the bunker. His peers did nothing but jeer and ridicule him for his efforts to survive the apocalypse.
"Look whose laughing now," he mused.
Based on his watch it was 4 in the afternoon. The campus was desolate. Not a single person in sight. All of a sudden he heard the ruffle of leaves.
Jason snapped his head around and screwed up his eyes over the horizon. It was a throng of people coming closer to him by the minute. He couldn't make out their faces. They were moving in a weird way too, sluggish and dragging their feet.
Thats when he started to hear them moan. Jason's heart skipped a beat. He threw open lid of his bunker and dived inside.
The moans grew louder. He peaked over his bunker as the crowd made its way toward him. Thats when he realized they weren't people at all. They had eyes that were sunken in and faces with skin that hung loose. Some of them had missing skin and tufts of missing hair.
The moaning was almost deafening now. The crowd looked-
"Dead." Jason thought. "They are walking dead people! I'm the only living person left!"
He closed the lid of his bunker. It looked like he was going to be inside longer than he thought.
********************
"Amazing job today guys!"
Edward, the president of the Zombie Club, wiped the makeup off his brow and turned to address his members.
"I loved the moans and groans, and your costumes look fantastic!" he exclaimed.
| Part of me knew that leaving the bunker was a bad idea. I’d lived there for fourteen years, hid underground and never once so much as made a move toward the exit. I knew it wasn’t safe outside, knew I wouldn’t last more than a minute in the radiation of the nuclear holocaust, so I stayed. I would have kept underground, as well, had it not been for my food dilemma. I thought I’d packed enough to last an entire lifetime, spending the months leading up to Y2K doing nothing but ordering cans of food. I’d planned it out so meticulously, organized everything to fit, but I’d made a miscalculation. I hadn’t realized how much I’d enjoy dehydrated foods.
I ate six to seven cans of dehydrated carrots per day, another eight to nine dehydrated apple slices, and between one and fourteen dehydrated vegetable medleys. I tried to control myself, did my best to moderate the amount I ate, but something about them were simply addicting. I knew it was unhealthy, knew the copious amounts of sugar I was ingesting couldn’t be safe, but they were fantastic. I’d ordered thousands upon thousands of the cans, stacked them in the back of the shelter, and planned to be eating them for another twenty five years on top of the fourteen I’d already lived. Yet I hadn’t prepared for just how delicious they’d be.
I ran out of dehydrated carrots first, just over a month ago. They were delicious, absolutely divine – I would have left then and there, but I knew I still had a few dozen more cans of apple slices. I finished those a week later. All I had left were about a hundred cans of dehydrated vegetable medleys. I knew I had to ration them. They were gone two days following.
I still had a few thousand cans of beans, trail mix, peanut butter, cereals, tuna, and gallons upon gallons of water, but no more dehydrated foods. Had I truly been a man of self-discipline, I would’ve learned to live on that austere diet, but that simply wasn’t me. I needed more dehydrated foods, needed to find something to quell the burning desire I now had.
I tried my best to wait as long as possible to go outside. I knew it wasn’t safe, but I also knew I couldn’t live too long without the sweet taste of dehydrated fruits and vegetables. There was also the issue of clothing. Since I'd gained so much weight while in my shelter, none of my clothes fit. I spent all of my time in the nude, and would continue doing so on the surface.
Just three hours after finishing the last bite of vegetable medley, I was climbing the ladder and undoing the massive, metal lock on the ceiling. I’d grab a few fruits and head back in, that was it. Nice and safe.
I was attacked as soon as I emerged, the natural light temporarily blinding me as I arose from the bunker. It’d been so long since I’d seen anything other than the dim glow of the single bulb above the generator. I didn’t expect to see the sun. For years I’d prepared myself to find the sky absent of light, instead shrouded in a perpetual blackness and filled with flying robots that replaced humanity. I’d spent months on end practicing my robot noises, beeping and booping to sound as electronic as possible. If the robots had enslaved humanity, I would do what I could to try to meld with them. Yet as I ascended from the massive, metal lock, I did not feel the cold sting of nuclear winter. I did not see the darkened sky of a permanently shrouded sun filled with the shimmer of robotic metal skin. All I saw was the sun and a shadow running toward me.
My attacker was small, no bigger than my hand, yet it was clearly quite fast. It was running at me from a distance, maybe twenty yards away, seemingly appearing from a wall of green, well-tended bushes. My heart was racing, mind begging my feet to descend the ladder and slam the lock back down, but a morbid curiosity kept me still. Part of me wanted to see this next step in evolution, to perhaps defeat it and prove my own worth. Another part of me refused to surrender without at least a handful of fruits to dehydrate; I would certainly die without them. I stood my ground.
The creature was quite furry, a tail on its back puffed out like a dusting brush. It looked like a kitten, yet I knew it had to be mutated in some form following the nuclear fallout. It had stopped running, instead arching its back and slowly walking toward me sideways. It had thin, grey whiskers around its nose, its eyes golden with a black slit down the middle of each. A thin piece of green cloth with a metal I.D. was wrapped around its neck. Looking at it made me feel slightly uneasy, as if staring at a future I was not meant to see. I glanced to my left in hopes of escape, a small forest of trees visible on the horizon. I knew I’d find fruit there.
The beast wandered closer to me, its back still arched, then mewed in my direction. I honestly expected cats to look slightly different after fourteen years of irradiation. Eight feet tall, six tails, nineteen extra feet, or just a second head—some mutation other than simply being the small, furry blobs they always had been. I stared at it, searching for some form of mutation. There was no way a cat could survive the fallout, not to mention still be fertile enough to have years worth of unmutated children. The beast mewed again.
Part of me wanted to grab it, to capture it and bring it down into my shelter to be dehydrated. I knew it wasn’t fruit, knew it was probably made of meat of some kind, but it definitely could be dehydrated. I could take it down and study it, find out what was different about it, how it survived. I stared at it, mouth salivating as the creature meowed, its tail no longer puffed up. Another creature echoed from the distance.
“Fluffy,” it shouted, voice high-pitched like a child. “Where’d you go?”
It sounded human, almost terrifyingly so, yet I knew it couldn't be. Y2K had destroyed civilization. I stared at the creature, its eyes locked on mine. I knew they’d found me. I wasn’t staring at the next step in evolution, or a freak mutation following the nuclear winter, I was staring at an artificial organism. I was staring a reconnaissance robot, searching for surviving humans.
“Fluffy?” repeated the voice from the distance.
It was going to lead the robots right to me, it would give away my position to them. Fourteen years wasted. I pulled myself out of the hole, the creature backing up slightly as I rose. It was tiny, yet I could tell its entire skeleton was probably made out of metal. There would be no dehydrating of this beast, it had to be removed. I slowly bent down and reached out for the creature. It was light, no more than a three or four pounds, and warm. The engine in the center was clearly giving off a substantial amount of heat, almost like that of a puppy or kitten.
“Where are you, Fluffy?” said the voice.
It was coming. With the creature in my hand, I slung back my arm and launched it toward the voice as if tossing a football. The mechanical beast soared through the air with a fading “meow,” disappearing over several green bushes in the distance. If they wanted to find me, they’d have to come on their own. The beast would not lead them to me.
“Fluffy? Oh, there you are,” said the voice in the distance. I turned and ran toward the trees on my left. I knew I had just a few short moments to find some fruits and return before they were back on the hunt.
| |
[WP] A man emerges from his Y2K bunker as he has run out of supplies. It is currently 2014 and write in first person his encounters. | I take a look back at my rather large bunker and sigh. This had been my home for the last 14 years. I'd spent decades building and stocking it. I guess I didn't do the math right. I should have had food in here to last another 5 years, but that damn pesky rat destroyed a good portion of it. Ah well, my fault. I didn't have the heart to kill it. It kept me company for a little while. Now it's time to go see if I could hunt up a deer or two that could be packed away. It'd at least give me another month. It's a good way to take a look around, too. That's right. I'll kill me some dinner, see what I'm up against, then figure out what to do from there. I doubt I'm the only one left alive. Shit, I'm not the smartest man in the world and even I knew what to do.
I turn around and stare at the eight inch thick steel door that stood between me and what lay beyond. I built this place good. I made it just in case. There was two feet of reinforced concrete with a lead sheet sandwiched in the middle surrounding me and that door was air tight. A mouse fart couldn't even get through there. I built this place for every possible scenario. From zombies to nuclear winter, there was nothin' getting in this place and I mean nothin'. Hell, I even put some claymores on the other side of the door, you know, just in case. But ya know, I figure if anything happened it'd most likely be like them Mad Max movies, you know with a bunch of heathens running around on motorcycles and dune buggies. That's why I built that armored truck that I got in the back there. But I better go take a look before I bring that puppy out. I wanna see what I'm up against.
With my huntin' rifles strapped across my back and my little pistol tucked away in it's holster, I open the door, boy that was a bitch to do. I poke my head out and sniff real good. It doesn't smell any worse than when I went in, and I don't smell anything like dead folks, so probably no zombies. My skin ain't meltin', so probably no radiation, though I'm not sure if radiation would to that to a feller. Seemed safe enough though, least in an enviromental sense anyway.
I step on out, closing and locking the door behind me before I stepped on over the trip wire to my claymores and head up the steps. Hooolllyyy shit, I'm gonna have to chop me a path through this here jungle of weeds. These damn things are almost over my head. Theys tall enough to block my view! Good thing I brought my ol' machete. As I start to chop my way to the big ol' rock that was on the property I couldn't help but think: the weeds is still a growing, if I can't find me a deer, I'll at least be able to find some fruit or somethin' to eat.
I finally reach my rock and hop on up looking toward where the road used to be. Well damn, it was still there. Holy shit, and with the blackest blacktop I'd ever seen in my whole life. It was freshly paved! What?! How? The I looked over to the houses across the road. They was boarded up, but hell, they'd been boarded up since before I bought this place. Somethin' somethin' about a man went crazy killed all his neighbors or some such. Kinda why I picked this place. Weren't nobody around to bother me while I built my bunker.
Wait, is that a car? Looks like one of those abstract artists got ahold of it, but sure nuff, its a gall damn car. Is that a motorcycle behind it? Hell yes it is. I can hear it, it's a Harley! I'd know that sound anywhere. I used to have one 'till I sold it to get money for food. What the hell is going on? They said the world was comin' to an end. Whut the in the damned hell is going on? Did theys fuckin' lie to us? Shit I better find out just what in the hell is going on around here.
I take my rifle back to my bunker. Better safe than sorry, don't wanna get shot by no nut case or land in jail on my first day out. Then I head out.
First, I grab a burger at a fast food place. I didn't pay no attention to which it was. I was too damned hungry, I'd run out of food yesterday and decided to sleep before I headed out. I knew right there to go too. I went straight to the library. Holy shit, it used to be bigger than this! What the hell happened? Don't nobody go to the library anymore? Last I remembered it was a big ol' building, now it wasn't even as big as my old house. Aw damn, ah well, it'd still be a good place to get information.
The librarian was a nice enough lady. She didn't believe me when I'd told her I'd been in my bunker for the last 14 years, but she answered as many of my questions that I asked and pointed me to a damn computer for the rest. Damn computers, they's the reason I was stuck in that damned bunker for 14 years. I hate 'em, but I looked anyway. Guess my curiosity bested my hate for those damned machines of Satan. So I listened when she told me what to do and off I went down that damned 'information highway.'
They blew up the World Trade Center again? Holy shit. I can't believe it, killed thousands. Oh my lord what have people done while I was underground? Another war? Bad cops? NSA Spying? People shootin' up schools and killin' kids? People drivin' down the road and shootin' people cause they can't get no pussy? What the hell have you people done to the world? God damn, this is complete bullshit. What in the hell has this world come to?
As soon as my food is restocked, I'm going back to my god damned hole and stayin' there. All y'all mudder fuckers can kiss my scrawny ass! Fuck every last one of ya! Glad I built my place where theys an underground spring.
-Tori | "Sir do you need help?"
I looked at the alien creature in front of me, simultaneously confused as to how he knew English and why he was wearing khaki pants with a gingham button up.
"Nice try" I said, cocking my pistol.
They weren't going to fool me that easily. I had been underground, alone for 14 years, sure. But I knew what people looked like and this was no person. Yes he had light olive colored skin, a manicured haircut and an easy smile but there was nothing behind those dead eyes. Those electric blue, dead eyes.
"Sir, I didn't mean anything by it" he said with his hands up, backing up slowly.
"I don't know how the fuck you're talking to me right now but I'm not listening to your brainwashing bullshit"
He looked scared. Weird. I thought the colonizing race would have been stronger than this.
"That's right just back the fuck up and go on down the road." He continued backing up, towards my farm house, on my land, and this was the first moment I had to look around since I re-emerged. The corn was high, it would have been late summer if we were still on earth's natural cycles. Bird's chirped in the distance and a flock flew from a tree. Slick, I thought, they've even managed to repopulate our planet with some of it's natural wild life.
As the man in the gingham button up turned around and began to run I shot him. A little over 20 yards out and I was dead on. A direct hit to the back and he fell flat on his face. Pretty impressive for 15 years in solitary confinement.
I spit and wiped my mouth with the back of my forearm. They weren't going to get away that easy, fucking invading fucking species. Even if I'm the last human left, and it looks like I am, I'm not going out without a fight.
As I drank the last gulp of my final bottle of water a woman broke from the front door in a bolt, crying hysterically and screaming through her sobs. I could suddenly hear sirens in the distance. Funny, I thought, that they'd go to such lengths to replicate the society they came to destroy. I pulled the sniper rifle around from my back and lined up her running silhouette in my sites. | |
[WP] A man emerges from his Y2K bunker as he has run out of supplies. It is currently 2014 and write in first person his encounters. | “Ex… Excuse me, sir. What year is it?” I rasped.
“GET OUT OF THE WAY!” screamed the man in the navy-blue suit as he threw me aside. Weak and dehydrated, I fell to my knees and watched as the man ran past me, racing down the long escalator I’d only just climbed, and disappearing into the underground Metro Station.
A suit. He’d been wearing a clean, tailored, navy-blue suit. Still on my hands and knees, I threw up on the sidewalk.
With nothing in my belly, not much came up, and after a few moments I tried again to take in my surroundings. The sunlight was bright to the point of blindness and my head throbbed with an incessant ringing in the ears, but I could still make out the tall, majestic columns and classical cornices of the National Archives Museum across the street. The building was in perfect condition.
I stood slowly and downtown Washington, D.C. rose around me.
I was at the corner of 7th Street and Pennsylvania Avenue, just above the Navy-Archives Metro Station, and in the heart of the city. To my left, the iconic Capitol dome was visible in the afternoon sun. To my right, Pennsylvania Avenue stretched between tall buildings in a straight shot to the White House. The roads were freshly paved and the stoplights flicked between red and green. It was all the same. No, the world looked better than when I’d abandoned it to Y2K and crawled into my surreptitiously made bunker, fashioned within a forgotten tunnel of the DC Metro System.
Shaking my head to try to clear the ringing sound, I staggered, and began to cry. The weight of my discovery, of my fallacy, of my lost years, was too much to bear.
“But wait!” cried a small voice in the back of my mind, “If Y2K never happened, where is everyone?”
The voice was right. Drying my tears, I looked again at the intersection of 7th and Pennsylvania. Cars were stopped in the street but they were all empty, their doors ajar. The office buildings were new, but no workers sat at their desks. The city was completely still and silent. Nothing made a sound but the ringing in my ears.
A door opened across the street opened and a woman in a skirt and suit jacket sprinted towards me. She carried a purse and had kicked off high-heels to run barefoot. She was sobbing as she ran, terrified, her eyes fixed on the entrance into the underground Metro Station.
“Ma’am! Ma’am!” I tried waving to catch her attention as she ran towards me. She almost zipped past before finally acknowledging my presence with a wild look.
“What are you doing up here?!” she cried, dragging herself to stop, clearly torn between fleeing and helping me. “We’ve got to get below! Right now!”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, alarmed by her overwhelming fear.
“Can’t you hear the sirens?!” was all she could bring herself to say before hurdling down the escalator and into the metro station.
The sirens?
I rubbed my ears but all I heard was the pervasive ringing. Then, halfway up the nearest lamp post, I noticed a loud speaker. As I stepped closer, the high-pitched ringing became louder. I looked at the next lamp post and discovered it too was mounted with speaker, as well as banner, swaying gently. “AMERICA UNITE! PRESERVE UKRAINE, SAVE EUROPE, DEFEAT RUSSIA” it read.
Glancing back at the Metro Station I was surprised to see yet another, even larger, sign at its entrance: FALLOUT SHELTER.
...I was close enough to Ground Zero that I succumbed to the pressure wave without the opportunity to see the infamous-shaped cloud, or even a flash of white light.
EDIT: A Word. | "Sir do you need help?"
I looked at the alien creature in front of me, simultaneously confused as to how he knew English and why he was wearing khaki pants with a gingham button up.
"Nice try" I said, cocking my pistol.
They weren't going to fool me that easily. I had been underground, alone for 14 years, sure. But I knew what people looked like and this was no person. Yes he had light olive colored skin, a manicured haircut and an easy smile but there was nothing behind those dead eyes. Those electric blue, dead eyes.
"Sir, I didn't mean anything by it" he said with his hands up, backing up slowly.
"I don't know how the fuck you're talking to me right now but I'm not listening to your brainwashing bullshit"
He looked scared. Weird. I thought the colonizing race would have been stronger than this.
"That's right just back the fuck up and go on down the road." He continued backing up, towards my farm house, on my land, and this was the first moment I had to look around since I re-emerged. The corn was high, it would have been late summer if we were still on earth's natural cycles. Bird's chirped in the distance and a flock flew from a tree. Slick, I thought, they've even managed to repopulate our planet with some of it's natural wild life.
As the man in the gingham button up turned around and began to run I shot him. A little over 20 yards out and I was dead on. A direct hit to the back and he fell flat on his face. Pretty impressive for 15 years in solitary confinement.
I spit and wiped my mouth with the back of my forearm. They weren't going to get away that easy, fucking invading fucking species. Even if I'm the last human left, and it looks like I am, I'm not going out without a fight.
As I drank the last gulp of my final bottle of water a woman broke from the front door in a bolt, crying hysterically and screaming through her sobs. I could suddenly hear sirens in the distance. Funny, I thought, that they'd go to such lengths to replicate the society they came to destroy. I pulled the sniper rifle around from my back and lined up her running silhouette in my sites. | |
[WP] A man emerges from his Y2K bunker as he has run out of supplies. It is currently 2014 and write in first person his encounters. | Journal Entry June 14th, 2014
Running short on supplies, I was forced to leave the bunker two days ago, with little other than a Ricky Martin t-shirt and my blue sunglasses (the justin timberlake ones). I was horrified by the world outside...
Everything appears to be abandoned. Cars are rusted on blocks, homes and buildings abandoned, graffiti everywhere you look.
I was able to find a dumpster with some food scraps and some fresh water in a puddle. Luckily I still have purifying tabs. I caught a glimpse of my reflection and I barely recognizes myself. My face was thin and gaunt, and my beard was completely unkempt. I sought refuge in the school down the street that first night. Luckily I still had my Walkman, but I'd need to conserve batteries. This is where I had my first encounter with them...
I awoke to the sound of the building being demolished one brick at a time. I investigated to find what appeared to be a youth, but he had a light in his forehead and wires coming out of face. He was dressed peculiarly, as if he had picked a piece of clothing from every decade of the last half of the twentieth century. He quickly threw a bag over his shoulder and ran.
I decided that I should hide and observe until I can gather what has happened here.
I have spent much of my time spying on these 'people' (more cyborg from what I can tell) from abandoned buildings. I don't know the whole story yet, but I know one thing: we were wrong about Y2K. Technology didn't fail, it took over. It has enslaved the human race.
Every human I have observed is forced to check in with a small computer every 15 to 30 seconds. Most never put it away. Many plug small buds directly into their ears. Any decision a human makes, they are forced to consult the small square. When something memorable happens, they show the square. It may in some instances be used as a communication device, like a much smaller cell phone, but this is a limited observation.
Most everything seems desolate, but a few people still wander the streets. I returned to the plant where I used to work and found it completely abandoned.
Last night, I became a little too aggressive. I attempted to approach a group of young women, maybe fourteen. They didn't seem able to speak. Many uttered short, incomplete phrases like "I can't even..." some only made sounds like "yolo."
When I approached them, they all simultaneously aimed their small computers at me and screeched. Afraid of what these things were capable of, I dove into the bushes and ran away.
I am about to head out of the city, and seek safety in the countryside. Hopefully not all the world has befallen the same fate as Detroit...
| "Sir do you need help?"
I looked at the alien creature in front of me, simultaneously confused as to how he knew English and why he was wearing khaki pants with a gingham button up.
"Nice try" I said, cocking my pistol.
They weren't going to fool me that easily. I had been underground, alone for 14 years, sure. But I knew what people looked like and this was no person. Yes he had light olive colored skin, a manicured haircut and an easy smile but there was nothing behind those dead eyes. Those electric blue, dead eyes.
"Sir, I didn't mean anything by it" he said with his hands up, backing up slowly.
"I don't know how the fuck you're talking to me right now but I'm not listening to your brainwashing bullshit"
He looked scared. Weird. I thought the colonizing race would have been stronger than this.
"That's right just back the fuck up and go on down the road." He continued backing up, towards my farm house, on my land, and this was the first moment I had to look around since I re-emerged. The corn was high, it would have been late summer if we were still on earth's natural cycles. Bird's chirped in the distance and a flock flew from a tree. Slick, I thought, they've even managed to repopulate our planet with some of it's natural wild life.
As the man in the gingham button up turned around and began to run I shot him. A little over 20 yards out and I was dead on. A direct hit to the back and he fell flat on his face. Pretty impressive for 15 years in solitary confinement.
I spit and wiped my mouth with the back of my forearm. They weren't going to get away that easy, fucking invading fucking species. Even if I'm the last human left, and it looks like I am, I'm not going out without a fight.
As I drank the last gulp of my final bottle of water a woman broke from the front door in a bolt, crying hysterically and screaming through her sobs. I could suddenly hear sirens in the distance. Funny, I thought, that they'd go to such lengths to replicate the society they came to destroy. I pulled the sniper rifle around from my back and lined up her running silhouette in my sites. | |
[WP] A man emerges from his Y2K bunker as he has run out of supplies. It is currently 2014 and write in first person his encounters. | I take a look back at my rather large bunker and sigh. This had been my home for the last 14 years. I'd spent decades building and stocking it. I guess I didn't do the math right. I should have had food in here to last another 5 years, but that damn pesky rat destroyed a good portion of it. Ah well, my fault. I didn't have the heart to kill it. It kept me company for a little while. Now it's time to go see if I could hunt up a deer or two that could be packed away. It'd at least give me another month. It's a good way to take a look around, too. That's right. I'll kill me some dinner, see what I'm up against, then figure out what to do from there. I doubt I'm the only one left alive. Shit, I'm not the smartest man in the world and even I knew what to do.
I turn around and stare at the eight inch thick steel door that stood between me and what lay beyond. I built this place good. I made it just in case. There was two feet of reinforced concrete with a lead sheet sandwiched in the middle surrounding me and that door was air tight. A mouse fart couldn't even get through there. I built this place for every possible scenario. From zombies to nuclear winter, there was nothin' getting in this place and I mean nothin'. Hell, I even put some claymores on the other side of the door, you know, just in case. But ya know, I figure if anything happened it'd most likely be like them Mad Max movies, you know with a bunch of heathens running around on motorcycles and dune buggies. That's why I built that armored truck that I got in the back there. But I better go take a look before I bring that puppy out. I wanna see what I'm up against.
With my huntin' rifles strapped across my back and my little pistol tucked away in it's holster, I open the door, boy that was a bitch to do. I poke my head out and sniff real good. It doesn't smell any worse than when I went in, and I don't smell anything like dead folks, so probably no zombies. My skin ain't meltin', so probably no radiation, though I'm not sure if radiation would to that to a feller. Seemed safe enough though, least in an enviromental sense anyway.
I step on out, closing and locking the door behind me before I stepped on over the trip wire to my claymores and head up the steps. Hooolllyyy shit, I'm gonna have to chop me a path through this here jungle of weeds. These damn things are almost over my head. Theys tall enough to block my view! Good thing I brought my ol' machete. As I start to chop my way to the big ol' rock that was on the property I couldn't help but think: the weeds is still a growing, if I can't find me a deer, I'll at least be able to find some fruit or somethin' to eat.
I finally reach my rock and hop on up looking toward where the road used to be. Well damn, it was still there. Holy shit, and with the blackest blacktop I'd ever seen in my whole life. It was freshly paved! What?! How? The I looked over to the houses across the road. They was boarded up, but hell, they'd been boarded up since before I bought this place. Somethin' somethin' about a man went crazy killed all his neighbors or some such. Kinda why I picked this place. Weren't nobody around to bother me while I built my bunker.
Wait, is that a car? Looks like one of those abstract artists got ahold of it, but sure nuff, its a gall damn car. Is that a motorcycle behind it? Hell yes it is. I can hear it, it's a Harley! I'd know that sound anywhere. I used to have one 'till I sold it to get money for food. What the hell is going on? They said the world was comin' to an end. Whut the in the damned hell is going on? Did theys fuckin' lie to us? Shit I better find out just what in the hell is going on around here.
I take my rifle back to my bunker. Better safe than sorry, don't wanna get shot by no nut case or land in jail on my first day out. Then I head out.
First, I grab a burger at a fast food place. I didn't pay no attention to which it was. I was too damned hungry, I'd run out of food yesterday and decided to sleep before I headed out. I knew right there to go too. I went straight to the library. Holy shit, it used to be bigger than this! What the hell happened? Don't nobody go to the library anymore? Last I remembered it was a big ol' building, now it wasn't even as big as my old house. Aw damn, ah well, it'd still be a good place to get information.
The librarian was a nice enough lady. She didn't believe me when I'd told her I'd been in my bunker for the last 14 years, but she answered as many of my questions that I asked and pointed me to a damn computer for the rest. Damn computers, they's the reason I was stuck in that damned bunker for 14 years. I hate 'em, but I looked anyway. Guess my curiosity bested my hate for those damned machines of Satan. So I listened when she told me what to do and off I went down that damned 'information highway.'
They blew up the World Trade Center again? Holy shit. I can't believe it, killed thousands. Oh my lord what have people done while I was underground? Another war? Bad cops? NSA Spying? People shootin' up schools and killin' kids? People drivin' down the road and shootin' people cause they can't get no pussy? What the hell have you people done to the world? God damn, this is complete bullshit. What in the hell has this world come to?
As soon as my food is restocked, I'm going back to my god damned hole and stayin' there. All y'all mudder fuckers can kiss my scrawny ass! Fuck every last one of ya! Glad I built my place where theys an underground spring.
-Tori | It was six months ago that the generators went out and two months ago that my candles extinguished. I am beginning to wonder if there is light out there. Is there light in death? The bright light at the end of the tunnel? Or am I already in the darkness that is death? In this darkness I've discovered a terrible truth. Having made it this far into my isolation, I've accepted that the world exists without me. Is it the shame that keeps me from emerging from this hole in the Earth that I dug for myself? Should just lay here and make this my grave? I am already dead.
Ultimately, I blame the darkness. It follows me into my dreams. Dreams of darkness in which I only see black. I want to sleep and know I'll see light one more time. I want to see a field bluebonnets. The sun shining on the asphalt creating heatwaves in the distance down the road. The light of an “Exit” sign in a dark hallway.
Emotion finally set in and found myself crawling towards the escape hatch. I fumbled around my pocket for the key, my last match. If my lonely match fail, it will be the last spark of light I ever see. I reached the end of the crawlspace and knew above it lay a combination lock. I devised a plan in which I would light the match, take a deep breath, and while holding the match with my teeth, I would put in the combination. I practiced moving the dial on the lock in the darkness, it felt familiar enough. Even if I got one good look at the lock I might be able to open in darkness. I pictured in my mind what this light would look like once I lit it, not to be shocked or awed by it completely. Calculated chaos.
I failed miserably. I had forgotten the soft blue under the burning yellow. An exotic flower blooming violently. I finally got a hold of the lock and put in the combination. I pulled if off and pushed open the door. Just as my flower shriveled into darkness I caught a glimpse of the ladder I would have to climb. Fourteen years ago, I ventured down this ladder wondering when and if I would have to scale back up it.
Fear began to set in as I climbed. Fourteen years was a long time. What would the world be like? I sat on the last rung of the ladder staring up at the latch. Tears began to set in as I felt it, cold metal. Tears of regret.
I turned the wheel on the latch and braced myself for I knew the light would be blinding.
“One! Two! Three!”, I threw the latch open and quickly ducked my face into my elbow. Immediately the scent of grass and weeds filled my mouth. A cool wind whipped my hair. I opened my eyes. The moon and stars lit the Texas sky. Tears and laughter consumed me.
I could dream again. | |
[WP] A man emerges from his Y2K bunker as he has run out of supplies. It is currently 2014 and write in first person his encounters. | “Ex… Excuse me, sir. What year is it?” I rasped.
“GET OUT OF THE WAY!” screamed the man in the navy-blue suit as he threw me aside. Weak and dehydrated, I fell to my knees and watched as the man ran past me, racing down the long escalator I’d only just climbed, and disappearing into the underground Metro Station.
A suit. He’d been wearing a clean, tailored, navy-blue suit. Still on my hands and knees, I threw up on the sidewalk.
With nothing in my belly, not much came up, and after a few moments I tried again to take in my surroundings. The sunlight was bright to the point of blindness and my head throbbed with an incessant ringing in the ears, but I could still make out the tall, majestic columns and classical cornices of the National Archives Museum across the street. The building was in perfect condition.
I stood slowly and downtown Washington, D.C. rose around me.
I was at the corner of 7th Street and Pennsylvania Avenue, just above the Navy-Archives Metro Station, and in the heart of the city. To my left, the iconic Capitol dome was visible in the afternoon sun. To my right, Pennsylvania Avenue stretched between tall buildings in a straight shot to the White House. The roads were freshly paved and the stoplights flicked between red and green. It was all the same. No, the world looked better than when I’d abandoned it to Y2K and crawled into my surreptitiously made bunker, fashioned within a forgotten tunnel of the DC Metro System.
Shaking my head to try to clear the ringing sound, I staggered, and began to cry. The weight of my discovery, of my fallacy, of my lost years, was too much to bear.
“But wait!” cried a small voice in the back of my mind, “If Y2K never happened, where is everyone?”
The voice was right. Drying my tears, I looked again at the intersection of 7th and Pennsylvania. Cars were stopped in the street but they were all empty, their doors ajar. The office buildings were new, but no workers sat at their desks. The city was completely still and silent. Nothing made a sound but the ringing in my ears.
A door opened across the street opened and a woman in a skirt and suit jacket sprinted towards me. She carried a purse and had kicked off high-heels to run barefoot. She was sobbing as she ran, terrified, her eyes fixed on the entrance into the underground Metro Station.
“Ma’am! Ma’am!” I tried waving to catch her attention as she ran towards me. She almost zipped past before finally acknowledging my presence with a wild look.
“What are you doing up here?!” she cried, dragging herself to stop, clearly torn between fleeing and helping me. “We’ve got to get below! Right now!”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, alarmed by her overwhelming fear.
“Can’t you hear the sirens?!” was all she could bring herself to say before hurdling down the escalator and into the metro station.
The sirens?
I rubbed my ears but all I heard was the pervasive ringing. Then, halfway up the nearest lamp post, I noticed a loud speaker. As I stepped closer, the high-pitched ringing became louder. I looked at the next lamp post and discovered it too was mounted with speaker, as well as banner, swaying gently. “AMERICA UNITE! PRESERVE UKRAINE, SAVE EUROPE, DEFEAT RUSSIA” it read.
Glancing back at the Metro Station I was surprised to see yet another, even larger, sign at its entrance: FALLOUT SHELTER.
...I was close enough to Ground Zero that I succumbed to the pressure wave without the opportunity to see the infamous-shaped cloud, or even a flash of white light.
EDIT: A Word. | It was six months ago that the generators went out and two months ago that my candles extinguished. I am beginning to wonder if there is light out there. Is there light in death? The bright light at the end of the tunnel? Or am I already in the darkness that is death? In this darkness I've discovered a terrible truth. Having made it this far into my isolation, I've accepted that the world exists without me. Is it the shame that keeps me from emerging from this hole in the Earth that I dug for myself? Should just lay here and make this my grave? I am already dead.
Ultimately, I blame the darkness. It follows me into my dreams. Dreams of darkness in which I only see black. I want to sleep and know I'll see light one more time. I want to see a field bluebonnets. The sun shining on the asphalt creating heatwaves in the distance down the road. The light of an “Exit” sign in a dark hallway.
Emotion finally set in and found myself crawling towards the escape hatch. I fumbled around my pocket for the key, my last match. If my lonely match fail, it will be the last spark of light I ever see. I reached the end of the crawlspace and knew above it lay a combination lock. I devised a plan in which I would light the match, take a deep breath, and while holding the match with my teeth, I would put in the combination. I practiced moving the dial on the lock in the darkness, it felt familiar enough. Even if I got one good look at the lock I might be able to open in darkness. I pictured in my mind what this light would look like once I lit it, not to be shocked or awed by it completely. Calculated chaos.
I failed miserably. I had forgotten the soft blue under the burning yellow. An exotic flower blooming violently. I finally got a hold of the lock and put in the combination. I pulled if off and pushed open the door. Just as my flower shriveled into darkness I caught a glimpse of the ladder I would have to climb. Fourteen years ago, I ventured down this ladder wondering when and if I would have to scale back up it.
Fear began to set in as I climbed. Fourteen years was a long time. What would the world be like? I sat on the last rung of the ladder staring up at the latch. Tears began to set in as I felt it, cold metal. Tears of regret.
I turned the wheel on the latch and braced myself for I knew the light would be blinding.
“One! Two! Three!”, I threw the latch open and quickly ducked my face into my elbow. Immediately the scent of grass and weeds filled my mouth. A cool wind whipped my hair. I opened my eyes. The moon and stars lit the Texas sky. Tears and laughter consumed me.
I could dream again. | |
[WP] A man emerges from his Y2K bunker as he has run out of supplies. It is currently 2014 and write in first person his encounters. | Journal Entry June 14th, 2014
Running short on supplies, I was forced to leave the bunker two days ago, with little other than a Ricky Martin t-shirt and my blue sunglasses (the justin timberlake ones). I was horrified by the world outside...
Everything appears to be abandoned. Cars are rusted on blocks, homes and buildings abandoned, graffiti everywhere you look.
I was able to find a dumpster with some food scraps and some fresh water in a puddle. Luckily I still have purifying tabs. I caught a glimpse of my reflection and I barely recognizes myself. My face was thin and gaunt, and my beard was completely unkempt. I sought refuge in the school down the street that first night. Luckily I still had my Walkman, but I'd need to conserve batteries. This is where I had my first encounter with them...
I awoke to the sound of the building being demolished one brick at a time. I investigated to find what appeared to be a youth, but he had a light in his forehead and wires coming out of face. He was dressed peculiarly, as if he had picked a piece of clothing from every decade of the last half of the twentieth century. He quickly threw a bag over his shoulder and ran.
I decided that I should hide and observe until I can gather what has happened here.
I have spent much of my time spying on these 'people' (more cyborg from what I can tell) from abandoned buildings. I don't know the whole story yet, but I know one thing: we were wrong about Y2K. Technology didn't fail, it took over. It has enslaved the human race.
Every human I have observed is forced to check in with a small computer every 15 to 30 seconds. Most never put it away. Many plug small buds directly into their ears. Any decision a human makes, they are forced to consult the small square. When something memorable happens, they show the square. It may in some instances be used as a communication device, like a much smaller cell phone, but this is a limited observation.
Most everything seems desolate, but a few people still wander the streets. I returned to the plant where I used to work and found it completely abandoned.
Last night, I became a little too aggressive. I attempted to approach a group of young women, maybe fourteen. They didn't seem able to speak. Many uttered short, incomplete phrases like "I can't even..." some only made sounds like "yolo."
When I approached them, they all simultaneously aimed their small computers at me and screeched. Afraid of what these things were capable of, I dove into the bushes and ran away.
I am about to head out of the city, and seek safety in the countryside. Hopefully not all the world has befallen the same fate as Detroit...
| It was six months ago that the generators went out and two months ago that my candles extinguished. I am beginning to wonder if there is light out there. Is there light in death? The bright light at the end of the tunnel? Or am I already in the darkness that is death? In this darkness I've discovered a terrible truth. Having made it this far into my isolation, I've accepted that the world exists without me. Is it the shame that keeps me from emerging from this hole in the Earth that I dug for myself? Should just lay here and make this my grave? I am already dead.
Ultimately, I blame the darkness. It follows me into my dreams. Dreams of darkness in which I only see black. I want to sleep and know I'll see light one more time. I want to see a field bluebonnets. The sun shining on the asphalt creating heatwaves in the distance down the road. The light of an “Exit” sign in a dark hallway.
Emotion finally set in and found myself crawling towards the escape hatch. I fumbled around my pocket for the key, my last match. If my lonely match fail, it will be the last spark of light I ever see. I reached the end of the crawlspace and knew above it lay a combination lock. I devised a plan in which I would light the match, take a deep breath, and while holding the match with my teeth, I would put in the combination. I practiced moving the dial on the lock in the darkness, it felt familiar enough. Even if I got one good look at the lock I might be able to open in darkness. I pictured in my mind what this light would look like once I lit it, not to be shocked or awed by it completely. Calculated chaos.
I failed miserably. I had forgotten the soft blue under the burning yellow. An exotic flower blooming violently. I finally got a hold of the lock and put in the combination. I pulled if off and pushed open the door. Just as my flower shriveled into darkness I caught a glimpse of the ladder I would have to climb. Fourteen years ago, I ventured down this ladder wondering when and if I would have to scale back up it.
Fear began to set in as I climbed. Fourteen years was a long time. What would the world be like? I sat on the last rung of the ladder staring up at the latch. Tears began to set in as I felt it, cold metal. Tears of regret.
I turned the wheel on the latch and braced myself for I knew the light would be blinding.
“One! Two! Three!”, I threw the latch open and quickly ducked my face into my elbow. Immediately the scent of grass and weeds filled my mouth. A cool wind whipped my hair. I opened my eyes. The moon and stars lit the Texas sky. Tears and laughter consumed me.
I could dream again. | |
[WP] A man emerges from his Y2K bunker as he has run out of supplies. It is currently 2014 and write in first person his encounters. | Journal Entry June 14th, 2014
Running short on supplies, I was forced to leave the bunker two days ago, with little other than a Ricky Martin t-shirt and my blue sunglasses (the justin timberlake ones). I was horrified by the world outside...
Everything appears to be abandoned. Cars are rusted on blocks, homes and buildings abandoned, graffiti everywhere you look.
I was able to find a dumpster with some food scraps and some fresh water in a puddle. Luckily I still have purifying tabs. I caught a glimpse of my reflection and I barely recognizes myself. My face was thin and gaunt, and my beard was completely unkempt. I sought refuge in the school down the street that first night. Luckily I still had my Walkman, but I'd need to conserve batteries. This is where I had my first encounter with them...
I awoke to the sound of the building being demolished one brick at a time. I investigated to find what appeared to be a youth, but he had a light in his forehead and wires coming out of face. He was dressed peculiarly, as if he had picked a piece of clothing from every decade of the last half of the twentieth century. He quickly threw a bag over his shoulder and ran.
I decided that I should hide and observe until I can gather what has happened here.
I have spent much of my time spying on these 'people' (more cyborg from what I can tell) from abandoned buildings. I don't know the whole story yet, but I know one thing: we were wrong about Y2K. Technology didn't fail, it took over. It has enslaved the human race.
Every human I have observed is forced to check in with a small computer every 15 to 30 seconds. Most never put it away. Many plug small buds directly into their ears. Any decision a human makes, they are forced to consult the small square. When something memorable happens, they show the square. It may in some instances be used as a communication device, like a much smaller cell phone, but this is a limited observation.
Most everything seems desolate, but a few people still wander the streets. I returned to the plant where I used to work and found it completely abandoned.
Last night, I became a little too aggressive. I attempted to approach a group of young women, maybe fourteen. They didn't seem able to speak. Many uttered short, incomplete phrases like "I can't even..." some only made sounds like "yolo."
When I approached them, they all simultaneously aimed their small computers at me and screeched. Afraid of what these things were capable of, I dove into the bushes and ran away.
I am about to head out of the city, and seek safety in the countryside. Hopefully not all the world has befallen the same fate as Detroit...
| I take a look back at my rather large bunker and sigh. This had been my home for the last 14 years. I'd spent decades building and stocking it. I guess I didn't do the math right. I should have had food in here to last another 5 years, but that damn pesky rat destroyed a good portion of it. Ah well, my fault. I didn't have the heart to kill it. It kept me company for a little while. Now it's time to go see if I could hunt up a deer or two that could be packed away. It'd at least give me another month. It's a good way to take a look around, too. That's right. I'll kill me some dinner, see what I'm up against, then figure out what to do from there. I doubt I'm the only one left alive. Shit, I'm not the smartest man in the world and even I knew what to do.
I turn around and stare at the eight inch thick steel door that stood between me and what lay beyond. I built this place good. I made it just in case. There was two feet of reinforced concrete with a lead sheet sandwiched in the middle surrounding me and that door was air tight. A mouse fart couldn't even get through there. I built this place for every possible scenario. From zombies to nuclear winter, there was nothin' getting in this place and I mean nothin'. Hell, I even put some claymores on the other side of the door, you know, just in case. But ya know, I figure if anything happened it'd most likely be like them Mad Max movies, you know with a bunch of heathens running around on motorcycles and dune buggies. That's why I built that armored truck that I got in the back there. But I better go take a look before I bring that puppy out. I wanna see what I'm up against.
With my huntin' rifles strapped across my back and my little pistol tucked away in it's holster, I open the door, boy that was a bitch to do. I poke my head out and sniff real good. It doesn't smell any worse than when I went in, and I don't smell anything like dead folks, so probably no zombies. My skin ain't meltin', so probably no radiation, though I'm not sure if radiation would to that to a feller. Seemed safe enough though, least in an enviromental sense anyway.
I step on out, closing and locking the door behind me before I stepped on over the trip wire to my claymores and head up the steps. Hooolllyyy shit, I'm gonna have to chop me a path through this here jungle of weeds. These damn things are almost over my head. Theys tall enough to block my view! Good thing I brought my ol' machete. As I start to chop my way to the big ol' rock that was on the property I couldn't help but think: the weeds is still a growing, if I can't find me a deer, I'll at least be able to find some fruit or somethin' to eat.
I finally reach my rock and hop on up looking toward where the road used to be. Well damn, it was still there. Holy shit, and with the blackest blacktop I'd ever seen in my whole life. It was freshly paved! What?! How? The I looked over to the houses across the road. They was boarded up, but hell, they'd been boarded up since before I bought this place. Somethin' somethin' about a man went crazy killed all his neighbors or some such. Kinda why I picked this place. Weren't nobody around to bother me while I built my bunker.
Wait, is that a car? Looks like one of those abstract artists got ahold of it, but sure nuff, its a gall damn car. Is that a motorcycle behind it? Hell yes it is. I can hear it, it's a Harley! I'd know that sound anywhere. I used to have one 'till I sold it to get money for food. What the hell is going on? They said the world was comin' to an end. Whut the in the damned hell is going on? Did theys fuckin' lie to us? Shit I better find out just what in the hell is going on around here.
I take my rifle back to my bunker. Better safe than sorry, don't wanna get shot by no nut case or land in jail on my first day out. Then I head out.
First, I grab a burger at a fast food place. I didn't pay no attention to which it was. I was too damned hungry, I'd run out of food yesterday and decided to sleep before I headed out. I knew right there to go too. I went straight to the library. Holy shit, it used to be bigger than this! What the hell happened? Don't nobody go to the library anymore? Last I remembered it was a big ol' building, now it wasn't even as big as my old house. Aw damn, ah well, it'd still be a good place to get information.
The librarian was a nice enough lady. She didn't believe me when I'd told her I'd been in my bunker for the last 14 years, but she answered as many of my questions that I asked and pointed me to a damn computer for the rest. Damn computers, they's the reason I was stuck in that damned bunker for 14 years. I hate 'em, but I looked anyway. Guess my curiosity bested my hate for those damned machines of Satan. So I listened when she told me what to do and off I went down that damned 'information highway.'
They blew up the World Trade Center again? Holy shit. I can't believe it, killed thousands. Oh my lord what have people done while I was underground? Another war? Bad cops? NSA Spying? People shootin' up schools and killin' kids? People drivin' down the road and shootin' people cause they can't get no pussy? What the hell have you people done to the world? God damn, this is complete bullshit. What in the hell has this world come to?
As soon as my food is restocked, I'm going back to my god damned hole and stayin' there. All y'all mudder fuckers can kiss my scrawny ass! Fuck every last one of ya! Glad I built my place where theys an underground spring.
-Tori | |
[WP] An ignored office worker who is about to realise that he's not a ghost, it's just that no one likes him. | In a gray and lifeless office in a gray and lifeless town, a gray and lifeless man haunts the gray and lifeless corridors; his name is Benjamin Bray, and although he likes the taste of flan and believes strongly in hydration, he nonetheless believes he is dead.
Each week Benjamin checks his checking account to find no money, and while he believes he does not actually work at the gray company, each day he nonetheless goes to a desk which is never occupied, and he sits at the computer and does not feel his fingers on the keyboard. He sits alone in his cubicle and his fingers dance above the keys and words and figures appear on the screen, but they are ghost words and empty figures, without meaning or value, and they do nothing to convince Benjamin that he is alive.
When he glides past open office doors, papers riffle and the temperature drops, and people close the doors and complain about the draft. When the corridors are full of subdued laughter and talk about the home team's latest travesty, no one acknowledges him, and one time he swears Charlie Keller from Accounting walked right. through. him.
On a Tuesday in March, with the sky gray and lifeless, Benjamin enters the office to find a cluster of people gathered around a blood-spattered desk. A young man named Jeremy, who had only yesterday afternoon in the break room told the vilest joke that Benjamin has ever heard, involving a horse, a prostitute, and three pounds of manure, is missing the top of his skull. His mouth is a round O of wonder around the handgun, and his eyes are wide with surprise.
Benjamin wonders what Jeremy had seen in that last moment before his brain flickered out, and he wonders if he will finally have a friend.
"Why did you do it?" Benjamin asks the ghost at the windowsill, but the ghost only looks out at the gray March sky and pays him no heed. "Did I kill myself? Is that why I'm here?"
After a while the ghost speaks. Benjamin can see his lips move, but the words are inaudible. Hell, Benjamin reflects, is being unheard.
And so they stand side by side, the gray lifeless man and the ghost, and they look out at the rain spattering the parking lot.
"...never even saw it coming," pretty young Caroline says from the circle gathered around Jeremy's body, which has now expanded to include police and EMTs. Benjamin wonders if it is only coincidence that they seem to have more color today, more warmth. That their talk is louder, that they move their hands more expressively, touch one another openly and never for a moment mention quarterly reports. "He seemed so alive."
"Just goes to show," Charlie Keller says, putting his hand on Caroline's shoulder in a way that might have been innocent. "That's why you have to pay attention to the people you care about, I guess. If you need to talk . . ."
Benjamin turns away from the colorless sky and the gray, lifeless parking lot, and he faces the ring, and he lets himself be drawn back to their warmth.
"I need to talk," he says as he takes the first step, and his voice is rusty with disuse. The ring faces one another and the body between them, and they pay him no heed. "I do. Me."
Jeremy's ghost has turned to watch, now, his eyes round with curiosity and his skull open to the world.
*I am not a ghost,* Benjamin tells himself. And he moves toward to the circle, drawn now not only by the group's solidarity but by the flowery beauty of Caroline's perfume.
When he gets to them he will walk through Caroline, or he will not.
And then, one way or the other, he will know.
| Jeff gets up on a normal Tuesday morning, preparing to go disappear at work for yet another day. He doesn't really mind being ignored all day, it gives him a strange sense of fit within the office.
As Jeff gets to work he parks in yet another different spot, someone parked in his again. This happens at least 2 or 3 times a week, no need to get worked up over it. Jeff ends up parked all the way on the edge of the lot. By the time he gets into the building, he's about 5 minutes late but not even his manager says a word about it.
Everyone in the office is pretty quiet today, just a normal day. When he gets to his cubicle and logs in there are 13 new emails, a few less than yesterday. This just means Jeff has a few extra minutes to get some coffee and try to strike up conversation with the new person in the cubicle next to his own.
Janice just started here, she probably needs a few friends.
Good morning Janice, how are you doing today?
I'm good Jeff, how are you?
Not too bad, just getting through the day so far.
*Success* Jeff thinks to himself. Finally got up the courage to talk to someone, maybe he'll have someone to go to lunch with from now on.
After spending 10 minutes making a new batch of coffee reading the bulletin board in the break room. Today's coffee is strong, today is going well. As he swiftly walks back to his desk, he see's Janice at his desk. As he approaches, she spots him and gets up quickly, taking off in the opposite direction. *Strange* Jeff thinks to himself, a shred of excitement tears through him, maybe she was leaving her number on his desk!
As Jeff sits down at his desk, he has a message on Sametime from Janice. He lets the icon blink a few times, excitement building. He finally clicks on the icon, and starts reading. Tears swelling up in his eyes as he goes. A couple minutes later Jeff gets up and somberly exits the office. Leaving his computer open;
Janice: Ugh! That weird guy Jeff was just talking to me. I don't understand why he even bothers.
Doesn't he know that there isn't a single person here that would ever want to talk to him? I was just
trying to be nice, but he's sooooo annoying!
Jeff takes the long route home, trying to decide what to do. He really should get back to work so that he can keep his job... then again he is *that guy* at the office. When did he become *that guy*? Was it at the birthday celebration, or was it on his first day? Where did I go wrong? He asks himself, over and over.
By the time Jeff gets home he has tears pouring out of his eyes. He has nothing in his life but work, but not even that is enjoyable now. He didn't mind being ignored, but the hatred is just too much. He devoted his life to that job, no hobbies, no family, nothing. *How did I not notice?* Jeff thinks repeatedly *why couldn't I have taken longer? She could have deleted the message.*
Twenty minutes later the police arrive outside Jeff's house. A neighbor called in to report the sound of a single gunshot coming from Jeff's house. As the police approach, they notice that the front door is slightly cracked. They call into the house "Police, anyone here?"
After a few minutes of this, the police decide to enter the house. After searching the downstairs and finding nothing, they head upstairs and find Jeff's body on the floor in the bathroom with a handgun lying in his hand. On the mirror written in toothpaste is "I just wanted to blend in."
| |
[WP] An ignored office worker who is about to realise that he's not a ghost, it's just that no one likes him. | The worst part about death was that everyone could still see you. Plain as day. I'd tried my hand at poltergeisting but they just yelled at me.
"Get off the counter, *Steve*. Stop stacking all of the coffee mugs in a pyramid, *Steve*." Elongating the eve sarcastically like they were dragging it across the parking-lot cement.
They still averted their eyes, still muttered 'hullo' at the ground with every passing, still wouldn't listen to my stories of conquest at the local Friday Night Magic. They heard all right, they heard and they saw but just didn't give a damn. Too fucking busy being-alive. Bunch of assholes. No one cared that I was dead. I wonder how many of them are dead too?
I made my way back to the break-room, head down-cast, moping. My position was relatively unsupervised when I was alive, and now that I was dead, fully ignored by anyone motivated by achievement and getting things done. When I passed, the company quickly unassigned me from any project I had been working on so there really wasn't much to do.
The rules of being a ghost seemed pretty loosey-goosey. I was worried my body would get tethered somewhere - by like a heavy ethereal chain or something, or that I would be forced to talk in limericks. None of that had happened yet. There didn't seem to be any restrictions of any kind really. I could go home if I wanted to, but no one was there and anything I could do at home I could do at the office. Now that I was dead. Plus the office always had free coffee.
People always left their lunches unguarded too, not that anyone brought anything good. Larry brought sandwiches smeared in mustard, but could be counted on for quality deli meat. Sarah brought the good Yogurt. Carl, down in billing, he had the Redbull. Put together it made for a good meal. They no doubt suspected it was the dead guy taking their food, but I mean, what are they going to do? I'm dead.
Sitting back down at my desk, a sloppy pockmarked battlefield of old stains and crumpled paper, I noticed something new. An email! They had stopped coming in with any kind of regularity after I had replied to the last few with my simple parting: "I am now dead, please forward this email to whoever has replaced me". It was from the HR director, how exciting! They probably had some sort of special form designating me as a deceased employee or some such. A shame, I kind of liked not having any responsibilities.
Well my meeting's in a few minutes. I've cut eye holes in a white window curtain and draped it over myself. They should appreciate the irony. OOOoooooOOOoooo. Haha. Buncha *idiots*. | Jeff gets up on a normal Tuesday morning, preparing to go disappear at work for yet another day. He doesn't really mind being ignored all day, it gives him a strange sense of fit within the office.
As Jeff gets to work he parks in yet another different spot, someone parked in his again. This happens at least 2 or 3 times a week, no need to get worked up over it. Jeff ends up parked all the way on the edge of the lot. By the time he gets into the building, he's about 5 minutes late but not even his manager says a word about it.
Everyone in the office is pretty quiet today, just a normal day. When he gets to his cubicle and logs in there are 13 new emails, a few less than yesterday. This just means Jeff has a few extra minutes to get some coffee and try to strike up conversation with the new person in the cubicle next to his own.
Janice just started here, she probably needs a few friends.
Good morning Janice, how are you doing today?
I'm good Jeff, how are you?
Not too bad, just getting through the day so far.
*Success* Jeff thinks to himself. Finally got up the courage to talk to someone, maybe he'll have someone to go to lunch with from now on.
After spending 10 minutes making a new batch of coffee reading the bulletin board in the break room. Today's coffee is strong, today is going well. As he swiftly walks back to his desk, he see's Janice at his desk. As he approaches, she spots him and gets up quickly, taking off in the opposite direction. *Strange* Jeff thinks to himself, a shred of excitement tears through him, maybe she was leaving her number on his desk!
As Jeff sits down at his desk, he has a message on Sametime from Janice. He lets the icon blink a few times, excitement building. He finally clicks on the icon, and starts reading. Tears swelling up in his eyes as he goes. A couple minutes later Jeff gets up and somberly exits the office. Leaving his computer open;
Janice: Ugh! That weird guy Jeff was just talking to me. I don't understand why he even bothers.
Doesn't he know that there isn't a single person here that would ever want to talk to him? I was just
trying to be nice, but he's sooooo annoying!
Jeff takes the long route home, trying to decide what to do. He really should get back to work so that he can keep his job... then again he is *that guy* at the office. When did he become *that guy*? Was it at the birthday celebration, or was it on his first day? Where did I go wrong? He asks himself, over and over.
By the time Jeff gets home he has tears pouring out of his eyes. He has nothing in his life but work, but not even that is enjoyable now. He didn't mind being ignored, but the hatred is just too much. He devoted his life to that job, no hobbies, no family, nothing. *How did I not notice?* Jeff thinks repeatedly *why couldn't I have taken longer? She could have deleted the message.*
Twenty minutes later the police arrive outside Jeff's house. A neighbor called in to report the sound of a single gunshot coming from Jeff's house. As the police approach, they notice that the front door is slightly cracked. They call into the house "Police, anyone here?"
After a few minutes of this, the police decide to enter the house. After searching the downstairs and finding nothing, they head upstairs and find Jeff's body on the floor in the bathroom with a handgun lying in his hand. On the mirror written in toothpaste is "I just wanted to blend in."
| |
[WP] An ignored office worker who is about to realise that he's not a ghost, it's just that no one likes him. | Brad went in to work as he did every day. He scanned his card at the door and, hearing a beep walked through the doors. The guard did not acknowledge him. He did not ever seem surprised at the doors opening, and Brad was no longer surprised at his negligence. The guard should have been surprised, or at least concerned enough to inform someone about the apparently faulty security system. But he didn't. He merely glanced up at the door, not seeing Brad and looked back to his magazine. Filthy magazines. Once, instead of going directly to his office, Brad watched over the guard's shoulder to see if the man ever actually did his job. After nearly fifteen minutes of staring at the same page he did eventually put the smut down and stare dully at the door. Fifteen minutes. An absurdly large amount of time that anyone could walk in through the apparently faulty doors and shoot up the office! Brad had no time for such incompetence.
He entered the elevator, neither the whoosh of the approaching car nor the ding of the opening doors disrupted the guard's indulgence, and waited for the doors to take their sweet time in closing. He called out in the quavery voice he sometimes used—it was important to embrace one's self, “such slooOOOOwwww dooOOOOORRss theeeeese!”
Someone else entered the building and earned a mumbled greeting from the guard. “Apparently he pays some attention.” Brad muttered not too quietly. As the man entered the elevator, his eyes never approached Brad. Brad always wished he could float up through the floors like ghosts in movies. It never worked though. Despite determined concentration, and some attempts at helping his powers along with a strong jump, he never managed anything but a bump on his head. “Nothing ever works like it does in the movies.” As Brad began speaking the man sharing the carriage suddenly darted back out the finally closing doors. “Odd... he probably forgot something in his car. The idiocy of some people.”
Upon reaching his floor he navigated the rows and columns of cubicles to find his computer. This cubicle was his and he'd made it his own. He collected interesting things that his coworkers discarded and pinned them to his walls. Some people didn't understand true art. A pair of coffee cups, posed so that one appeared to be pouring ethereal ectoplasm into the other. A number of crumpled candy bar rappers shaped into a skull, or at least... an approximation of one. And his favorite piece, a single heavy-duty, 5/8” staple pressed only slightly into the canvas of his cubicle wall at a most precise angle. It was a masterpiece of minimalism.
He sat down on the folding chair at his desk and turned on his monitor. He began working. It was difficult to find work when you had no way to communicate with your boss. He carefully read every group email that came to him, and replied with helpful commentaries on spelling and grammar. He did his best to make sure group emails found their recipients as they should. If someone did not seem to be performing a task that had been discussed in a public email, Brad made sure to remind them, very kindly, with another email. No one ever responded even to ask who was sending the messages. “How can people be so incurious about things?”
He'd gotten well into the swing of the morning's work when someone knocked on his cubicle. At first he hardly noticed it, it was faint. Almost shy. He paused his typing. A louder knock. “That's definitely someone at my cubicle.” He turned in his chair.
“Sir, Mr. Murrow wants to see you.” The new intern stood at the opening of his little nest.
“You can see me!”
“Of course I can see you. Why wouldn't I be able to see you?” His brow was furrowed and he looked slightly frightened.
“You can't tell? I don't look different to you?”
A pause. The intern stared at him. Brad's grin stuck firm. “No.” The intern finally said, his head turned up and away slightly.
“I'm a ghost! You can see ghosts! You're the first person to ever see me!”
“Uh okay... Umm... Mr. Murrow wants to see you.”
“Who's Mr. Murrow? Can he see ghosts too?” Brad realized he was speaking too loudly. If this person could actually hear him, it might be disturbing.
“Uh... Sure. Just uh... follow me.” Without another word he walked away.
Brad stood from his chair and had to jog a little to catch up. “So! What's your name? I've never met anyone who could talk to me before!”
The intern missed a step and continued walking with more space between their shoulders. And said nothing.
“Can you still hear me? Can you still see me?”
He sighed strangely, “Yes. I can hear you. Just follow me.” His stride quickened.
They arrived at a door. A plaque on the door gave the occupant's name and position. This was Brad's boss. “I've never spoken to him before, I don't think he can see me.”
Brad's friend did not reply, but knocked on the door. At the muffled “Come in” the intern opened the door and walked quickly away.
Brad entered the door. He gaped at the furnishings. Did that office chair actually swivel? The man seated in it spoke, “Phil. I need to speak to you. Please, close the door and sit.”
“You can see me! I can't believe it, two people in one day!”
“Yes... Please. Sit.” Brad complied. “It has come to my attention, Phil, that you do not perform tasks that are assigned to you. You rarely attend meetings. And you are very disruptive to the office environment. Do you have any comments?”
“Yes, why are you calling me Phil?”
Mr. Murrow hesitated. “Your name is Phil.”
“No.” Brad stated simply, “My name is Brad.”-
“You're name is Phil. It's always been Phil. I have your picture in our employment records and your name is Phil.”
“Your records are wrong. My name is Brad.” The excitement of finding someone who could speak to him was wearing off. It was so typical of someone in a managerial position to be forgetful of names. “Do they not realize it's insulting? … Oh! I forgot you can hear me!”
“Well regardless, with these concerns in mind I think it would be appropriate for you to seek employment elsewhere. You will have two weeks to prepare, and to sign the appropriate papers.”
“My name really is Brad. You should remember the names of your employees. It's important.”
“Your name is Phil. I want you to go back to your cubicle and complete your assignments. Make sure you return your badge on your last day.”
“No, it's Brad. I'll show you my driver's license!” Brad retrieved his wallet from his back pocket, “See, here.”
“It says Phil. Please, return to your office and stop bothering people or I'll have to fire you immediately.”
Brad looked at the card. Along with his picture, his name was given as “Phil Parson.” Odd. He returned his gaze to Mr. Murrow, “Anyway you can't fire me. I do my job just fine.”
“You do not do your job. You have completed zero assignments since you came back from your last vacation, you've stopped going to all training courses, and you write irritating and meaningless emails to everyone! Including yourself!”
“I stopped going to the training courses because people couldn't hear my questions.” That was very disappointing. The material wasn't very clear about a lot of things and it was obvious others were not paying attention. Someone needed to ask questions to keep people interested.
“People heard your questions just fine, they were just stupid. And your singing! No music of any kind has ever been allowed in this office, let alone your off-key moaning!”
“I... didn't know anyone could hear that.” If Brad didn't know it was impossible he would have sworn that he felt blood rushing in his cheeks.
“Why in heaven's name would you assume that?”
Embarrassment forgotten Brad looked at Mr. Murrow, head canted, “I'm a ghost. You really can't tell?”
“What? Why... Why would you be a ghost?”
“Because nobody can see me. Nobody can hear me. No one has ever spoken to me.”
Mr. Murrow appeared simply defeated, “No one speaks to you because your crazy. You talk to yourself, you shout out insane statements all the time, you *follow* people!”
Could what he said be true? Brad felt the bump on his head. Mr. Murrow continued, “I want you to leave immediately. Come back in a few days and your things will be brought to the door for you. I don't want you coming back here or I will call the police.”
Brad rose slowly. He wasn't a ghost? How could that be? He walked to the door still rubbing his head. He turned back to Mr. Murrow, “You can really see me?”
“Leave!” | Jeff gets up on a normal Tuesday morning, preparing to go disappear at work for yet another day. He doesn't really mind being ignored all day, it gives him a strange sense of fit within the office.
As Jeff gets to work he parks in yet another different spot, someone parked in his again. This happens at least 2 or 3 times a week, no need to get worked up over it. Jeff ends up parked all the way on the edge of the lot. By the time he gets into the building, he's about 5 minutes late but not even his manager says a word about it.
Everyone in the office is pretty quiet today, just a normal day. When he gets to his cubicle and logs in there are 13 new emails, a few less than yesterday. This just means Jeff has a few extra minutes to get some coffee and try to strike up conversation with the new person in the cubicle next to his own.
Janice just started here, she probably needs a few friends.
Good morning Janice, how are you doing today?
I'm good Jeff, how are you?
Not too bad, just getting through the day so far.
*Success* Jeff thinks to himself. Finally got up the courage to talk to someone, maybe he'll have someone to go to lunch with from now on.
After spending 10 minutes making a new batch of coffee reading the bulletin board in the break room. Today's coffee is strong, today is going well. As he swiftly walks back to his desk, he see's Janice at his desk. As he approaches, she spots him and gets up quickly, taking off in the opposite direction. *Strange* Jeff thinks to himself, a shred of excitement tears through him, maybe she was leaving her number on his desk!
As Jeff sits down at his desk, he has a message on Sametime from Janice. He lets the icon blink a few times, excitement building. He finally clicks on the icon, and starts reading. Tears swelling up in his eyes as he goes. A couple minutes later Jeff gets up and somberly exits the office. Leaving his computer open;
Janice: Ugh! That weird guy Jeff was just talking to me. I don't understand why he even bothers.
Doesn't he know that there isn't a single person here that would ever want to talk to him? I was just
trying to be nice, but he's sooooo annoying!
Jeff takes the long route home, trying to decide what to do. He really should get back to work so that he can keep his job... then again he is *that guy* at the office. When did he become *that guy*? Was it at the birthday celebration, or was it on his first day? Where did I go wrong? He asks himself, over and over.
By the time Jeff gets home he has tears pouring out of his eyes. He has nothing in his life but work, but not even that is enjoyable now. He didn't mind being ignored, but the hatred is just too much. He devoted his life to that job, no hobbies, no family, nothing. *How did I not notice?* Jeff thinks repeatedly *why couldn't I have taken longer? She could have deleted the message.*
Twenty minutes later the police arrive outside Jeff's house. A neighbor called in to report the sound of a single gunshot coming from Jeff's house. As the police approach, they notice that the front door is slightly cracked. They call into the house "Police, anyone here?"
After a few minutes of this, the police decide to enter the house. After searching the downstairs and finding nothing, they head upstairs and find Jeff's body on the floor in the bathroom with a handgun lying in his hand. On the mirror written in toothpaste is "I just wanted to blend in."
| |
[WP] You are slowly realizing that you do not exist, and are a subject of a schizophrenic's hallucinations. | “Hey!” Nothing.
“Hey, David. Get up!” A slight stirring.
Looks like we’ll have to do this the hard way. I tear the blankets off and slap him on his bare back. With gusto.
“Jesus, what the fuck?!”
“It’s time for school, David.”
“Okay, okay! Christ.”
I don’t know why it’s so fucking difficult to get this kid out of bed. You’d think with the amount of time he spends alone in his shitty, dark room, he’d be a little more excited to get outside, but no, he soaks in his own filth. The must, the smell of dirty socks, day-old semen, and damp cement all fill the room. There’s a life-size cut-out of B. Orchid in the corner. He doesn't have to tell me the things he’s done to that poor girl. I know.
He doesn't bother showering. Not today anyway. Just throws on the same shit he wore yesterday. Navy blue pants, white long-sleeved golf shirt with his school crest on the left breast, and exits, speeding past the mirror.
“Wanna skip third period today?” History bores me.
“Sure. Not like anyone will notice.”
“That’s the spirit, David!”
“We can go to the beach…maybe get you some pussy, huh?”
“Doubt it.”
“Alright, I’m out. Later, David!”
Fuck me. What is wrong with this kid? Moping around, staring at girls, drawing weird shit in his notebook. I don’t get it. When we’re alone he’s funny. Kind of charming, actually. But out of the house he skulks around, keeps to himself, doesn't participate in any aspect of life other than just being.
When third period rolls around we walk to the smoking section. There’s a little patch of forest back there with a trail leading away from the school. We take it. Not to the beach though. We almost never do what I want to do. I like fun things like: taking a girl’s virginity, drinking until I puke, maybe fingering someone’s girlfriend secretly in a public place, it’s all on the option board. He’s not into that kind of stuff though. He likes to play endless hours of online role playing games, to masturbate furiously to shitty amateur POV, to wipe his cum on pictures of girls he likes in the yearbook, to talk to his self. He’s a fucking mess and there’s nothing I can do to help him. It’s like I don’t even exist. Yet, here I am, day after day, making sure this mother fucker gets out of bed.
What would happen if one day I decided not to show up? What would he do? I’m his only friend.
I’m his only friend.
I didn’t see him for a few days after that. Not really sure what I was doing those days, can’t really recall. David always helps me remember those things. We’re good for each other like that. I get him out of the house…he reminds me of all the fucked up shit I can’t remember doing. It’s like we’re two half-people that need each other to feel whole.
What the fuck am I talking about?
Oh shit. David’s thinking about hurting his self again. I should get going.
| Have you ever been just going about your day to day life, when you're suddenly hit by the fact that everything you have ever experienced is inside your own head? All the people you've met, all the movies you've watched. All the times you thought you saw something from somebody else's perspective, and all the times you thought you know what other people thought of you, too. All of it, just signals and chemicals in your head. Have you ever realized that all of that, the sum of your entire life, all happened inside someone else's head?
I'm not quite sure how it happened. It's still hard for me to think about, a difficult concept to grasp by necessity. Lyssa said it was probably like when you are in a dream, and you don't even think to question how you got there. It's not that I had a past, but that I never even thought about it. That *she* never even thought about it. One day, I just *was*. It was hard to take.
Lyssa first met me at a train station. I don't know where, because I didn't need to. Just a train station. *The* train station. The platform was empty, just me and her. I started talking to her, not knowing that we didn't know each other. I didn't even think about it. I had known her forever, so why would I? It must have been strange, but I don't remember strangeness. I guess it got filtered out of my memories. Memories. I guess I didn't even have those, just what Lyssa thought I did. She thought that I never brought up how weird it was when we first met, so I never remembered it in the first place. Weird.
I'm hurt, though, by that. Lyssa isn't stupid, I know. Lyssa knows she isn't, I mean. Maybe if she was, I'd be simple. That isn't how it is though. Lyssa can imagine me thinking about her thinking about me thinking and she thinks I'd be wondering how complicated this could get, so that's what I do. I wonder how complicated this could get. She's a romantic, too, so I have feelings for her. A realist, though, so I contemplate if the love I feel isn't just the greatest case of egotism and a perceived sense of entitlement to a happy-ever-after.
But she's still a romantic, and I'm pained by our inherent tragedy. Now she's feeling depressed, and I wonder how different things would have been if she wasn't clever enough to think up someone who could understand all of this. If the illusion is good enough, it wouldn't have mattered that it was an illusion at all, we think. She could have been simple-mindedly happy with her two-dimensional lover who didn't have any inconveniently philosophical bents.
Lyssa doesn't understand everything, and I am unable to accept that I don't have a mind of my own even though I don't know why. She's hopefully romantic now, and as I stand up and profess my undying love to her she cries a little, because it's exactly how she always imagined it would be. She cries harder, because I *am* exactly what she imagined me to be. That's what she tells me, and her tragic streak means that I'm crying now, and the strength leaves me. Somewhere, her childish wishes mean that I can plant a single kiss onto her lips before her rationality means I'm hurt once more, painfully non-existent.
She falls asleep, and her denial means that I never remembered any of that. She wakes up, and her treatment means that I realize the flaws in my existence. She wonders what if, and her romanticism means that I confess my love to her, vowing to transcend the boundaries we have. She cries, and her rationality means that I lose all hope for us. She sleeps, and her denial means that I never remembered any of this in the first place. | |
[WP]A modern human is transported through a portal. Expecting to find a Lovecraftian horror on the other side, he instead discovers a beautiful realm where he, himself, is the horror, compared to its inhabitants. | "In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial."
I forget what exactly comes after that part of the poem, but that is how I am feeling. I am that creature - this horrible being who has to love himself despite his inherent flaws.
After passing through the portal I realized the flaws are many.
Armed with a gun and a camera, prepared for the worst nature can assault me with, I walked through the portal.
It does not matter who sent me, or why. Not right now.
Instead of the world that I imagined on the other side, one filled with maelstroms and earthquakes, one in which the land, air and sea give no respite, I came here. This Eden.
Immediately after passing into Eden I saw them through my helmet. How they looked at me, this new man. They saw the gun.
Saddened they were, these angels.
This host of 20, now I can see they were expecting me. Their portal was laid on top of a small platform, surrounded by green and red beauty resembling trees. The white steps leading down were worn, warping to absorb the feet of travelers just like me.
When I looked into their eyes I could see they had beat evil and forced it to surrender. They had murdered violence. Hanged jealously. Empathy, patience and love was all that was left.
I am deeply ashamed.
Day 1. | Just a random question, don't take it the wrong way. If you have an idea for a story this specific....why not write the story yourself and see what others think | |
[WP]A modern human is transported through a portal. Expecting to find a Lovecraftian horror on the other side, he instead discovers a beautiful realm where he, himself, is the horror, compared to its inhabitants. | Before our worlds inception there was another. The shadowlands that mankind inhabits is but a pale mockery of this initial splendor. All music, all wines and pleasures of life are in homage and memory of this place that was. A world that gleamed of light so pure and noble that any man from the shadow world of earth would kill his father for a second glance. This is the Amber world.
"It's a door!" the little man screamed. "But don't go through it! I will stop you, you cannot disturb them!" There was a second of incoherent babble, and the researcher, who had never raised a hand in violence, lifted his fists to a brawling position.
I am ashamed, unfortunately I had but a few more moments before pentagon security apprehended me with their purple files, so the little NIST scientist ate the back of my gun. I tore open the door, a small force tried to hold it shut, but i pushed it open with a tearing sound, like ripping the wing off of a small bird. I stepped into the dark room through, and shut the door behind me. The fabric was wrong. My shirt began scream, i could hear the groaning of each individual fiber, the roaring of my blood vessels, the stink of my shit, still in my guts. These purple files, so precious to me, dropped onto the floor, forgotten. I slowly, after minutes, adjusted. I was in a clearing. Within a small wood. Ponds, all maybe a meter in diameter were sprinkled about. All were clear, and marked in mathematic sigils i did not comprehend, but were taught to me years before in school. Before me, the only pond denoted in english, beckoned. I could not turn away, I could not separate my soul from the placid depths before me. Marked in stenciled, army letters, Unimaginable Horror, the pond, pulled me in. My graceful entrance into the pool was less like a stone thrown in the river, and more like a turd down turbo flush. My entire body ached as I struck an intricate, man sized gate. The portcullis appeared ornate, like a medieval castle gate, chains of woven gold stretched across, i pressed against them, and they gave like putty in my fingers. The gates crumbled to dust. I threw up. The sunlight, the atmosphere, being alive was pure, the air was ambrosia and the world was cloying to my senses. Burning me with a desire to inflict some form of satisfying violence. I sake my thirst in the first being I meet, all the ground between us burnt to smoldering cinders with my hatred as fire. He was unmade before me, a destruction so intimate and incestuous that other onlookers, beings of love and compassion, began to take their own lives. My footsteps erupted smoke from the earth, and where i walked, a trail of black, void stood, as if my impurity had ripped a hole through the universe. My words were salt upon vile things. The screams were a choir that sung me unto a stooper. When i awoke, nothing beside remained. My evils had spread like tendrils of a cancer through the amber lands. Rivers of blood ran through my mind, and I could not escape the void i had created. I ran to the gate, meters away, but i had torn through the earth, now floating in the void. I looked at the one thing still standing through the blackness, through the the darkness of unnatural and unmade, the reflection, of forest, on the other side of an unreachable pond.
| Just a random question, don't take it the wrong way. If you have an idea for a story this specific....why not write the story yourself and see what others think | |
[WP]A modern human is transported through a portal. Expecting to find a Lovecraftian horror on the other side, he instead discovers a beautiful realm where he, himself, is the horror, compared to its inhabitants. | At first he needed some time to addapt to the light of the place.
He oppened his eyes and tried not to laugh. So there was the dangerous place he had to prepare so long to get to? It seriously looked more like a joke to him, or a prank.
Bubble wrap. All he was able to see from here was giant plains , made only of bubble wrap.
The light was comming from the Bubble Paper itself as if every bubble was a litle lightbulb. He was prepared for the worst but that was really looking more like a peacefull dream.
After some time running in circle, trying to understand the meaning of this, he just sat down and started popping bubbles. Wasnt it the purpose of all this? He started to pop all the bubbles arround him until he couldn't reach any unpopped one without moving.
That was approximately when he started hearing the noise.
At first he fought it was the wind, but he couldn't feel any movement in the air, the clouds werent' moving either.
It was more a breath than a wind, he could only hear it like it was really far at first. But the sound was going stronger and stronger. He looked at his left shoes; something was moving.
That was where the noise was coming from, all the bubbles were slowly moving away from him , and he could here them cry.
| Just a random question, don't take it the wrong way. If you have an idea for a story this specific....why not write the story yourself and see what others think | |
[WP]A modern human is transported through a portal. Expecting to find a Lovecraftian horror on the other side, he instead discovers a beautiful realm where he, himself, is the horror, compared to its inhabitants. | “I have come to understand.”
The voice woke me, although it wasn't really a voice. The thing was standing on the other side of the glass. It didn't have a mouth, and from what I could tell no sound was involved. The words just sort of appeared in my head. Not entirely as the words I interpreted, they were mixed with synonyms and images, simultaneously unintelligible and completely lucid.
“Why you acted such,” it continued. “I need to understand why. You will tell me. I have come and you must make me understand.”
I recognized it now. It was the one that had led me to this room, the one who had handed me the fruit. The thought of the fruit was tantalizing. It was hard to judge the time exactly, but it had been at least three days since then. I had barely had time to eat the first one before they'd rushed the rest of the fruit out of the room and sealed the glass door behind them.
“Why have you locked me down there?” I respond hotly, my stomach growling.
It tilted its head one way, then the other. “You do not understand?”
“No, I don't fucking understand. You pull me through that fucking gateway or whatever it was and start treating me like royalty, and the next you lock me up like some criminal—”
“Criminal, Yes,” it interrupted. “That is why we sealed you in *this place*. You are a criminal.” That thought, or whatever it was, didn't seem right. It was 'this place', but it was also something else. A familiar concept, but one that I couldn't quite place.
“What did I do? What could I possibly have done for you to lock me in here without food or water or a fucking toilet?”
“You do not understand?” It seemed truly confused. Its words, or whatever you'd call them, also had a hint of sadness and anger buried inside them.
“No. Tell me what I did that was criminal, or let me go!”
“I will show you,” it said reluctantly. It raised it's arm and touched the glass. “Touch here. We will understand.”
I stared blankly at the nimble looking appendage on the other side of my prison. Reluctantly, I walked over and touched the glass and –
-----
The thing that called itself “John” followed me into the nursery. John was a slow and stupid creature. I continued to wonder how it could communicate with its own kind when its sendings come so slow. The sendings seemed to be linked to the opening and closing of the hole on its face, and they always seemed incomplete or unclear.
We had not thought that anything would be on the other side when we had opened the gateway. The other gateways had opened onto desolate worlds on which none of the people could live. The world that John came from was the first world that the people could have used. I found myself growing excited at the prospect of sharing John's world with his kind, even if they were all as slow and stupid as John.
I did not know why it wanted to see the young, but the young were always open to all who wished to see them. The others and I saw no reason to deny this strange creature the joy of looking upon our next generation, when so many of us spent hours watching and coddling and sending our joy to them.
“This thing with me is called John,” I sent to the young. None of the young in this nursery could Send any more but the base emotions yet, but most of them could understand. “He comes from through the gateway. We have found a new world! The things I saw through the gateway were incredible! Their sky is blue, and the things like John live in buildings made of stone and--”
A sickening 'crunch.' A formless sending of pain and confusion and terror.
No. No, this cannot be!
Another Sickening crunch, and John reached for another of the young.
No!
I have never moved so fast. I snatched John's next victim away before the beast could lay claim to it. He Sent anger and annoyance to me and tried again to grab it, but I pushed John away and he fell. Others had felt the sendings of the poor young that John had murdered, and together we gathered all of the young and carried them out of the nursery. We sealed the nursery behind us, and we began to mourn.
--------
I snatched my hand back away. I still felt the sorrow and anger of the memory it had shared with me. I slumped to the ground and began to weep. I understood now. I had been asking for food, but these things didn't eat. I'd thought this world must have some sort of fruit or something, and when I'd asked about it, they brought me to their young.
“I'm sorry,” I whispered. “I thought they were fruit. I didn't know. I'm so sorry.”
It stood on the other side of the glass, watching me silently.
“Please, I didn't know that I was killing one of your babies. I didn't--”
“I understand,” it sent at last. “You must consume other living things to survive. You did not murder out of malice. I understand.”
“Please, I'm sorry, just send me back. I swear I--”
“We cannot send you back. We closed the gateway. We feared that other Johns would come through, and we could not risk our young. The gateway never opens to the same world twice.”
I closed my eyes. This was impossible. My stomach rumbled, and the thing shifted nervously.
“I can't survive here,” I whispered. “Please, you have to send me back. I'm so hungry. I have to eat something soon.” | Just a random question, don't take it the wrong way. If you have an idea for a story this specific....why not write the story yourself and see what others think | |
[WP]A modern human is transported through a portal. Expecting to find a Lovecraftian horror on the other side, he instead discovers a beautiful realm where he, himself, is the horror, compared to its inhabitants. | At first he needed some time to addapt to the light of the place.
He oppened his eyes and tried not to laugh. So there was the dangerous place he had to prepare so long to get to? It seriously looked more like a joke to him, or a prank.
Bubble wrap. All he was able to see from here was giant plains , made only of bubble wrap.
The light was comming from the Bubble Paper itself as if every bubble was a litle lightbulb. He was prepared for the worst but that was really looking more like a peacefull dream.
After some time running in circle, trying to understand the meaning of this, he just sat down and started popping bubbles. Wasnt it the purpose of all this? He started to pop all the bubbles arround him until he couldn't reach any unpopped one without moving.
That was approximately when he started hearing the noise.
At first he fought it was the wind, but he couldn't feel any movement in the air, the clouds werent' moving either.
It was more a breath than a wind, he could only hear it like it was really far at first. But the sound was going stronger and stronger. He looked at his left shoes; something was moving.
That was where the noise was coming from, all the bubbles were slowly moving away from him , and he could here them cry.
| "In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial."
I forget what exactly comes after that part of the poem, but that is how I am feeling. I am that creature - this horrible being who has to love himself despite his inherent flaws.
After passing through the portal I realized the flaws are many.
Armed with a gun and a camera, prepared for the worst nature can assault me with, I walked through the portal.
It does not matter who sent me, or why. Not right now.
Instead of the world that I imagined on the other side, one filled with maelstroms and earthquakes, one in which the land, air and sea give no respite, I came here. This Eden.
Immediately after passing into Eden I saw them through my helmet. How they looked at me, this new man. They saw the gun.
Saddened they were, these angels.
This host of 20, now I can see they were expecting me. Their portal was laid on top of a small platform, surrounded by green and red beauty resembling trees. The white steps leading down were worn, warping to absorb the feet of travelers just like me.
When I looked into their eyes I could see they had beat evil and forced it to surrender. They had murdered violence. Hanged jealously. Empathy, patience and love was all that was left.
I am deeply ashamed.
Day 1. | |
[WP]A modern human is transported through a portal. Expecting to find a Lovecraftian horror on the other side, he instead discovers a beautiful realm where he, himself, is the horror, compared to its inhabitants. | “I have come to understand.”
The voice woke me, although it wasn't really a voice. The thing was standing on the other side of the glass. It didn't have a mouth, and from what I could tell no sound was involved. The words just sort of appeared in my head. Not entirely as the words I interpreted, they were mixed with synonyms and images, simultaneously unintelligible and completely lucid.
“Why you acted such,” it continued. “I need to understand why. You will tell me. I have come and you must make me understand.”
I recognized it now. It was the one that had led me to this room, the one who had handed me the fruit. The thought of the fruit was tantalizing. It was hard to judge the time exactly, but it had been at least three days since then. I had barely had time to eat the first one before they'd rushed the rest of the fruit out of the room and sealed the glass door behind them.
“Why have you locked me down there?” I respond hotly, my stomach growling.
It tilted its head one way, then the other. “You do not understand?”
“No, I don't fucking understand. You pull me through that fucking gateway or whatever it was and start treating me like royalty, and the next you lock me up like some criminal—”
“Criminal, Yes,” it interrupted. “That is why we sealed you in *this place*. You are a criminal.” That thought, or whatever it was, didn't seem right. It was 'this place', but it was also something else. A familiar concept, but one that I couldn't quite place.
“What did I do? What could I possibly have done for you to lock me in here without food or water or a fucking toilet?”
“You do not understand?” It seemed truly confused. Its words, or whatever you'd call them, also had a hint of sadness and anger buried inside them.
“No. Tell me what I did that was criminal, or let me go!”
“I will show you,” it said reluctantly. It raised it's arm and touched the glass. “Touch here. We will understand.”
I stared blankly at the nimble looking appendage on the other side of my prison. Reluctantly, I walked over and touched the glass and –
-----
The thing that called itself “John” followed me into the nursery. John was a slow and stupid creature. I continued to wonder how it could communicate with its own kind when its sendings come so slow. The sendings seemed to be linked to the opening and closing of the hole on its face, and they always seemed incomplete or unclear.
We had not thought that anything would be on the other side when we had opened the gateway. The other gateways had opened onto desolate worlds on which none of the people could live. The world that John came from was the first world that the people could have used. I found myself growing excited at the prospect of sharing John's world with his kind, even if they were all as slow and stupid as John.
I did not know why it wanted to see the young, but the young were always open to all who wished to see them. The others and I saw no reason to deny this strange creature the joy of looking upon our next generation, when so many of us spent hours watching and coddling and sending our joy to them.
“This thing with me is called John,” I sent to the young. None of the young in this nursery could Send any more but the base emotions yet, but most of them could understand. “He comes from through the gateway. We have found a new world! The things I saw through the gateway were incredible! Their sky is blue, and the things like John live in buildings made of stone and--”
A sickening 'crunch.' A formless sending of pain and confusion and terror.
No. No, this cannot be!
Another Sickening crunch, and John reached for another of the young.
No!
I have never moved so fast. I snatched John's next victim away before the beast could lay claim to it. He Sent anger and annoyance to me and tried again to grab it, but I pushed John away and he fell. Others had felt the sendings of the poor young that John had murdered, and together we gathered all of the young and carried them out of the nursery. We sealed the nursery behind us, and we began to mourn.
--------
I snatched my hand back away. I still felt the sorrow and anger of the memory it had shared with me. I slumped to the ground and began to weep. I understood now. I had been asking for food, but these things didn't eat. I'd thought this world must have some sort of fruit or something, and when I'd asked about it, they brought me to their young.
“I'm sorry,” I whispered. “I thought they were fruit. I didn't know. I'm so sorry.”
It stood on the other side of the glass, watching me silently.
“Please, I didn't know that I was killing one of your babies. I didn't--”
“I understand,” it sent at last. “You must consume other living things to survive. You did not murder out of malice. I understand.”
“Please, I'm sorry, just send me back. I swear I--”
“We cannot send you back. We closed the gateway. We feared that other Johns would come through, and we could not risk our young. The gateway never opens to the same world twice.”
I closed my eyes. This was impossible. My stomach rumbled, and the thing shifted nervously.
“I can't survive here,” I whispered. “Please, you have to send me back. I'm so hungry. I have to eat something soon.” | "In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial."
I forget what exactly comes after that part of the poem, but that is how I am feeling. I am that creature - this horrible being who has to love himself despite his inherent flaws.
After passing through the portal I realized the flaws are many.
Armed with a gun and a camera, prepared for the worst nature can assault me with, I walked through the portal.
It does not matter who sent me, or why. Not right now.
Instead of the world that I imagined on the other side, one filled with maelstroms and earthquakes, one in which the land, air and sea give no respite, I came here. This Eden.
Immediately after passing into Eden I saw them through my helmet. How they looked at me, this new man. They saw the gun.
Saddened they were, these angels.
This host of 20, now I can see they were expecting me. Their portal was laid on top of a small platform, surrounded by green and red beauty resembling trees. The white steps leading down were worn, warping to absorb the feet of travelers just like me.
When I looked into their eyes I could see they had beat evil and forced it to surrender. They had murdered violence. Hanged jealously. Empathy, patience and love was all that was left.
I am deeply ashamed.
Day 1. | |
[WP]A modern human is transported through a portal. Expecting to find a Lovecraftian horror on the other side, he instead discovers a beautiful realm where he, himself, is the horror, compared to its inhabitants. | At first he needed some time to addapt to the light of the place.
He oppened his eyes and tried not to laugh. So there was the dangerous place he had to prepare so long to get to? It seriously looked more like a joke to him, or a prank.
Bubble wrap. All he was able to see from here was giant plains , made only of bubble wrap.
The light was comming from the Bubble Paper itself as if every bubble was a litle lightbulb. He was prepared for the worst but that was really looking more like a peacefull dream.
After some time running in circle, trying to understand the meaning of this, he just sat down and started popping bubbles. Wasnt it the purpose of all this? He started to pop all the bubbles arround him until he couldn't reach any unpopped one without moving.
That was approximately when he started hearing the noise.
At first he fought it was the wind, but he couldn't feel any movement in the air, the clouds werent' moving either.
It was more a breath than a wind, he could only hear it like it was really far at first. But the sound was going stronger and stronger. He looked at his left shoes; something was moving.
That was where the noise was coming from, all the bubbles were slowly moving away from him , and he could here them cry.
| Before our worlds inception there was another. The shadowlands that mankind inhabits is but a pale mockery of this initial splendor. All music, all wines and pleasures of life are in homage and memory of this place that was. A world that gleamed of light so pure and noble that any man from the shadow world of earth would kill his father for a second glance. This is the Amber world.
"It's a door!" the little man screamed. "But don't go through it! I will stop you, you cannot disturb them!" There was a second of incoherent babble, and the researcher, who had never raised a hand in violence, lifted his fists to a brawling position.
I am ashamed, unfortunately I had but a few more moments before pentagon security apprehended me with their purple files, so the little NIST scientist ate the back of my gun. I tore open the door, a small force tried to hold it shut, but i pushed it open with a tearing sound, like ripping the wing off of a small bird. I stepped into the dark room through, and shut the door behind me. The fabric was wrong. My shirt began scream, i could hear the groaning of each individual fiber, the roaring of my blood vessels, the stink of my shit, still in my guts. These purple files, so precious to me, dropped onto the floor, forgotten. I slowly, after minutes, adjusted. I was in a clearing. Within a small wood. Ponds, all maybe a meter in diameter were sprinkled about. All were clear, and marked in mathematic sigils i did not comprehend, but were taught to me years before in school. Before me, the only pond denoted in english, beckoned. I could not turn away, I could not separate my soul from the placid depths before me. Marked in stenciled, army letters, Unimaginable Horror, the pond, pulled me in. My graceful entrance into the pool was less like a stone thrown in the river, and more like a turd down turbo flush. My entire body ached as I struck an intricate, man sized gate. The portcullis appeared ornate, like a medieval castle gate, chains of woven gold stretched across, i pressed against them, and they gave like putty in my fingers. The gates crumbled to dust. I threw up. The sunlight, the atmosphere, being alive was pure, the air was ambrosia and the world was cloying to my senses. Burning me with a desire to inflict some form of satisfying violence. I sake my thirst in the first being I meet, all the ground between us burnt to smoldering cinders with my hatred as fire. He was unmade before me, a destruction so intimate and incestuous that other onlookers, beings of love and compassion, began to take their own lives. My footsteps erupted smoke from the earth, and where i walked, a trail of black, void stood, as if my impurity had ripped a hole through the universe. My words were salt upon vile things. The screams were a choir that sung me unto a stooper. When i awoke, nothing beside remained. My evils had spread like tendrils of a cancer through the amber lands. Rivers of blood ran through my mind, and I could not escape the void i had created. I ran to the gate, meters away, but i had torn through the earth, now floating in the void. I looked at the one thing still standing through the blackness, through the the darkness of unnatural and unmade, the reflection, of forest, on the other side of an unreachable pond.
| |
[WP]A modern human is transported through a portal. Expecting to find a Lovecraftian horror on the other side, he instead discovers a beautiful realm where he, himself, is the horror, compared to its inhabitants. | “I have come to understand.”
The voice woke me, although it wasn't really a voice. The thing was standing on the other side of the glass. It didn't have a mouth, and from what I could tell no sound was involved. The words just sort of appeared in my head. Not entirely as the words I interpreted, they were mixed with synonyms and images, simultaneously unintelligible and completely lucid.
“Why you acted such,” it continued. “I need to understand why. You will tell me. I have come and you must make me understand.”
I recognized it now. It was the one that had led me to this room, the one who had handed me the fruit. The thought of the fruit was tantalizing. It was hard to judge the time exactly, but it had been at least three days since then. I had barely had time to eat the first one before they'd rushed the rest of the fruit out of the room and sealed the glass door behind them.
“Why have you locked me down there?” I respond hotly, my stomach growling.
It tilted its head one way, then the other. “You do not understand?”
“No, I don't fucking understand. You pull me through that fucking gateway or whatever it was and start treating me like royalty, and the next you lock me up like some criminal—”
“Criminal, Yes,” it interrupted. “That is why we sealed you in *this place*. You are a criminal.” That thought, or whatever it was, didn't seem right. It was 'this place', but it was also something else. A familiar concept, but one that I couldn't quite place.
“What did I do? What could I possibly have done for you to lock me in here without food or water or a fucking toilet?”
“You do not understand?” It seemed truly confused. Its words, or whatever you'd call them, also had a hint of sadness and anger buried inside them.
“No. Tell me what I did that was criminal, or let me go!”
“I will show you,” it said reluctantly. It raised it's arm and touched the glass. “Touch here. We will understand.”
I stared blankly at the nimble looking appendage on the other side of my prison. Reluctantly, I walked over and touched the glass and –
-----
The thing that called itself “John” followed me into the nursery. John was a slow and stupid creature. I continued to wonder how it could communicate with its own kind when its sendings come so slow. The sendings seemed to be linked to the opening and closing of the hole on its face, and they always seemed incomplete or unclear.
We had not thought that anything would be on the other side when we had opened the gateway. The other gateways had opened onto desolate worlds on which none of the people could live. The world that John came from was the first world that the people could have used. I found myself growing excited at the prospect of sharing John's world with his kind, even if they were all as slow and stupid as John.
I did not know why it wanted to see the young, but the young were always open to all who wished to see them. The others and I saw no reason to deny this strange creature the joy of looking upon our next generation, when so many of us spent hours watching and coddling and sending our joy to them.
“This thing with me is called John,” I sent to the young. None of the young in this nursery could Send any more but the base emotions yet, but most of them could understand. “He comes from through the gateway. We have found a new world! The things I saw through the gateway were incredible! Their sky is blue, and the things like John live in buildings made of stone and--”
A sickening 'crunch.' A formless sending of pain and confusion and terror.
No. No, this cannot be!
Another Sickening crunch, and John reached for another of the young.
No!
I have never moved so fast. I snatched John's next victim away before the beast could lay claim to it. He Sent anger and annoyance to me and tried again to grab it, but I pushed John away and he fell. Others had felt the sendings of the poor young that John had murdered, and together we gathered all of the young and carried them out of the nursery. We sealed the nursery behind us, and we began to mourn.
--------
I snatched my hand back away. I still felt the sorrow and anger of the memory it had shared with me. I slumped to the ground and began to weep. I understood now. I had been asking for food, but these things didn't eat. I'd thought this world must have some sort of fruit or something, and when I'd asked about it, they brought me to their young.
“I'm sorry,” I whispered. “I thought they were fruit. I didn't know. I'm so sorry.”
It stood on the other side of the glass, watching me silently.
“Please, I didn't know that I was killing one of your babies. I didn't--”
“I understand,” it sent at last. “You must consume other living things to survive. You did not murder out of malice. I understand.”
“Please, I'm sorry, just send me back. I swear I--”
“We cannot send you back. We closed the gateway. We feared that other Johns would come through, and we could not risk our young. The gateway never opens to the same world twice.”
I closed my eyes. This was impossible. My stomach rumbled, and the thing shifted nervously.
“I can't survive here,” I whispered. “Please, you have to send me back. I'm so hungry. I have to eat something soon.” | Before our worlds inception there was another. The shadowlands that mankind inhabits is but a pale mockery of this initial splendor. All music, all wines and pleasures of life are in homage and memory of this place that was. A world that gleamed of light so pure and noble that any man from the shadow world of earth would kill his father for a second glance. This is the Amber world.
"It's a door!" the little man screamed. "But don't go through it! I will stop you, you cannot disturb them!" There was a second of incoherent babble, and the researcher, who had never raised a hand in violence, lifted his fists to a brawling position.
I am ashamed, unfortunately I had but a few more moments before pentagon security apprehended me with their purple files, so the little NIST scientist ate the back of my gun. I tore open the door, a small force tried to hold it shut, but i pushed it open with a tearing sound, like ripping the wing off of a small bird. I stepped into the dark room through, and shut the door behind me. The fabric was wrong. My shirt began scream, i could hear the groaning of each individual fiber, the roaring of my blood vessels, the stink of my shit, still in my guts. These purple files, so precious to me, dropped onto the floor, forgotten. I slowly, after minutes, adjusted. I was in a clearing. Within a small wood. Ponds, all maybe a meter in diameter were sprinkled about. All were clear, and marked in mathematic sigils i did not comprehend, but were taught to me years before in school. Before me, the only pond denoted in english, beckoned. I could not turn away, I could not separate my soul from the placid depths before me. Marked in stenciled, army letters, Unimaginable Horror, the pond, pulled me in. My graceful entrance into the pool was less like a stone thrown in the river, and more like a turd down turbo flush. My entire body ached as I struck an intricate, man sized gate. The portcullis appeared ornate, like a medieval castle gate, chains of woven gold stretched across, i pressed against them, and they gave like putty in my fingers. The gates crumbled to dust. I threw up. The sunlight, the atmosphere, being alive was pure, the air was ambrosia and the world was cloying to my senses. Burning me with a desire to inflict some form of satisfying violence. I sake my thirst in the first being I meet, all the ground between us burnt to smoldering cinders with my hatred as fire. He was unmade before me, a destruction so intimate and incestuous that other onlookers, beings of love and compassion, began to take their own lives. My footsteps erupted smoke from the earth, and where i walked, a trail of black, void stood, as if my impurity had ripped a hole through the universe. My words were salt upon vile things. The screams were a choir that sung me unto a stooper. When i awoke, nothing beside remained. My evils had spread like tendrils of a cancer through the amber lands. Rivers of blood ran through my mind, and I could not escape the void i had created. I ran to the gate, meters away, but i had torn through the earth, now floating in the void. I looked at the one thing still standing through the blackness, through the the darkness of unnatural and unmade, the reflection, of forest, on the other side of an unreachable pond.
| |
[WP]A modern human is transported through a portal. Expecting to find a Lovecraftian horror on the other side, he instead discovers a beautiful realm where he, himself, is the horror, compared to its inhabitants. | Passing under the stone arch, he saw them laid out before him. Slender. Radiant. Beautiful. And it was only a matter of time before they saw him. That was when the screaming started.
Unsticking his balls from the stars and stripes Speedo, Randy waddled out toward the water.
"Beach season", he sighed wistfully. | I wandered outside into this new world,
Holding my breath as the natives did twirl.
Such perfect, divine, enamouring things,
Flitting around on their bright colored wings.
I wandered on over, held out my hand,
But things did not go as well as I planned.
They hollered for help, and then ran away,
How guilty I felt for spoiling their day.
They came back in force, declaring a war,
A thousand pink tanks to settle the score.
They flew in on doves, over the clear sky,
Yelling so cutely that I would now die.
I ran through the fields, to their great city,
And thought to myself, what a damn pity.
Streets made of silver, steetlights of candy,
Towers of cake that came in quite handy.
I dug in a hand, and climbed right on up,
Hoping to God that the fairies would stop.
If my mother could see boy would she flip,
When I climbed this tower right to the tip.
I waved at the critters, begged them to leave,
And reached out too far with one final heave.
I fell from the tower down to the street,
Where sidewalk and face did finally meet.
They crowded around to marvel at me.
And I do suppose there is irony.
Though I may be dead, please know at least,
My friends it was beauty that did kill the beast.
| |
[WP]A modern human is transported through a portal. Expecting to find a Lovecraftian horror on the other side, he instead discovers a beautiful realm where he, himself, is the horror, compared to its inhabitants. | Passing under the stone arch, he saw them laid out before him. Slender. Radiant. Beautiful. And it was only a matter of time before they saw him. That was when the screaming started.
Unsticking his balls from the stars and stripes Speedo, Randy waddled out toward the water.
"Beach season", he sighed wistfully. | Rahleigh was the seventh of the day, and it wasn’t even midday yet. His predecessor had gone in wearing the latest Tzelay-tech Mark 4 power-armor, with enough destructive power to blow up a small city or two. They had received a garbled 5-second radio transmission of inhuman screaming mixed with the sound of tearing flesh before the signal cut off and the gate went silent again. The unremarkable gray-slab of concrete and steel trimming, rising up some three meters in the air, bore its official name in old-runes at its foot, engraved in an equally unremarkable brownish plaque like a welcoming mat: “Rising against the Void”. At either end of the runes the material had a polished sheen from the thousands of feet that had stood there contemplating the wisdom of their decision, before taking their final step in this realm.
Rahleigh did not bring power-armor, even if he’d had the money he was certain it would have done him no good, as the previous Tribute had just demonstrated so convincingly. His faith lay with the Seven Flowers, as it had for his entire life. Some thought that obstacles in life should be overcome, challenged, fought, destroyed if needed. The Flowers maintained that they should be loved. He placed his bare feet on the final words, momentarily surprised by the warmth of the material. Then he disrobed. He did not bring weapons, or prayers, or even clothes, because he needed none of those. The Seven Flowers were not pacifists by any stretch of the word, love could be violent at times, all-consuming. The Void, the beast-with-a-thousand-eyes, the wrecker of realms, he would show it love like only a Great-giver of the Seven Flowers could.
Rahleigh eyed the dark ripples that now only his eyes could see, as they rolled over the surface of the gate, like shadows over liquid stone. He stretched out his arm, but when his fingers vanished in the surface of the gate he could not feel any distinct sensation. Only fully committed would the gate open for him. He thought back about the Day of Revelation, when they had solved the mystery of the Void. Every Tribute came prepared the best they could, and among them had been great Generals, Dancers-of-Swords, Kings that had ruled entire galaxy’s, sentient AI's whose intelligence defied all measure, all had stepped through the gate and all had failed. From what little the gate would release about the fate of the Tributes, the consensus had grown that they had been defeated each time by the very asset they had aimed to bear against the Void. His own great-grandfather had surmised the solution. Bring nothing but love, and nothing less than love for everything. Thus the Seven Flowers had been founded.
Rahleigh was the fulcrum of three generations of cultivated and conditioned love. His love knew no boundaries and no conditions, and therefore whatever the Void was, whatever face it showed him, he would love it. And the Void could do nothing but love him back.
He stepped through the gate.
He blinked, once, twice. It felt like waking. He was in a dimly-lit room, although he could tell the walls were painted in bright cheerful colors. He slowly looked around, deeply inhaling the slightly sweet smell of the air. It felt like home, like safety. As his eyes trailed over the various object in the room, he realized it must be a child’s room, toys strewn across the floor and a small bed with racecar prints on the covers. From behind him he heard laughter, and he turned just in time to see the boy, no more than six or seven years old, run towards him through the hallway. The boy halted at the edge of the door, suddenly aware of a presence in the room, but eyes not-yet adjusted to the darkness enough to identify him. It gave Rahleigh time to observe the boy. He was beautiful, the light from the hallway catching on his ruffled brown hair, and his cheeks flushed red from running and laughing. The boys eyes held a puzzled smile, like he knew the current mystery would have pleasant unveiling, but did not know yet what it would be. Rahleigh smiled back. It had worked. He had conquered the Void.
He loved it, and the Void loved back.
He stepped forwards towards the boy as his erection hardened.
| |
[WP]A modern human is transported through a portal. Expecting to find a Lovecraftian horror on the other side, he instead discovers a beautiful realm where he, himself, is the horror, compared to its inhabitants. | After four decades of hard work and billions of dollars of funding, the warehouse-sized supercomputer sent a signal. Conditions were just right, and would be right for exactly one hour. Derek Powell was alerted immediately. Of the eighth generation of dimensionauts, the 34-year old former astronaut arrived at facilities exactly at midnight. The support staff began suiting the moment he entered the door, and the night shift coordinators began the brief, walking backwards as Powell approached the payload.
"The reports read that the interdimensional hole will stay stable for 43 minutes. The probe went in ten minutes ago and the conditions seem safe."
"Video feed?"
"No video feed, the fluxes holding the gate are too strong"
"Can we go in?"
"Godspeed, Dr. Powell"
Departure preparations and safety checks finished ten minutes later, by this time the facilities bustled with hundreds of support staff.
"CHECK ONE, CHECK TWO. CROSSING IN 60 SECONDS"
Powell reclined, mentally bracing himself.
"AIRLOCK EVACUATED"
He rested his eyes, it wouldn't be long now.
"PREPARE LAUNCH"
Had it been just one year later, and someone else would be in his seat.
...
Powell gripped his seat. He felt his body become heavy as the catapult shot him through. He'd done this before, but this time the reverse jets wouldn't be on Earth. Everything became quiet as the vehicle approached maximal speed.
Light filled his view, pouring through as if there were no industrial filters. Powell closed his eyes. And then he opened them.
In his training, he had been told that sensations in other dimensions would be nonsensical. They were right. Parts of his vehicle seemed to be pixellated but faint. Some chunks seemed to be cut out, but would reappear as Magic Eye silhouettes. In front of him was a bright mix of colors, textured like sand in pastel. He saw glimpses of his right hand in the peripheral vision of his left eye. This dimension smelled very pleasant, something like a fresh box of Fruit Loops - rapidly shifting and blending with the scent of a summer morning. A warm and brisk sensation engulfed his body and he could hear a sort of whispering wind pass by. As Powell shifted his ears to follow the sound, he caught glimpses of humanoids - appearing distant but near.
He bowed his head down and the perspective change created a coherent image much like an optical illusion. In this view, he could see one humanoid about his size. The humanoid waved its hands and an image of Stonehenge appeared in Powell's mind. Powell thought to send back communications to base, and as he did the humanoid creature turned inside out. The taste of bubble gum filled Powell's mouth, and now he saw a picturesque city. Everything appeared strangely two-dimensional, and what three-dimensional features existed appeared with incredibly shallow depth of field. Tiny humanoid creatures spontaneously materialized from a colored dust that moved away from Powell. The movement of the dust contradicted the sensation it gave of a cool, approaching breeze. Powell exhaled and the dust fell to pieces, he heard a waterfall-like sound above his head. Powell decided he wanted to try to stand up.
He stretched his legs, and found himself falling. The world began spinning very fast and an image of a swimming pool filled his mind. He heard a large clap. Powell was lying on his back on the concrete of the facilities, with his left foot still halfway in the portal. He was drenched in a sort of purple gel.
Powell pulled out his foot, a foot-tall silver figure came out with it. The silver figure emitted a pale glow, with the aura of finely worked jewelry with a hint of sexuality. The beautiful figure glanced at Powell and the support staff observing from the windows, then tore out its eyes before dashing its head against the floor. Its skull shattered like a Christmas ornament, splattering a purple ichor. | Rahleigh was the seventh of the day, and it wasn’t even midday yet. His predecessor had gone in wearing the latest Tzelay-tech Mark 4 power-armor, with enough destructive power to blow up a small city or two. They had received a garbled 5-second radio transmission of inhuman screaming mixed with the sound of tearing flesh before the signal cut off and the gate went silent again. The unremarkable gray-slab of concrete and steel trimming, rising up some three meters in the air, bore its official name in old-runes at its foot, engraved in an equally unremarkable brownish plaque like a welcoming mat: “Rising against the Void”. At either end of the runes the material had a polished sheen from the thousands of feet that had stood there contemplating the wisdom of their decision, before taking their final step in this realm.
Rahleigh did not bring power-armor, even if he’d had the money he was certain it would have done him no good, as the previous Tribute had just demonstrated so convincingly. His faith lay with the Seven Flowers, as it had for his entire life. Some thought that obstacles in life should be overcome, challenged, fought, destroyed if needed. The Flowers maintained that they should be loved. He placed his bare feet on the final words, momentarily surprised by the warmth of the material. Then he disrobed. He did not bring weapons, or prayers, or even clothes, because he needed none of those. The Seven Flowers were not pacifists by any stretch of the word, love could be violent at times, all-consuming. The Void, the beast-with-a-thousand-eyes, the wrecker of realms, he would show it love like only a Great-giver of the Seven Flowers could.
Rahleigh eyed the dark ripples that now only his eyes could see, as they rolled over the surface of the gate, like shadows over liquid stone. He stretched out his arm, but when his fingers vanished in the surface of the gate he could not feel any distinct sensation. Only fully committed would the gate open for him. He thought back about the Day of Revelation, when they had solved the mystery of the Void. Every Tribute came prepared the best they could, and among them had been great Generals, Dancers-of-Swords, Kings that had ruled entire galaxy’s, sentient AI's whose intelligence defied all measure, all had stepped through the gate and all had failed. From what little the gate would release about the fate of the Tributes, the consensus had grown that they had been defeated each time by the very asset they had aimed to bear against the Void. His own great-grandfather had surmised the solution. Bring nothing but love, and nothing less than love for everything. Thus the Seven Flowers had been founded.
Rahleigh was the fulcrum of three generations of cultivated and conditioned love. His love knew no boundaries and no conditions, and therefore whatever the Void was, whatever face it showed him, he would love it. And the Void could do nothing but love him back.
He stepped through the gate.
He blinked, once, twice. It felt like waking. He was in a dimly-lit room, although he could tell the walls were painted in bright cheerful colors. He slowly looked around, deeply inhaling the slightly sweet smell of the air. It felt like home, like safety. As his eyes trailed over the various object in the room, he realized it must be a child’s room, toys strewn across the floor and a small bed with racecar prints on the covers. From behind him he heard laughter, and he turned just in time to see the boy, no more than six or seven years old, run towards him through the hallway. The boy halted at the edge of the door, suddenly aware of a presence in the room, but eyes not-yet adjusted to the darkness enough to identify him. It gave Rahleigh time to observe the boy. He was beautiful, the light from the hallway catching on his ruffled brown hair, and his cheeks flushed red from running and laughing. The boys eyes held a puzzled smile, like he knew the current mystery would have pleasant unveiling, but did not know yet what it would be. Rahleigh smiled back. It had worked. He had conquered the Void.
He loved it, and the Void loved back.
He stepped forwards towards the boy as his erection hardened.
| |
[WP] The narrator continually gets more and more frustrated with the characters of the story, to the point where they mock the characters and the plotline. | Once upon a time there was an overused opening sentence.
*Seriously Sanyu? We are one sentence in and already you’re being an ass.*
Look, you’re the one who wanted me to narrate this stupid story.
*Yeah, for our daughter. Come on, start over. Do it right this time.*
Fine.
Once upon a time there lived a King and a Queen who desperately wanted a child. So they did what all parents do, they had sex.
*Sanyu!*
Fine, fine.
Once upon a time there lived a King and a Queen who desperately wanted a child. One day the Queen pricked her finger on a needle and a couple of her drops fell onto the snow. The queen thought how sweet it would be if her child had lips as red as blood and skin as white as snow. Because she was just picky like that.
So anyway, one day the Queen gave birth to a little girl. And sure enough, the picky Queen got her wish and the child was born with blood red lips and skin the color of freshly fallen snow. And so they named their child Snow White because they lacked creativity and wanted their daughter to be teased until the end of time.
Don’t look at me like that, Eri. You know it's true.
Anyway, the Queen died in like childbirth or something and years later the Dad remarried. At that point in time, Snow White was what, 7 years old? That’s something they like to leave out of books like this. They age her like... 9 years so people don’t creeped out, but she was actually like 7 or something. That’s how messed up this story is.
So the new Queen was literally a Royal Bitch...
*Sanyu! This is a children’s story. For our child! You can’t curse like that!*
I can fucking cure if I want to fucking curse she’s my child, too, and seriously they’re just words. I don’t understand why people get their panties in a wad over it.
So anyways the Queen was a *giant doody head* and decided she was jealous because the little girl was cuter than her. So the Queen asked her magic mirror, which is probably more likely a manifestation of her psychosis...
*Sanyu...*
She asked the mirror... “Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the fairest one of all?” And the mirror would respond as it always did. “You, my Queen, are the fairest.” And her terrible insecurities over her physical appearance were settled for a short period of time. She asked the mirror this all the time and I’m sure the mirror had nothing better to do than to give her the same damn answer over and over again.
But then one day the mirror’s response changed. It said that, surprise surprise, Snow White was actually so much prettier than her. And it caused a lot of fuss because the Bitch Queen... Don’t look at me like that I know what I said. The Bitch Queen decided that no one in the kingdom could be prettier than her because she was shallow and insecure, so clearly the only option here was to murder her young stepdaughter and eat her heart for dinner. No, seriously, that’s the dumb ass conclusion this psycho came to. Where is the Dad in all of this? Did she like... kill him off already? Did I skip a page?
So yeah the evil Bitch Queen goes and orders her Huntsman to hunt down this defenseless little girl and cut out her heart, because she’s too much of a chicken shit to do it herself. So Snow White runs off into the woods because seriously how hard would it have been to catch the child in the castle or while she was asleep or something. But I guess the Hunter didn’t really want to kill her, because he wasn’t a jealous murderous psychopathic bitch like the Queen, so he let the kid get away on purpose and then cut the heart out of a pig or something and gave that to the Queen. And the Queen ate it for dinner like the crazy bitch she is.
*I’m seriously regretting some of my life decisions right now.*
Oh shut up. You’re not the one with a watermelon sized ‘miracle of life’ sitting on your bladder.
So anyways Snow White ran off into the woods and she ran and ran until she came across a little wooden cottage. And clearly Snow White didn’t care that she was breaking and entering and trespassing and all of that stuff, so she broke open the door and went inside. Inside there were seven tiny beds and a whole lot of mess. Which might lead you to believe that this was like... a place for runaway kids like herself or something, but no. It wasn’t. They were dwarves. Seven dwarves. Because why not? So these dwarves come back from mining to find Snow White sleeping in one of their beds and they seriously freak out. But after talking with them, the first lines this kid has said the entire book - I’m sure she was mute or something - they decide to let her stay. All she has to do is cook and clean, because she’s a girl and that’s what society dictates girls do. But that’s a load of crap, sweetie, you can do whatever you want. Isn’t that right, dear?
*Yes love.*
Good answer. See sweetie? Your Daddy is a lot better at cooking than your Momma and your Momma knows how to fight so you do whatever you want to and don’t let shitty fairytales like this give you the idea that you need to be all pretty and sweet and know how to make apple pie and summon house cleaning blue birds because that shit isn’t going to happen.
So anyways Snow White is a girly girl and there’s nothing wrong with that either - I married one.
*Hey!*
So she cooks and cleans and lives with the dwarves and sees nothing creepy with this arrangement at all.
Until one day the Queen Bitch asks the mirror who’s the fairest again and is shocked to find that Snow White is still the pretty pretty princess and totally still alive. Also, she ate a pig’s heart. So she’s furious. She disguises herself as an ugly old hag and goes to finally take care of her problem herself. She goes up to the little wooden cabin pretending to sell pretty combs. Snow White has no common sense and decided that it’s a great idea to open the door to strangers. It isn’t, in case you were wondering.
Anyways the evil Queen decides to show Snow White how pretty this comb looks in her head and the gullible little princess buys it and lets the Queen just jab that thing into her hair until her scalp bleeds and the poison on the teeth of the comb seeps in. Somehow the tiny scratches were enough for this extremely potent poison of legend and Snow White immediately passes out. Instead of slitting the Princess’ through and being done with it, the Queen trusts in her own victory like a fucking moron and cackles all the way home or something.
The dwarves come home, pull the comb out, and BLAM it’s like suddenly all the poison is gone from her system and she wakes up. Seriously, the person who wrote this shit knows nothing about poison.
*And you do?*
More than this fucker.
Anyways, the old hag comes back when she finds out Snow White isn’t dead and once again Snow White is a moron and opens the door to the same bitch that already tried to kill her. This time the Queen is selling corsets, because what small child doesn’t need a corset, right?
Well anyways the Queen laces Snow White up so tight that the idiot can’t breathe and she passes out. Having not learned from her previous failure, the Queen cackles off into the sunrise without finishing the job.
The dwarves come home, cut her out of the corset, and she just magically wakes up. Even though she probably has like brain damage from oxygen deprivation at that point. If she had a brain to damage in the first place.
Maybe it was that brain damage that caused her to open the door to the Queen a THIRD FUCKING TIME. Yes, she’s that fucking stupid. Anyway the Queen gives her an apple and she bites into and fucking chokes on it because this fucking moron has lost so many brain cells that she can’t remember how to fucking chew before she swallows.
This time when the dwarves come home they can’t save her because they're all idiots.
So they do the only reasonable thing they can imagine. They put her fucking corpse in a glass casket so they can watch her pretty face decay.
*Could we tone down the morbid, please?*
The Queen wanted to eat her fucking heart and you’re getting uppity about me saying that a corpse naturally decays?
So anyway, these fuckers sit her out in this glass case out in front of the house like she’s a doll or a trophy or something. And there she stays, somehow aging. Yes, aging. The little idiot is somehow still alive, despite having not taken a breath in years, and she is aging so this next part won’t be as creepy or something.
Years later a prince walks by, sees the corpse in the glass case, and thinks - I KID YOU FUCKING NOT - damn that corpse is so pretty I want to take it home with me and hang it on the wall. Yes, dear daughter of mine, this is how fucked up this story is. This is the kind of thing people want me to read to you. This is normal. But they throw a hissy fit over stupid shit that isn’t full of heart eating bitch queens and creepy necrophiliac princes who literally only want you for your body.
*I don’t know why I expected a different outcome out of all of this. I really should have known better.*
Yes, you should have.
So anyways this necrophiliac shallow prince takes the glass case and loads it up into a cart or something and heads on back to his palace. On the way back they go over a bump and the piece of apple is knocked out of Snow White’s throat, waking her up. The Prince decides that shit his creepy ass has been caught, so he better marry the girl who seriously still probably has the mind of a seven year old because she’s been in a fucking coma this entire time.
And then they all decide that revenge is a dish best served hot, so they heat up iron shoes and force the evil Queen to dance in them - at their wedding - until she drops dead. Because nothing livens up the party quite like torture and murder.
The End. Thank fucking God.
*You know, I think I’m going to read the bedtime stories from now on...* | The alarms in the bank were blaring, as John rushed in to stop the robbers. He was a cop with a drinking problem and of course he had his quirky side kick partner Steve, who spent his free time talking to an imaginary dog(but that's a different story all together).
As John saw the bank robbers, he pulled his gun out. "Stick em up", he yelled.
Stick em up, really John? We're not in the Wild Wild West, much less the 1800's. Try to be professional please.
Anyways as John was trying to be a cowboy, the robbers ignored him and kept running.
The robbers looked like cartoons, all hunched over, with bandanas tied around their faces to hide their identities as they ran.
They may as well have thrown on black and white striped jumpsuits, and painted big green dollar signs on their bags to really make sure people knew they were the criminals.
Fucking Idiots.
Anyway our "fearless hero" John started to pursue the robbers yelling as he ran(He's not actually "fearless", dude pissed himself watching Coraline. I remember how the button eyes kept him up for days.)
As he chased them into the alley, one of the robbers toward the back tripped and dropped his bag. Money flew everywhere. As the robber, idiot that he was, scrambled to pick up the money instead of running, John caught up with him.
He kicked the robber down, roughed him up a bit and cuffed him. By this point, while our genius cop John was screwing around with the single idiot robber, the other's had all gotten away with most of the money.
Wait what happened to Steve?
I don't even know where he was for that entire chase scene. Maybe he thought they ran into the painting in the lobby and blue skidood after them?
It also just occurred to me, that I have no idea why he's a cop. He's barely over 5 feet tall, wears the same green shirt everyday and lives in a Cartoon house for Christ's sake.
Let's just forget about him, he wasn't doing much for this shitty story anyways. Let's go back to John.
Good god I think John's lost it. While I was ranting about Steve, John took the robber to a train track. *He's tying him up!*
"That'll show ya to kidnap a pretty little thing like this* he was gloating.
I didn't even notice the girl on his arm until he mentioned her. Where the hell did she come from?
How do I, the NARRATOR, not notice a fucking character in my own story?
I'm done.
I can't even really call it a story anymore, it's just chaos with words.
I guess this is what happens when my author try to write a short sci-fi, comedy, police procedural in the style of F. Scott Fitzgerald with a touch of Steven King thrown in there.
I told him he should have gone for a drama over a comedy.
I hope the second draft is better than this one. I don't want to narrate for imbeciles like John and Steve.
"Give me real characters, and I promise I'll narrate the hell out of them." I begged the author. | |
[WP] A genie offers you three wishes with a catch. Whatever you wish for will be granted three times over for your worst enemy. | "I, the genie of the lamp, have been freed. I now offer you 3 wishes, puny human, and those wishes I will grant. **However,** whatever you wish, your worst enemy receives your wish three times over. Choose wisely." said the genie, his resplendent purple cape fluttering from his humongous, broad, blue shoulders.
"Well that's not fucking possible." Simon replied, studying the lamp in his hands. Simon, had witnessed the ethereal plume of smoke bellow from the small golden lamp in his hands, and he'd seen the burly blue spirit before him burst forth from the thin spout of the lamp. Simon was entirely sure that a genie *had* been produced in front of him. He could manifestly see, hear, smell and feel the genie's presence.
Simon wasn't sure, however, whether or not he was in a dream, hallucinating, enthralled in some kind of elaborate prank, or whether genies did indeed exist. Simon was aware, however, that 3 times infinity is still infinity. And thus it was impossible for a genie to be able to give his enemy 3 times more than he was awarded if he wished for the maximum possible. Simon was also aware that if he asked for something mutually exclusive, it would be impossible for his enemy to be awarded the same thing. As such, Simon was going to test the genie to see what happened. Chances are, it was all a dream anyway, but Simon felt like exercising a bit of logic in what was now merely an exercise in critical thinking.
The genie floated above the lamp and chuckled deeply.
"HA HA HA, mortals often do doubt I exist. I assure you that I do, and that can grant you anything your heart desires. **Silly man**, I am an omnipotence such that the world has never **seen!**" The genie raised his right hand to which a ball of green flame illuminated the small area of patio on which Simon stood.
Simon, unimpressed by this show of bravado, which in no way proved that he still wasn't dreaming or in some sort of expensive prank, stood stationary. Simon looked to the genie defiantly, wanting to prove now more than before that the genie, if he did exist, was a moron. If the genie didn't exist (and he almost certainly didn't), then his subconscious was a moron. If Simon was insane, at least he'd know he still retained some intelligence, if nothing else, so showing the genie his idiocy seemed to be the best option, in Simon's opinion.
After a few seconds of reflection, Simon realised that he didn't even know who his worst enemy was. Was it his history teacher in high school? That bastard had made Simon feel like a useless fool. Was it his ex-girl friend Amanda? She'd made him feel like an unsexy, boring, idiot of a boyfriend when she had cheated on him. The genie seemed like a bit of a stupid prick, but no worse than anyone else he'd ever come across, so it probably wasn't him. Simon stood there wondering. Since he didn't really have any enemies, Simon didn't really want to punish anyone unfairly. And then it occurred to Simon that it didn't really matter who his worst enemy was anyway, since genies almost certainly didn't exist. If they did exist, they wouldn't add clauses to their wishes such that they'd have grant unworkable demands.
"Your wish, foolish mortal?" Called the genie, snapping Simon away from his own thoughts. The blue and purple smoke giant stood with his hands on his hips, impatiently furrowing his mighty brow. Simon frowned, perturbed by the genie's inconsideration for what many people would need to be a well-thought out, life changing decision. Of course he could see why the genie might be bored, but Simon felt such remiss for his needs was insensitive at the very least.
Simon spoke softly.
"For my first wish, I want for both me and my enemy to become exactly 6 ft tall in height." Simon asked. "How would you, oh mighty genie, grant my wish if I made it necessary and central to the wish that my enemy did not receive 3x more than what I received?"
Before the genie could answer, Simon continued with his captious questioning. Simon, annoyed by the genie's haughty tone and arrogant demeanour prior to his wishing, mainly just wanted to get on the probably non-existent genie's proverbial tits by asking awkward questions which would be impossible to fulfill under the genie's stipulations.
Simon continued.
"Second wish, I'd like to be the reigning World Champion in Violin playing for the rest of my life, with all the skills in music that would be required for such an accolade, ie I would be the objectively the World's greatest violinist. How would my enemy become 3x current reigning champion while I am also reigning champ? If my enemy is 3 times more skillful than me, why would they ever award me the trophy at all? How could my enemy be 3x more number 1 than I am? If I am objectively the greatest, how would he be 3x more objectively the greatest?
Third wish, I'd like to never need to urinate or defecate ever again without dying. To clarify, rather than me never using the toilet again due to my not being alive, I wish not urinate or defecate until I die at exactly 12:00pm on 12/06/2084. For those 70 years, I never *need* to pee or poop; this is whilst being able to eat 2500 calories a day without losing or gaining weight, unless from eating a caloric deficit or excess which would cause my current self to lose or gain weight. And so I don't get screwed, this excretory power is without requiring dialysis or colostomies. I simply would not produce the waste materials, hence not requiring excretion." Simon continued, proud of his critical thinking skills.
"Either you magically dispose of my urine and shit for as it collects in my bowels or kidneys, or you could provide me with the proteins necessary to have 100 percent digestive efficiency and total deamination of proteins by my liver, such that urea is no longer a dangerous waste product in my blood that it needs filtering, and my body digests *all* fibrous matter from my food. How will my enemy live until June 12th 2084 3 times more than I do? How will they deaminate proteins and waste at 300% greater efficiency than my already perfect level. Will he anti-poop/piss? That's not possible, or at least it isn't possible unless you cause my friend to excrete 3x more healthy bi-product of this new deamination process. And then would that not mean that he now requires fewer calories, as these are used for energy (presumably, since even a healthy substance in excess is waste unless it can all be used), and thus he'd gain weight using any more than 833 calories, which I specified was not allowed. Or if rather than changing our internal workings, you just magically got rid of both our shit and piss, how would you get rid of 3x more pee or poo in him than I, as I apparently seem to get rid of excretion at maximum levels? Would my enemy nominate two other people to be gifted with inability piss or shit, hence giving away his other two times? Would it be a genetic trait inherited by his children? Because I think that's a fucking cop-out."
Simon was pleased with himself, the genie before him looking back with a confused look.
"Will my enemy become an 18ft tall violin champion, somehow at the same time as me; who will live 231 years, never poop or pee to a degree somehow 3x more than I don't do either of those things? Your premise is literally impossible. Genie, I call your bluff."
And the genie clicked his fingers, a smile spreading across his smug, puissant face.
Simon, life-long master of the violin, had lived a full life. In his time he had been regarded as the best alive, a champion of sorts. On his deathbed, on the 12th of June 2084, Simon's 6ft tall frame lay motionless in a hospital bed. With a limp wave of his arm, Simon called his wife and adult children close to him, and silently whispered his final words to his eldest son.
"This is the third time I have died this death, and I must tell you both the secret to my life's success. Son, you are your own worst enemy. Or at least that's the loop-hole snarky genies use to get out of granting impossible wishes. Son, always ask genies stupid questions. It meant I never had to go to the toilet since the age of 21. The waste just vanishes. Genies, my boy, genies."
A solemn tear slid down the cheek of Simon's son, the man saddened to see his father clearly delirious from sickness. He used to be such a wise man.
As Simon slipped away, he could only wonder what would have happened if there was an individual who actually objectively hated anyone more than than they disliked themselves. Such an individual would have been a good control candidate to also ask the same questions as he had done. Simon wanted to know if the genie did fulfill his promise, or if he was merely a sneaky, colossal, blue cunt. | With a word a cloud did boil
producing a face worn with toil
it's booming voice did declare
"Three wishes, but BEWARE!"
"Ev'ry wish I do bestow
will multiply by three to go
to your worst enemy in life."
The genie warned to prevent strife.
Before I wished I did plea
that the genie reveal to me
who could dislike me so;
this enemy I do not know.
"Look here." the genie instructed
as the image then constructed
everything was then clearer
my eyes looked back from the mirror.
| |
[WP] A genie offers you three wishes with a catch. Whatever you wish for will be granted three times over for your worst enemy. | "I, the genie of the lamp, have been freed. I now offer you 3 wishes, puny human, and those wishes I will grant. **However,** whatever you wish, your worst enemy receives your wish three times over. Choose wisely." said the genie, his resplendent purple cape fluttering from his humongous, broad, blue shoulders.
"Well that's not fucking possible." Simon replied, studying the lamp in his hands. Simon, had witnessed the ethereal plume of smoke bellow from the small golden lamp in his hands, and he'd seen the burly blue spirit before him burst forth from the thin spout of the lamp. Simon was entirely sure that a genie *had* been produced in front of him. He could manifestly see, hear, smell and feel the genie's presence.
Simon wasn't sure, however, whether or not he was in a dream, hallucinating, enthralled in some kind of elaborate prank, or whether genies did indeed exist. Simon was aware, however, that 3 times infinity is still infinity. And thus it was impossible for a genie to be able to give his enemy 3 times more than he was awarded if he wished for the maximum possible. Simon was also aware that if he asked for something mutually exclusive, it would be impossible for his enemy to be awarded the same thing. As such, Simon was going to test the genie to see what happened. Chances are, it was all a dream anyway, but Simon felt like exercising a bit of logic in what was now merely an exercise in critical thinking.
The genie floated above the lamp and chuckled deeply.
"HA HA HA, mortals often do doubt I exist. I assure you that I do, and that can grant you anything your heart desires. **Silly man**, I am an omnipotence such that the world has never **seen!**" The genie raised his right hand to which a ball of green flame illuminated the small area of patio on which Simon stood.
Simon, unimpressed by this show of bravado, which in no way proved that he still wasn't dreaming or in some sort of expensive prank, stood stationary. Simon looked to the genie defiantly, wanting to prove now more than before that the genie, if he did exist, was a moron. If the genie didn't exist (and he almost certainly didn't), then his subconscious was a moron. If Simon was insane, at least he'd know he still retained some intelligence, if nothing else, so showing the genie his idiocy seemed to be the best option, in Simon's opinion.
After a few seconds of reflection, Simon realised that he didn't even know who his worst enemy was. Was it his history teacher in high school? That bastard had made Simon feel like a useless fool. Was it his ex-girl friend Amanda? She'd made him feel like an unsexy, boring, idiot of a boyfriend when she had cheated on him. The genie seemed like a bit of a stupid prick, but no worse than anyone else he'd ever come across, so it probably wasn't him. Simon stood there wondering. Since he didn't really have any enemies, Simon didn't really want to punish anyone unfairly. And then it occurred to Simon that it didn't really matter who his worst enemy was anyway, since genies almost certainly didn't exist. If they did exist, they wouldn't add clauses to their wishes such that they'd have grant unworkable demands.
"Your wish, foolish mortal?" Called the genie, snapping Simon away from his own thoughts. The blue and purple smoke giant stood with his hands on his hips, impatiently furrowing his mighty brow. Simon frowned, perturbed by the genie's inconsideration for what many people would need to be a well-thought out, life changing decision. Of course he could see why the genie might be bored, but Simon felt such remiss for his needs was insensitive at the very least.
Simon spoke softly.
"For my first wish, I want for both me and my enemy to become exactly 6 ft tall in height." Simon asked. "How would you, oh mighty genie, grant my wish if I made it necessary and central to the wish that my enemy did not receive 3x more than what I received?"
Before the genie could answer, Simon continued with his captious questioning. Simon, annoyed by the genie's haughty tone and arrogant demeanour prior to his wishing, mainly just wanted to get on the probably non-existent genie's proverbial tits by asking awkward questions which would be impossible to fulfill under the genie's stipulations.
Simon continued.
"Second wish, I'd like to be the reigning World Champion in Violin playing for the rest of my life, with all the skills in music that would be required for such an accolade, ie I would be the objectively the World's greatest violinist. How would my enemy become 3x current reigning champion while I am also reigning champ? If my enemy is 3 times more skillful than me, why would they ever award me the trophy at all? How could my enemy be 3x more number 1 than I am? If I am objectively the greatest, how would he be 3x more objectively the greatest?
Third wish, I'd like to never need to urinate or defecate ever again without dying. To clarify, rather than me never using the toilet again due to my not being alive, I wish not urinate or defecate until I die at exactly 12:00pm on 12/06/2084. For those 70 years, I never *need* to pee or poop; this is whilst being able to eat 2500 calories a day without losing or gaining weight, unless from eating a caloric deficit or excess which would cause my current self to lose or gain weight. And so I don't get screwed, this excretory power is without requiring dialysis or colostomies. I simply would not produce the waste materials, hence not requiring excretion." Simon continued, proud of his critical thinking skills.
"Either you magically dispose of my urine and shit for as it collects in my bowels or kidneys, or you could provide me with the proteins necessary to have 100 percent digestive efficiency and total deamination of proteins by my liver, such that urea is no longer a dangerous waste product in my blood that it needs filtering, and my body digests *all* fibrous matter from my food. How will my enemy live until June 12th 2084 3 times more than I do? How will they deaminate proteins and waste at 300% greater efficiency than my already perfect level. Will he anti-poop/piss? That's not possible, or at least it isn't possible unless you cause my friend to excrete 3x more healthy bi-product of this new deamination process. And then would that not mean that he now requires fewer calories, as these are used for energy (presumably, since even a healthy substance in excess is waste unless it can all be used), and thus he'd gain weight using any more than 833 calories, which I specified was not allowed. Or if rather than changing our internal workings, you just magically got rid of both our shit and piss, how would you get rid of 3x more pee or poo in him than I, as I apparently seem to get rid of excretion at maximum levels? Would my enemy nominate two other people to be gifted with inability piss or shit, hence giving away his other two times? Would it be a genetic trait inherited by his children? Because I think that's a fucking cop-out."
Simon was pleased with himself, the genie before him looking back with a confused look.
"Will my enemy become an 18ft tall violin champion, somehow at the same time as me; who will live 231 years, never poop or pee to a degree somehow 3x more than I don't do either of those things? Your premise is literally impossible. Genie, I call your bluff."
And the genie clicked his fingers, a smile spreading across his smug, puissant face.
Simon, life-long master of the violin, had lived a full life. In his time he had been regarded as the best alive, a champion of sorts. On his deathbed, on the 12th of June 2084, Simon's 6ft tall frame lay motionless in a hospital bed. With a limp wave of his arm, Simon called his wife and adult children close to him, and silently whispered his final words to his eldest son.
"This is the third time I have died this death, and I must tell you both the secret to my life's success. Son, you are your own worst enemy. Or at least that's the loop-hole snarky genies use to get out of granting impossible wishes. Son, always ask genies stupid questions. It meant I never had to go to the toilet since the age of 21. The waste just vanishes. Genies, my boy, genies."
A solemn tear slid down the cheek of Simon's son, the man saddened to see his father clearly delirious from sickness. He used to be such a wise man.
As Simon slipped away, he could only wonder what would have happened if there was an individual who actually objectively hated anyone more than than they disliked themselves. Such an individual would have been a good control candidate to also ask the same questions as he had done. Simon wanted to know if the genie did fulfill his promise, or if he was merely a sneaky, colossal, blue cunt. | "By rubbing my lamp you get three wishes, I'm sure you're aware of all of this but I am required by law to read the entire thing." the genie said looking up from the card. "Whatever you wish will be granted three times over to your worst enemy. Do you want to know who it is?" I look hysterically at the genie "not at all" I say with a smile knowing exactly who it is. "I want to be disciplined enough to complete my goals without having to fight myself to do so, total control over every process in my body and an infinite number of wishes to go to my worst enemy." As I spoke my words took effect I felt it immediately I could do anything all on my own. I can alter my body chemistry but not ever enough to kill me because of the natural safeguards a body has to prevent injuring itself without outside help, and lastly I have infinite wishes because I am my own worst enemy. (Not entirely awake when I wrote this. I'd love critiques.) |
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