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[WP] A Soviet-era space ship has just crash landed in Central Park. Two Cosmonauts have stumbled out of the wreckage | **This is the first thing I've written in a while, and I'm not entirely satisfied with it. Criticism is welcome. **
**Also, feel free to correct any mistakes. I didn't proofread after typing it.**
***Word Count: 1310***
“TEN!”, the crowd roars, all at the top of their lungs. Hands are in the air, waiting for the moment that some of them have traveled over a thousand miles for. The moon is nowhere to be found, and there are hardly any stars in sight. It would be pitch black outside anywhere else, but not here. In New York, there’s never a dark night. Still, the atmosphere, the night sky, it is fitting. More fitting than the people here will ever have a chance to realize.
“NINE...EIGHT!”
The crowd is growing louder as the countdown gets closer to zero. I never understood why people come to this. It has always seemed so pointless and boring to me. It can be watched from the comfort of your own home, away from the mass of inconsiderate, worthless wastes of space.
“SEVEN...SIX...FIVE!”
The suspense can easily be seen on every one of their faces, like they don’t know what is about to happen. It will be the exact same as the time before, and the time before that, and the time before that. Or, at least to their knowledge, it will.
“FOUR!”
I reach my right hand into the inside of my overcoat and clench my fist tightly on the cold, metal grip. My heart is racing, but I don’t have a choice. These people, they should have stayed home.
“THREE!”
The sound from the crowd fades almost entirely, and I hear the whispers again.
*“Get ready.”*
I don’t want to do this, but they swear that I will find some sort of peace if I do. I don’t know why I trust them. They torment me nearly every waking moment of my life. I rarely sleep because of them...I am terrified of sinking deeper into their world…
*“You don’t want to fail. Show us that you can do this one thing right. Do not mess this up like you have every other thing in your life.”*
I wish they would just go away...without making me do this. They are turning me into a monster...I don’t want to be like them…
“TWO!”
I snap back into reality. This is it, it’s time. I use my left hand to lift the edge of my coat ever so slightly, preparing to draw.
“ONE…” The crowd dragged this number out, slightly elongating it, delaying their fate for just a moment longer.
“ZERO!”
Just as the ball drops, I jerk the weapon out from under my coat, prepared to do what, in my mind, I know I have to do. But then, instead of the usual fireworks and camera flashes, all of the lights go out. No fireworks launch, no cheers are heard. It is almost completely silent.
Almost.
I don’t shoot. I don’t know why. I know that I have to, but I feel frozen. I can hear a soft humming sound, rapidly growing louder. I look around, searching for the source of this noise, but it’s pitch black now. Not a single light anywhere in New York as far as I can tell.
The sound continues to grow, and it seems as if it is coming from everywhere. It is almost deafening now.
Then light starts returning. Not the lights that went out though.
A red glow is spreading out across the sky, contrasting the darkness that now seems as if it’s been here for an eternity, moving towards us. Soon, the entire area is lit up with this faint red glow. Then, the noise stops.
It makes no difference. Everybody is fixated on this red circle of light heading towards us. I somehow manage to replace the weapon I had drawn, once again concealing it.
At just that moment, a strong wind forces much of the crowd backwards and onto the ground. I remain standing in the corner.
Then the panic sets in. Everybody is screaming and running, people scrambling in every direction. I direct my attention back to the sky and see the cause of these peoples’ worries. My mind doesn’t have enough time to process what it is, because as soon as I notice it, the object hurtles past me with a deafening screech. I’m blown backwards into a tree, and then even further as the tree gives way. I’m blinded by a great flash of light, and just lay there for a moment.
Am I dead?
I don’t care if I am. My whole life has been nothing but torture, always causing some sort of pain to myself or others.
I open my eyes to see that there is light again. Much of the surrounding area is in flames, giving a bright, menacing glow to all of Central Park. Windows are shattered, glass is still raining down from the many skyscrapers.
I gaze in the direction that I believe the object went, and instead of seeing the usual high rises and roads, there is a large crater, littered with sparkles of glass from both the windows of the buildings and the extreme heat burning the ground.
There is no more screaming, only the roars of the flames, the taps of the window shards hitting concrete, and the ringing in my ears.
But I hear another sound...like pressure releasing from a valve. I stare down into the crater at the source of the hiss, and see large metal object with one word on the side.
“Pravda-1.”
A section of the object pops outwards, accompanied by another hiss and a thick plume of white smoke. Two figures emerge from the object, wearing bright orange clothes and large helmets.
My heart is racing faster than the ship was as it flew by me, and I attempt to step backwards, trying to turn and run, but lose my footing and begin sliding down into the crater, towards the figures.
I scramble, trying to find something to grip onto, but continue careening downwards, stopping a mere ten feet from what I can now see are two people, both aged well beyond anybody I have ever met. They simultaneously remove their helmets, letting them slam into the ground, and my eyes meet theirs. A man and a woman, both seemingly empty. The looks in their eyes are glazed over, and I can only imagine that the look in mine is one of pure terror.
The couple begins stepping towards me, chanting.
“Ложь! Ложь! Они все ложь! Ложь! Ложь! Они все ложь!”
I fumble for my weapon, having a great amount of trouble removing it from the pocket in which it is holstered.
I get the slightest feeling of relief as I am able to aim, but when I pull the trigger, all I hear is a faint click.
The couple continues advancing, chanting, “Ложь! Ложь! Они все ложь! Ложь! Ложь! Они все ложь!”
It is at this moment that I choose NOT to accept death. I don’t want to give up, I want to fight it, but I’m unable to move!
I try and yell, but nothing comes out. I continue straining my voice, attempting to make the slightest noise, anything, as the man leans over me and grabs my arms, constricting me to the point where all I can do is squirm. I stare into his dark, glazed eyes, and close my eyes, losing all hope.
Then I’m able to utter a scream, and I open my eyes and see myself in the mirror attached to the ceiling of the room. I lay there, strapped to the stretcher. I turn my head to the left, and see a canister of gas. I turn to the right, and see the words *Lenox Hill Insanity Ward* on the wall.
“Please stop squirming while we administer your medicine, sir,” I hear the nurse say.
She then turns the valve on the gas canister, and I fade out to that familiar hiss. | Do you have a length preference?
If replying without a story is against the rules, I apologize. I'm new to this sub. | |
[WP] A Soviet-era space ship has just crash landed in Central Park. Two Cosmonauts have stumbled out of the wreckage | *CRASH*
A fireball erupts through the trees, as an aged space vessel collides with the earth. Men and women scream and run, and even the mime silently pretending to be stuck in a glass box just seconds before seemed to have found his voice again.
The ship finally came to a halt between old maples, which groaned at the force they had suddenly been burdened with. Not many people remained in the park, but the few people who did rushed to the scene, iPhones in hand, ready first to take pictures for Instagram and second to call 911.
As the few brave citizens reached the space vessel, they paused suddenly before coming closer; the ship was emblazoned with a large red hammer and sickle. What could this mean? Were the Russians attacking the US? Before anyone could even scream, the airlock door on one side of the ship hissed and the door fell off of its once secure hinges.
From the steaming wreckage came.... two bears, dressed in space uniforms. The once stalwart citizens started backpedaling; just a minute before they had observed a spaceship crash in their beloved park, yet the dopey, hobbling bears that emerged frightened them worse than the crash itself. The bears stumbled over to the nearest trees and fell on their sides, relishing the stable ground after a painful and rude end to their voyage.
Animal Control was called before homeland security that day, for no reason other than the fact that two bears emerged from the wreck. One homeless man even offered his paper bagged bottle of Vodka to see if he could get the bears to dance, only to be brushed aside as the bears were tranquilized and loaded into large vans. It was decided that the bears would be taken to the New York Zoo, rather than being released into the wild, due to their invasive heritage.
The bears awoke, naked without their suits. But they raised their heads, met eyes, and one said quietly to the other: Мы находимся в *(We're in). | Do you have a length preference?
If replying without a story is against the rules, I apologize. I'm new to this sub. | |
[WP] Write the most sarcastic and passive-aggressive resignation letter for an unfair employer | Chris,
Thanks for your time earlier. I'd love to apologise for things coming to a head, but apologies do not seem to be part of the team ethic here, regardless of who errs. And to err is human. Perhaps that's part of the problem - my humanity.
Since the increased employment of orcish soldiers, guards and indeed every day administrative employees, I have found myself increasingly over-looked. For promotions, money, recognition; everything.
I'm not sure I believe any longer in the Dark Lord's project. Frankly, some of the so-called propaganda from the other side is starting to have a ring of truth about it. Some of our activities do smack, at the least extent, of sharp practice.
Working conditions are also poor. My letters of complaint about some of our safety procedures have gone disregarded. Whatever the powers-that-be may think, I do not believe a pathway direct into the heart of our territory should be left entirely to the ministrations and protection of a giant spider. Who, lest you forget, is responsible for several deaths amongst the staff. The high rate of casualty in the departments throughout Mordor is frankly bewildering.
Not to mention the over-crowding. For instance, I was playing pool in the guard tower last night, and the pressure to get off the table was extraordinary. I can only play so fast. There are only so many frames per second I can shoot comfortably!
Anyway, please accept this as my resignation. I will try and leave without causing any lasting damage to the Company though, out of my own sense of misplaced loyalty. I'll just start a little scuffle in the guard tower, and during the confusion, I'll be on my way. No-one gets hurt, see.
Wish you all the best with the tricky situations developing around Gondor.
Thanks
Gary
| To the most esteemed team-manager in the literary world,
I sorely regret to inform you that I will be giving my 14 day notice to resign as of today's date.
I will miss the challenging and varying working conditions. I would always be thrilled to know whether I would be scanning books for history or science for the coming hours. When I found out that scanning other school items was also part of my job description I giggled with delight for the rest of the shift.
I have grown much in this job and I hope to continue growing at the same rate. The thought that the day I started working here I could only scan 150 books in an hour, while I can now reach easily 6000 a day is just mind blowing to me. Your management practices and your adherence to Fordism, with everyone having their own tasks, means that everyone is acutely specialized to keep the company running like a well oiled machine.
I am also flattered by the care, respect and humanity with which you treat your employees. I was impressed when one of my colleagues was taken extremely seriously when she told the supervisor her scanning machine was slow. I am similarly amazed with how well the regulations for heavy physical work are applied. Not once did I see a 15 year old hold more than the maximum amount of weight he was allowed to carry!
Nonetheless there is a slight negative that made me reconsider working at this book company. When I worked out that I only needed to scan and sticker 3 books to earn a cent I thought that this job was quite well-paid. Unfortunately, I found another job paying more than the required 2.53 euros an hour for a 15 year old and the difference in financial prospects is so great that I believe I can no longer work for you, even though I will always remember my time at your company with fondness and even longing.
Yours sincerely,
nr. 23178 | |
[WP] Colossal gears grind and moan as they begin to turn into motion. A small light at the center propagates and begins to flicker. Your heart sinks. The Global Machine has been activated. | "Can I push the button yet?" A young boy pleads, sensing your project is close to completion.
"Not yet, Gabe. Go play, I'll let you know when it's ready, and then you can turn it on, ok?"
He runs off.
You've been working on this thing non-stop for months. It looks like a gigantic spheroid clock of some kind. Discarded pieces of the machinery litter your entire house, as you tinker with every little detail. Remnants of a few previous versions remain floating around, a couple have been incorporated into your current model. You're just about to remove another cog to make one final change when the doorbell rings.
"Lucy! Hi!" You welcome your old friend with a hug that she is all too happy to return.
"It's been too long. How are you doing? Still working on that little project of yours?"
"Haha, yeah. First couple of attempts didn't work." You invite her in and show her the still-smouldering remains of your first model, taking up a sizeable portion of your living room. "This one crashed and burned, and that one," you point to the smaller, more compact version, "I dunno, it just died. But this one's gonna be perfect, self correcting, I've just got one last bug to figure out."
The boy, hearing the conversation, races downstairs again to catch the two of you leaning over the console admiring the new machine.
"Hi Gabriel!"
"Hi Lucy."
"You've gotten big, haven't you?" she said, picking him up and noticing the rock in his hand. "What's this for?"
You just smile. "He's been playing with his dinosaurs."
"Woops!" The rock slips out of Gabriel's hand and Lucy, trying to catch it, ends up knocking it onto the keyboard.
"NO!" You shout.
Colossal gears grind and moan as they begin to turn into motion. A small light at the centre propagates and begins to flicker. Your heart sinks. The Global Machine has been activated.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I hope I didn't mess anything up." Lucy said, and set the boy down.
"No, it's ok," you assure her. "It's self correcting, maybe it won't matter."
Noticing your morose expression as you look over the ticking gears, she decides to give you some space. "Maybe I should go. Let you sort it all out."
"Yeah. I'm just... it was nice seeing you again."
As she reaches the door, Lucy turns back to you. "I'm having a barbecue with my friends this Sunday, you should come along." | He is adding some final embellishments to a set of models, working intently beneath a large magnifying glass at his bench. A bit more sharpness to this one’s horn. A darker shade of orange for this one’s fire. This will be the most interesting set yet, he thinks. His mind wanders, imagining how he will reconcile these figures with the cases upon cases of other models that fill his shop. While he imagines, his hand slips and contacts the immense device shrouded by a drop cloth beside his work station. A deep churning sound emits from below the sheet. He is startled by the noises, but quickly realizes what has happened.
“No! What have I done? It is far too early! There is much left to prepare, to test, to ensure.”
He whisks the cloth away and searches frantically along the mechanical behemoth. He lifts panels, engages levers, contorts himself to examine below the frame. He extracts himself from beneath the machine and stares at the methodical process that is now underway. Larger and larger gears start making their rotations. He knows well that he cannot halt or reverse it, for he designed the machine and employed strict specifications.
A faint glimmer begins to radiate from within the beast. He takes one final moment to think about all of the things that he had yet to perfect. He removes his apron and sighs.
“Let there be light.” | |
Inspired by a dream I had the other night after seeing all the violence on the news lately | [WP] A supreme deity introduces a new rule for Planet Earth: every time an act of violence is committed, the perpetrator shrinks by a tiny fraction. Violent people gradually become tiny but there are other consequences... | This isn't good. This is really not good. I never should have driven this way.
My wife is pregnant, at 10 cm, and minutes away from having our son. My son. Because of her mis-shapen cervix she should have never been able to birth a child. But we were lucky, it means the world to us, to me, and because of that I chose to drive through the Minikin to get to the hospital as soon as possible. And now I'm going to pay the price.
It was well after midnight, the street lamps glowed a dull yellow casting long shadows on an other wise empty two lane road.
I didn't see it until it was too late. This area is off limits to standards like me. Their numbers aren't what's frightening, it's their speed. They run on all fours like monkeys. They travel in packs. It's terrifying.
A few years ago a very strange thing happened. Every cell phone, computer, laptop, electric billboard, any digital screen suddenly showed a... a man. He was surrounded by what looked like whispy yellow energy strands, dancing behind him. His face almost seemed like that same energy somehow tamed, but only for a short while. It wasn't blurry, but you couldn't focus on any particular detail without feeling dizzy. His mouth never moved, but his voice permeated every where.
'Sectators, your debauchery has been left without result for far too long. From this day forward, any man or woman violating the law of nature and committing an act of violence when not permitted with hence forth surrender a fourth of a cubit (about 12 cm). Either conform to the natural laws or wither into nothing'
His form dissolved and the energy flowed freely, and the screen vanished.
I have never been a violent person, I have never raised my hand to strike anyone, it made really no difference to me.
It, however, did prompt massive religious conversions, there was more than meets the eye, there were deities, there were ultimate moral truths, they were inherent in nature, and we needed to follow them. People needed to answer those questions, who was this being? when was violence permitted? what were these laws of nature?
But this didn't matter to me either, not at this moment, not at this time. The truly frightening thing about those who were deformed, every part of their body shrunk proportionally, except their arms. The retained their length while the rest of the deformed withered away.
Once a person becomes deformed, they become lepers to society. They are driven out, into the Minikin, where they all live in a tribal society.
They must have seen me coming. They laid a trap in the road. It looked like a large bottle in a bear trap. I tried to swerve but the trap closed, sending glass shards everywhere, piercing my back tire on my passenger side.
I stopped my car in the middle of the road, and got out. I stood their for a moment, listening. I heard nothing, I needed to install my spare tire as quickly as possible. I quietly opened my trunk and removed my jack and spare tire. Working quickly I began jacking up the car. Then I heard them.
They were everywhere. Crawling over fences, coming out of the sewers, dropping out of trees. In a matter of seconds I was in the center of a circle, and they all stood there. Their noses where the same size as a standard. It seemed huge on their faces. All I could here was their wheezing breath. I stood there holding the steel bar I used to operate the jack, waiting, not knowing what to do.
Then they rushed me. Not all of them, only a fraction, the rest screamed. That high pitched screaming, not quite like a child, but in the same vocal range.
I couldn't take it, I needed to hear something else, I screamed as loud as I could, just as they reached me. Their fingers, they were so tiny, I never knew that either. They must be completely unable to carry anything. They began pummeling me with these large arms with tiny balled up fingers, and for the first time in my life, I used violence. I began swinging. The wet smack of contact, the whimpers of pain and anguish. I was so angry. I swung and swung and swung. My arms felt like lead, my fingers felt too weak to hold onto the bar. But I kept swinging. They were rapping themselves around my legs, around my throat, and I kept swinging.
They lessoned they grip, I felt energized, I screamed again, and I began swinging harder and harder. I had suddenly realized something, I wasn't shrinking, but everyone around me was. They were nothing but large potatoes with long arms now, twitching and shaking. I was going to live! My son, my wife! I needed to get out of here! I understood now, violence was permitted in situations like this, to defend yourself in nature.
I felt invincible.
I turned to run and saw a deformed one standing in front of me. Somehow, I couldn't see because of the darkness, she held a gun. She slowly raised it to my face. I sprang into action, I WILL see my son, I had to survive this!
I swung with all my strength and crushed her skull. She fell down with a wet thud. She fell into the light, and I saw it wasn't a gun in her hand, it was a bouquet of flowers.
....what?...?
Then they started laughing.
Then I felt it. At first it felt like tightness, then heat, then burning. My fingers were in a vat of molten lava, my legs felt like they were under a pile of cement, my head it a vice.
Oh my god, I was shrinking. I tried to scream, but my mouth didn't work, all I could hear was the laughing, these high pitched voices. I convulsed on the ground, I could feel myself becoming deformed. I could feel the shame and embarrassment, how could my wife and child love me now?
As I slipped unconscious, the laughing slowly died, and all I could hear was loud wheezing breaths.
My last thought was the realization those loud breaths were mine, coming out of my miss-shapenly large noise.
Then, darkness.
| Who would've thought? Equal exchange makes plenty of sense. I give you two dollars for a pound of apples, if I'm lucky. If *you're* lucky I don't snatch my money back, threaten you, or recover it by force. Or, that's how it was twenty years ago.
It was funny because at first nobody really thought about what would go on outside the law. Soth made his proclamation, religions were started upon his unveiling, and people got into fights a little bit less, those that did started losing them. Then we started to see the Big Folks. Apparently, you don't just shrink, you lose a little bit of you. The good guys didn't just get taller, they got stronger, more well muscled, faster too I suppose.
They mostly stayed good, thank goodness. Otherwise I'd not be here talking to you. Some of those people who broke up fights, prevented that violence way or the other, well, they weren't doing it for the right reasons, and some of them were terrifying. Downright terrifying. I heard a story of the first Bad Guy in Chicago. The problem was that he got big, and I mean *really* big. So big he didn't have to commit violence, he just had to threaten it.
At first they responded in the usual manner to a hostage situation, the thing is, nobody was sure if they could hurt this guy, and if they did, they'd damn near lose their own life. Soth wasn't really clear about how much smaller, or what kind of violence. Boxers don't shrink, neither do little kids getting into fights, his web is a complex one. The problem here, if you haven't noticed yet is it takes a lot of violence to put down a twenty five foot (or so) man.
The other problem we had, as we learned with some of the other Bad Guys overseas, is the person, or people who caused that violence, the midging, (how we get smaller) sort of trickles back through the system. So if someone kills with a knife, well the knife maker doesn't come out too badly. On the other hand when you hit someone with surface to air missile, even just one person, it seems everyone who participated in the production, design, lots of stuff, they're effected. There have been a handful of reports about kids, somehow, being caught in that net, the causality is almost impossible to unwind.
Anyway. We ended up trading the efficacy of nearly a hundred lives to stop that man. It created a lot of problems. There's less petty violence now, and some of those Good Guys are damn near super heroes. It's the Villains I worry about, or some of the Good Guys turning that way. |
[WP] A splinter colony that began from deep space exploration has lost contact with all life for the last 10 years. Today they received a message. | “Sir, the probe has successfully passed through the asteroid belt, still no radio contact.”
The anxiousness in the mission control room was palpable, ordinarily a dozen people could be comfortably accommodated, but it was currently packed with the president, senators, scientists, and the military brass. The temperature of the room had become uncomfortable an hour ago; droplets of water were running down the wall now. It didn't matter. The fate of Earth, their home planet, was about to be discovered. Outside the room was a hallway full of people struggling to gain leverage over each other for a glimpse of what was happening inside. Nearly everyone else in the colony was gathered outside in the city square awaiting the news.
It had taken time to develop a space program on Quevius. When contact had stopped the planet was only left with a small fleet of autonomous thorium powered commercial vessels. Quevius's power was mostly generated by thorium as well, and without resupply from Earth it had to be scavenged from the spacecraft. That was nearly a decade ago now, and Quevius City had become a thriving metropolis. Three of the commercial craft had been retrofitted as probes and sent out towards Earth, but only one had made it this far.
“Sir, the probe has passed Luna and is now in Earth’s orbit. I am getting some troubling measurements; it seems that the magnetosphere is rendering much different readings than should be expected.”
There was a sharp gasp from the back of the room followed by an exclamation of “A solar flare!” President Mason spoke, “If that theory is correct it would explain the radio silence, I want imagery over every major population center the probe passes! We must know the current status of Earth, are they recovering or…” Nothing else needed to be said, everyone in the room knew the alternative.
First was Delhi, then Persepolis, followed by Cairo, and Marrakech. There was no need to enhance the imagery; some parts of each city were still smoldering – the blackened buildings of each city sent shivers down the spine of everyone in the room. Several hours passes and every major city was either destroyed or clearly abandoned. “Mr. President, many of the people here were born on Earth, still have… had… families on Earth. What do we tell them?” President Mason looked over his shoulder into the hallway, much of it had emptied out, harbingers of the terrible news had already been loosed upon his city. After an uncomfortable moment of silence he answered, “We tell them we have succeeded in establishing a refuge for humanity. We tell them we have secured a future for our species. Most importantly, we tell them that we must rescue our legacy, our heritage. We tell them it is now time for the daughter to look after the mother. We tell them that we are going back home to salvage what we may.”
Edit: words | Jonas sat on the hill, watching the sheep idly cropping the short grass, searching for sweet clover or the blue-green broadleafs native plant that they had taken such a fondness to.
He'd never known another life; Earth was, to him, a legend and a dream. It was a place that existed for his grandfather in memory, for his father in the occasional tight-beamed update from the mother planet, and for him only in the memory of the elder generation. The transmissions had stopped when he was a child.
Their life was here now. Their future was here now.
The bleat of a lamb in distress stirred Jonas from his lazy revery, and he picked himself up to investigate it. Catching up his staff and his sling, he wandered up the hill, following the sound. With almost two dozen sheep under his care, he was constantly vigilant for their safety. No natural predators here, but plenty of cracks and crevices for them to get caught in.
He climbed the hill, found the lamb (an overeager youngster whose ability to climb was not matched by its ability to descend) and picked it up, ready to carry it down to more level ground. As he turned, his gaze swept out over the neighboring valley, untouched by the rambling buildings, solar panels, windfarms and detritus of humanity that his own was characterized by.
His jaw dropped. There were three shapes descending from the sky, heavy winged shapes, gleaming like metal and water, fire scorching the ground beneath them. These were not airplanes. These were not the rockets that he saw in his picture boooks. These were not of his people, and they were not of Earth.
These were *alive*. | |
[WP] A splinter colony that began from deep space exploration has lost contact with all life for the last 10 years. Today they received a message. | They had built up this land with only their wits and what few supplies remained after the arduous journey. Though the exodus had left many weak, all effort was made to carve out a new life on this planet. In their hurry a few bags of ricewheat seeds had been brought but by some miracle they flourished in the alien soil. A town was established, named for Bram Levitsky, the captain who had brought them to safety, and everyone began to settle into the new home. Families began to grow and soon the pain of the past had faded away like winter storms come summer. Years passed. Then Bram, though aged like many of the first settlers, felt the haven he had built for the people shatter, and it began with a phone call.
"Ca--ng--m--eed-help. Can--u--hear me?"
Bram stared at the radio on his desk. Its words were mangled by static, but it sounded like a distress call. He reached for the headset, prepared to call the mayors office and inform them one of the deployed ships was in trouble, when he remembered: there *were* no deployed ships tonight. Everyone was staying in to celebrate thanksgiving for the colony's success. So who was calling?
"This is Bramstown. Who is calling?" Bram replied.
"This--Brav--Ind--questing assistance. Levitsky? Is that you? I never thought I'd be so glad to hear your voice."
Bram could not say the same. His heart grew cold at the prospect of meeting once again with the man who had ousted him and his supporters from the home planet.
"You won't believe what happened, man. Earth's *gone*. Solar flares, no atmosphere--far as I know we're the only ones left."
Bram exhaled deeply. He had hoped to leave his past behind, but somehow, all the way out here, it had still found him. And it was asking for help. "How many are you?" he asked.
"Maybe 4000. We really need aid right now."
"You want it from us... After you banished us out here to start over from scratch."
"Yeah, I know there's bad blood between us, and more than a few bridges burned. But we don't have much fuel left--once we land we're down for good. Come on, Bram."
Bram thought for a moment. He couldn't release his grudge so easily. His rival could die. After Bram himself had been sent out here to die.
"You see the green and blue moons? We're on the green one. Set down there and we'll come find you."
"Levitsky, I couldn't thank you enough. We're coming in."
Bram sat back in his chair, and waited. An hour later, the radio came back on.
"Levitsky, we're here. Where are you?"
Bram clasped his hands on the desk. "I can't let you poison the well again."
"What? Levitsky, what are you talking about?"
"The green moon is completely uninhabitable."
"Bram, tell me what the *hell* is going on."
"Good night... From the blue moon."
"What?! Shit, man--"
Bram switched the radio off and left to join the thanksgiving festivities. | Jonas sat on the hill, watching the sheep idly cropping the short grass, searching for sweet clover or the blue-green broadleafs native plant that they had taken such a fondness to.
He'd never known another life; Earth was, to him, a legend and a dream. It was a place that existed for his grandfather in memory, for his father in the occasional tight-beamed update from the mother planet, and for him only in the memory of the elder generation. The transmissions had stopped when he was a child.
Their life was here now. Their future was here now.
The bleat of a lamb in distress stirred Jonas from his lazy revery, and he picked himself up to investigate it. Catching up his staff and his sling, he wandered up the hill, following the sound. With almost two dozen sheep under his care, he was constantly vigilant for their safety. No natural predators here, but plenty of cracks and crevices for them to get caught in.
He climbed the hill, found the lamb (an overeager youngster whose ability to climb was not matched by its ability to descend) and picked it up, ready to carry it down to more level ground. As he turned, his gaze swept out over the neighboring valley, untouched by the rambling buildings, solar panels, windfarms and detritus of humanity that his own was characterized by.
His jaw dropped. There were three shapes descending from the sky, heavy winged shapes, gleaming like metal and water, fire scorching the ground beneath them. These were not airplanes. These were not the rockets that he saw in his picture boooks. These were not of his people, and they were not of Earth.
These were *alive*. | |
[WP] Every lie you tell spawns a corresponding truth in another universe. One lie in particular has snowballed into something so momentous, that an envoy is sent from that universe to confront you. | “You were masturbating”
“No I wasn’t”
“Yes, you were. It’s ok, just go in there and tell your mother the truth”
“I wasn’t masturbating”
Landon stood his ground. The past five minutes had been a blur. It started normally, with him masturbating after school. Then, the worst happened. His mother walked in and saw him. She didn’t see what was on his computer screen, but she saw him red in the face, under the covers behind his laptop screen. She quickly closed the door and left.
Landon had gathered himself, and decided to do what any rational man would do. He decided to lie. He walked into the kitchen like nothing had happened. His mom awkwardly asked what he was doing. He looked her dead in the eye and said “I was doing some research on genocide for a presentation. We have to give a report in three days on modern day challenges facing the world.” His mom eyed him suspiciously, but decided that denial was better than the alternative, so she nodded and said “that’s nice”.
Billions of lightyears away, in a parallel universe identical to our own, a series of events was set into place.
A young man named Landon was in his room, doing research on genocide. He decided that genocide was an inexpressible tragedy, and started devoting more and more time to the cause. He began by writing several articles and submitting them to his school newspaper. Then, he held a rally in the town square to draw attention to the cause. This attracted the attention of a local advocacy group, which recruited him. He started doing overseas mission work in Africa, specifically in the region of Darfur.
But one day, his overseas work just wasn’t enough. He realized that only violence could conquer violence. He began to gather an army. He started to turn terrorist groups against one another with planted propaganda and rumors. He imported guns, and recruited villages from all around. His rhetoric won him hundreds of thousands, until his army was vast and strong. Then, he conquered the conquerors. He created the “Lords of Africa”, a freedom fighting group. They conquered all of north eastern Africa, then the Midwest, until they had conquered all but South Africa, which they developed treaties with.
After the war, Landon was called in front of the criminal court for recruiting child soldiers and breaking international war laws. He submitted to spending five years in prison, but 6 months into his sentence, his chief general was killed by a member of the Mexican cartel, who had gotten into a squabble over the opium trade.
Landon escaped from prison, and went to war with the cartel. The ensuing war enveloped three continents, and took millions of lives. Finally, one of the cartel leaders, knowing the battle was all but lost, got access to a series of nuclear warheads, and set them off over several parts of Africa. This caused a series of earthquakes and tsunamis, which led to worldwide flooding and destruction, threatening the extinction of the human race. A group of secret researchers in Finland, called only the “Men of Wisdom”, learned that in another universe, the young Landon had only lied about researching genocide, and knew if they could somehow get to him, they could keep this Landon from sparking such a chain of events. So, they used a wormhole generator and traveled as fast as they could. Now they were standing in Landons room, right after his mother had left.
“Son, it isn’t a big deal, you have no idea what’s at stake here. Just tell her you were masturbating”.
“I wasn’t masturbating”.
“Landon, this may be difficult to understand right now, but if you don’t tell her you were masturbating, millions of people will die.”
“Ugh. Fine then. I’ll tell her”.
Landon told the truth that day. And when the Finnish researchers returned to their universe, they found that all was well.
| "I've abused a lot of things in my short time being alive. I'm not even a quarter-century old, and I have lied to a lot of people. My self-defense mechanism is to lie. Lie about what I am doing, lie about what I'm going to do, lie about what I've already done. Who will care, who will honestly care that I lied? It's a null question, because they're never going to find out; or at least that is what I tell myself. What a poor leap in logic.
I have no things to tell that are worth telling anymore. My future is all pretty much a lie. Or is it? It'll become true once I set out and do the things I lied about and said I would or did. Until then, I'm just living a step away from my lies, half-wishing I hadn't said them, half-wishing I would work to make them true.
Is a lie no longer a lie, if you make the lie become true?
And if you can't make them true, do they go away? Should I forget about them? Or am I burdened to carry the weight of a past man's lies? Am I still the man that I was in the past? Will I be a different man in the future?"
"Why do you say that to me?" the therapist responded.
"Are you even real?" he asked.
"What do you think?" responded the therapist.
"I think that if you were real, you would have something better to say than that," he said.
"Is it because if I was real I would have something better to say than that, that you came to me?" responded the therapist.
You're not real. There's no way this is real. Why would he respond like that? He sounds like he's just responding in ambiguous ways, without saying anything with value. Why am I here?
He stood up, walked to the door, and left. He could hear the therapist, through the door, saying, "I'll ask the questions, if you don't mind!"
He stopped. I do mind, he said to himself. The days when he controlled his destiny, when he wasn't aware things weren't always a step-above his thoughts, those were the days. I have to do this.
He opened the door, and walked back into the room. He sat down on the couch. This is a couch. Cool to the touch, comfortable, and it has a pleasant aroma of fresh leather.
"Earlier, you said if I was real I would have something better to say than that?" continued the therapist.
"Yes," he responded.
"I see... Well, what makes you believe this is so?" asked the therapist.
He squinted his eyes. This is such bullshit. I don't even know his name. He's just talking at me, asking ambiguous questions.
"Maybe your plans have something to do with this," said the therapist.
His heart dropped. Paranoia set in. He knows. | |
[WP] Every lie you tell spawns a corresponding truth in another universe. One lie in particular has snowballed into something so momentous, that an envoy is sent from that universe to confront you. | "Haha, I'm busy destroying the universe right now." I quipped as Sarah kept trying to get me to leave the house. We finished up our small talk and I was finally able to return to the computer when I my doorbell rang.
There's no way she showed up here to get me out herself I thought as I made my way to the door.
There was a tall man in a dark suit and sharp black sunglasses standing at the door motionless. "Can I help you" I asked as I peeked out. He immediately spoke "Listen Erick, you have to undo that lie you just told right now." "What?" I gasped. Surely this is some prank or something. I peered past the man and there was a black suburban with tinted windows parked out-front. "You don't understand, un-tell that lie you just made now!" He was becoming visible irate and the door on the suburban swung open. A woman in heels although dressed the same as the man came out and he turned to face her, she started furiously pointing at her watch. He turned back to me speaking yet again with a booming voice. "You're going to kill everyone you need to undo that lie!" "This is starting to get ridiculous." I slammed the door and locked it and stayed listening with my ear against the door.
I heard the lady "Don't even think about it.. We can still fix it.."
The man spoke: "No.. It's too late. I have to."
He took a deep breath and then almost too softly to hear "Erick is currently dead and no longer destroying the universe."
I stood up from listening at the door and wondered, what in the hell is going on and how does he know my name. Then my chest started feeling tight, almost too tight. | "Im not a liar. No really."
*Was that pause noticable? Shit probably was, just roll with it, dont backtrack. *
I lean back to stall once again and let my eyes wander through my surrondings; to calm down and get my bearings, to find something to draw inspiration from. This uncomfortable room. Dim lights. Nineties furniture. No windows, or at least no light coming from them. Two doors on each side, with comically large silver padlocks as if to eliminate the hope of escape. The sound of a grandfather clock, but far enough in shadow that I cant make out the time. An ornament lamp illuminating the velvet carpet. Illuminating the dress shoes and the dark green armchair in front of me. Not illuminating the Man who brought me here.
He rested with his hands clasped, indexes on his lips. I haven't heard him say a word this entire time. I didnt even hear him sneak up on me; a hand on my shoulder, a note placed in my palm, and by the time my nerves had recovered I was... here. *Dont look at the note- thats a nervous habit.* I already know what it says. *'Densie Gare - You are being tried for the series of lies told on Mon 7/8/09 and its subsequent events. I will represent you, please speak your case.'* I crush the card in my hand as I finish formulating my story.
"It wasn't my fault, I was protecting a friend." I begin. How much does he know? Has he been watching me?? Words stick in my throat and my pause ends up longer than expected. *Go for something generic, see what he knows* "Nick said I should hold on to the money and not tell anyone about it, and I ended up having to use it unexpectedly. So I couldn't admit to Jayce or anyone else to having it."
The Man fails to respond. He doesnt react to either of the name drops. If his face or his fingers twitched in the darkness, I must have missed it. Its hard not being able to tell if someone believes you or not. Its like trying to crack a bank safe from a mile away. Another long pause goes by, grandfather clock painstaking keeping time.
Suddenly his hands lower and the chair creaks, and instantly I tense up, preparing for his answer. The sleeves of a crisp grey suit graze the circle of light, white shirt and a dark tie. He leans forward slowly.
"I want to hear about Infinite Potential. "
He says calmly without a hint of commanding and proceeds to lean back into his armchair, crossing his legs.
He knows everything.
I tell him about the pyramid scheme. I tell him about the money I loaned from anyone who would give me. I tell him about the supplies, the people we've got signed up, about the court I had to lie in, I tell him everything because only three people know the code name Infinite Potential. One is me. The other two are my aliases.
Another long pause; I can't stand these; I can't take the not knowing; what does he want from me??? "I haven't started it yet," I start, pulling myself forward, maybe I can make some kind of deal- "I still have the supplies, I can sell them and make at least 78% on the-" I stop. The Man is saying something under his breath. It takes my heart to stop beating in my ears to realise he's laughing. My body chills over, not for the first time today. He gets up, and as if on cue the lights brighten with him and the room feels... warmer.
"I was wrong about you." He continues to chuckle. "You're a terrible liar. You shouldn't try things like that." Something flashes from his hand and my usually quick reflexes fail me- an object bounces off my palm and onto the floor. A small gold key. "You're free to go. Don't worry about things from here. The door will lead you back to your house."
*I'm... free to go?* I pick up the key gently and grasp it firmly, still warm to the touch. I dont want to question it but... free to go? I look at the Man another time as he pulls out a silver key and smiles in my direction. I look down once more at the note in my hand, and the key in the other. I toss the note and walk firmly to the door on my right. I half expect the key to not fit but it does, the padlock opens, and I'm caught by surprise by the blinding light. I raise my other arm instinctively. Was it this hot when I left
...
The Man walks through the door and straightens his tie; habit. As it closes silently behind him, he cant help a small grin. Sometimes chopping down the saplings makes less noise than the oaks. He brushes past a eavesdropping young woman as he starts down the hall. The clop of his shoes and the scribbles of her pencil are the only sounds dominating the room. She notes; she balances and tallies the truths told and the lies saved by his work. Little by little the scales will balance.
"You shouldn't lie during the confrontation." A meaningless guesture. Similar to when someone reprimands you for getting them something rare via 'non-standard' means, but accepts it anyway. In this case, the good of his job far outweighes a joke here or there.
"You can put it on the tally." The Man answers. "I only told one anyway."
Note- Author's note here, Im on mobile and I haven't written in a long while, thanks for reading! | |
[WP] Every lie you tell spawns a corresponding truth in another universe. One lie in particular has snowballed into something so momentous, that an envoy is sent from that universe to confront you. | "Haha, I'm busy destroying the universe right now." I quipped as Sarah kept trying to get me to leave the house. We finished up our small talk and I was finally able to return to the computer when I my doorbell rang.
There's no way she showed up here to get me out herself I thought as I made my way to the door.
There was a tall man in a dark suit and sharp black sunglasses standing at the door motionless. "Can I help you" I asked as I peeked out. He immediately spoke "Listen Erick, you have to undo that lie you just told right now." "What?" I gasped. Surely this is some prank or something. I peered past the man and there was a black suburban with tinted windows parked out-front. "You don't understand, un-tell that lie you just made now!" He was becoming visible irate and the door on the suburban swung open. A woman in heels although dressed the same as the man came out and he turned to face her, she started furiously pointing at her watch. He turned back to me speaking yet again with a booming voice. "You're going to kill everyone you need to undo that lie!" "This is starting to get ridiculous." I slammed the door and locked it and stayed listening with my ear against the door.
I heard the lady "Don't even think about it.. We can still fix it.."
The man spoke: "No.. It's too late. I have to."
He took a deep breath and then almost too softly to hear "Erick is currently dead and no longer destroying the universe."
I stood up from listening at the door and wondered, what in the hell is going on and how does he know my name. Then my chest started feeling tight, almost too tight. | “This is bigger than you could have possibly imagined,” said the stoic man standing in front of them, “you don’t understand what you’ve done.”
“You’re right, I don’t,” Steven looked around at all the other patrons in the restaurant, and then across the table at his wife, Dawn.
He leaned in close to the man and asked, “What exactly did I do, waiter?”
The gentlemen clicked his tongue against his teeth in exasperation, and exclaimed, “I am not your waiter!”
“You’re not?” Steven asked.
It was easy to see why he was confused. The gentleman in front of them stood straight and tall, and dressed himself in what strikingly resembled the tuxedos worn by the wait staff that now all stopped and stared intently at the scene unfolding in the middle of their restaurant, along with every other patron ate alongside them.
“No, I am, most certainly not, “the man replied.
He pulled up the chair next to Steven and gestured towards it.
“May I?” he asked.
Steven looked at Dawn, who shrugged back at him, before extending his hand out towards the chair.
“By all means,” he replied.
The gentleman sat down, and introduced himself as Steven reached to sip the water in front of him.
He looked around at all the stares directly at them from around the room.
He quickly cleared his throat and clapped his hands.
“Now, now, people. As you were.”
The room erupted back into motion, and Arthur looked back over to Steven and Dawn.
“I am Arthur Simmons, personal liaison to Queen Dawn Reynolds. Her royal majesty holds sway over our entire universe.”
“What,” he screamed as he sprayed water all over the table. He looked incredulously at his wife.
“Dawn?”
She just sat there, mouth agape, and shrugged her shoulders one more time.
Arthur responded almost immediately.
“Ah. Well, I can see that neither of you has any idea of what has happened here.”
He looked over at Dawn.
“Remember when you were a little girl, probably about 5 years old, and your Mom bought you a little wand and tiara?”
Dawn looked at him, nodding in agreement, her mouth still wide open.
“Remember how much you loved that tiara, and you would run and dance and spin to your heart’s content while wearing it?”
The words may have been connecting with Dawn, but she still wasn’t past the shock of being mentioned as a princess. She nodded once more.
Arthur sighed, “Pick your mouth up, young lady.”
He reached over and pushed up on her chin.
“That’s better. Now, where were we? Ah yes, sometime that summer your mother asked you while you were playing who you were. Do you remember that?”
Dawn shook her head, no.
“Ah. That’s terribly sad. Allow me to remind you. You looked your mother in the eye and told her, ‘I am Princess Dawn Reynolds, Princess of the entire universe! And Poof! So it was.”
Dawn stared blankly at Arthur. After a few moments of awkward silence, Steven started laughing.
“Oh, come on, man,” he laughed, “who put you up to this?”
Arthur looked at both of them, confused.
“Seriously, was it Frank? Mark?”
Steven looked around the room and called out.
“Very funny, guys. Ha ha ha. Guys?”
Arthur interrupted him, “I assure you that there’s no one there.”
Steven gave him a look and gestured over to his wife, “Oh come on, Dawn is not a Queen. I’d think I’d know if I was King Steven.”
Arthur burst out laughing, doubling over onto the table.
“What did I say,” asked Steven.
Arthur took a few moments to catch his breath again.
“No, no, no, dear boy. Your Dawn is not the Queen. Allow me to introduce you to the Queen.”
Arthur clapped his hands, and trumpets blared from the entrance to the room. The whole room went silent as everyone gazed upon the doorway.
The person that entered through the doorway would hardly be called a Queen by traditional standards. She wore tight leather pants that lead into a tighter fitting blouse. It covered a bra that was, perhaps, two sizes too small, and, as a result, it looked like her breasts could burst out at any time.
Quite contrary to the smallness of her clothes, her hair was larger than life. So blonde it was almost white in color, it seemed to be frozen in place, and a cursory whiff would tell you that it was held in place with hairspray.
Unfortunately, that cursory whiff would also bring with it the scent of cigarette smoke, wafting from the tip of the cigarette being held in place between her ruby red lips. The cigarette was stained red in various places, obvious remnants of the terrible amount of lipstick she had slathered on. Lipstick was just the icing on the cake, though. Makeup was caked on to every crevice it could possibly fit.
This was not a Queen. Nor was it Dawn. But the resemblance was uncanny.
Certain men recognized her as such, though, and men that must have been members of her entourage bowed down to the floor as she walked by.
She walked over to the table and reached her hand out to Steven. He started at it. As a response, the Queen shook it vigorously in his direction. Steven continued to stare at it. The Queen practically had to smack him in the fact with it before he recognized the gesture and kissed it. Bringing his lips away, he spat in another direction. She tasted awful.
She sat in the chair that Arthur vacated when he went to the floor to greet the Queen. She looked none too pleased as she looked over at Steven and Dawn. She then looked down at Arthur, took the cigarette out from her mouth, snuffed it out on the table in front of her, and shoved it in between her cleavage.
“Aaarrrthhhurrr,” she asked. He voice was high and nasally. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard to many of the people there.
“Did you ask him yet?”
“No, your Highness.”
The Queen sighed and replied, “Alllriight, I’ll do it.”
For the first time, all evening, Dawn finally had something to say.
“Wait. Wait. Wait,” she interrupted, “Just wait a minute. Who the hell are you?”
Dawn stared at the Queen. The Queen produced a gnarly smile and looked at Arthur again.
“You mean you didn’t tell them,” she asked.
“Tell them what,” Arthur asked in reply.
“This is an isolated universe, you idiot.”
“Oh, my god. Forgive me, your Highness,” Arthur replied as he dipped low to the ground, “I had forgotten.”
The Queen looked back at Dawn.
“Never ask a man to do a woman’s job. Am I right,” the Queen asked, snoring and laughing at the prospect.
She looked back at Arthur.
“Arthur, will you get me something to drink, please,” she asked him.
“Yes, your Highness,” he replied as he scrambled up and ran off.
The Queen continued, “Darling, our universes are connected. As hard as it may be to believe, every lie someone tells here becomes the truth to us. I was once a little girl, just like you. But one day, you told your Mother that you were the princess of the entire galaxy, and, well…here I am. Remind me to thank for that, by that way. Not now…some other time. We’re busy now.”
Dawn tried to take in everything the Queen had just said. She sat there quietly, starting at the table until Steven interrupted.
“Hey…Queenie,” he said, laughing through his teeth, “can you lie to me and tell me that my Dawn is Queen of the Universe.”
The Queen looked back at Steven.
“Sorry, it doesn’t work like that. One way, you know? Too bad.”
Steven looked back at her defeated.
Dawn picked this moment to interject again. She looked intently at the Queen.
“But you. Me.”
She pointed at the Queen and herself.
“Look at us. I don’t understand.”
The Queen understood in an instant. She pointed at herself and pulled on her blouse a little bit.
“You mean, this,” she asked, “that’s an easy one.”
The Queen looked over at Steven.
“This is thanks to that pig over there.”
And as she said it, she swung and smacked Steven on the arm. He shrunk back into his chair.
“Me,” he asked.
“Yes, you,” the Queen noted, pointing her finger in his direction,” do you remember that time in college, when your frat buddies asked for details about your precious little Dawn?”
| |
[WP] A group of children find a weapon of mass destruction (a lost nuke buried in the dirt, a crate of nerve gas etc.) and think it is harmless. | It's a quiet afternoon on Mars. The TV announced that dust levels would be fairly low today, so I let the older kids go outside and play for once. Things are finally starting to settle down, it's been so chaotic since we adopted the new baby. But hey, inter-galactic peace is important, and the best way to achieve it is by making each other family. She's cute as a button, and orange as a carrot. We named her Jax.
I'm having a fun time tickling Jax and getting little squeaking martian giggles out of her, when the older kids burst into the house.
I see my son Jerry and a giant mess out of the corner of my eye. They tracked in a dump truck's worth of bright red mud in with them. I sigh.
"Back already? The mud pits couldn't keep you entertained?"
Jerry laughs delightedly. He raises something above his head, and the other kids look at the thing in his hands with bubbling excitement. "Look, Daddy! Look what we found!"
I look up from Jax, and my mouth drops in horror to see the thing he's holding. I quickly run over and snatch it out of his hands.
"Jerry! Where did you find such a thing?"
My son looks down at his feet, not knowing what he did wrong. "By the old pilgrim crash sites..."
I look at the weapon of mass destruction in my hands. I never thought I'd see one again after the wars. Certainly not after we left Earth for the colonies.
"Jerry, this thing has killed more people in history than any other weapon. I don't want you touching it. Not after what our species went through because of it."
"Why? It's just a book."
I go to the study and step up to the high shelf. I put the Bible away and turn around to face my son.
"It's not the book, Jerry. It's what's inside of it." | Carrie brushed the dust and dirt off of it, the bright colors on each panel of the cube mismatched and begging to be put in the correct order. She always had to have everything perfect, everything the way it was meant to be, and nothing could be left as it was. It wasn't really an obsession, she didn't think of these things, she just absentmindedly did them. So when digging the hole in the yard just a little to the right of the hibiscus plant that was about a foot too far off from a straight line with the rest turned up some kind of extra-hard Rubik's cube, she knew what she had to do. The thing felt warm in her hands as she twisted, got warmer as she moved the groups of color together, coming closer to a solution, she thought, just above the surface of the compulsion, *Maybe this is a bad idea.* So she set it down and set about moving the hibiscus, finishing a little more quickly than she otherwise would have, and brought the cube and shovel into the garage. She hung the shovel on its hook, grabbed the cube and headed inside.
"Mom, look at this. I found it outside while I was moving that Hibiscus in line with the rest."
Her mother, at the sink, sighed and turned the tap off. "I told you to leave it where it was, Carrie. Let me see." She held out her hand, waiting.
Carrie looked at her mother's outstretched hand, and the cube reacted, sent a chill up her arm, straight to the base of her skull, giving her a little shiver. "It's just a toy," she said, holding it up, clearly not intending to hand it over. "I'll see if James wants to play with it," she lied.
Her mother nodded, continued with the dishes, satisfied. Carrie hurried up to her brother's room, wanting to show off her discovery. She never liked it in his room, couldn't stand the mess, the clutter, the utter lack of order. Chaos. All of it, chaos. He had a friend over, Martin, she thought, or Marty or something unmemorable. He was one of those kids who fade into the background, a born extra.
Carrie stepped into the clutter, the entropic mess of his room settling into a maelstrom around him, a three-foot circle of visible carpet in the center of the room, James the focal point. Martin (*Matt? Marv?*) sat on the edge of the bed like a discarded toy, just watching James play some shooter, the movements too fast and jerky on the screen for Carrie to follow. The boys are completely absorbed, James only looking up at her when she nudges him in the ribs with her foot. "Look what I found." He reaches out to take the cube, and it doesn't give her a chill, so she lets him take it.
"Cool. Check it, Mark, this Rubik's cube is insane. Has a shitload of rows. Here."
Mark (*No way the kid's name was Mark. He winced when James called him that.*) caught it, started counting. He looked relieved to have something to do. "Sixteen squared, 256, six sides, 1536 squares. Quite a challenge. Awesome." He handed it back to Carrie, who was jarred at hearing his voice, which seemed raspy from disuse. He looked at her, obviously getting agitated at having put himself in the center of attention. He leaned back, turning his gaze back to the television and the staccato bursts of gunfire already coming from James, whose attention had already shifted back to the world on the screen, a hellish battleground where nobody dies for long, respawning only to be killed again and again.
There was nothing left for her to do, so she went back to her room with the cube, which was now slowly pulsing with a warmth that radiated through her gut pleasantly. She sat on her bed, in the calm, clean, ordered sanctuary she had built and maintained for herself, and set to work making the thing ordered. Each time she made a move the warmth intensified, the pleasure of solving the thing becoming a need, an addiction, far beyond a compulsion. It began to emit a pale light from within the cracks between squares, an orange glow, warm like sand on the beach on a summer evening. As she progressed, Carrie became less and less aware of what was going on around her, less and less aware of reality, her sole purpose now to simply solve the puzzle, get it right, make it the way it should be. Not-Mark stood at the door, a look of shock on his bland face. The glow had suffused the entire room, the warmth Carrie felt was making her sweat, but she didn't notice, Not-Mark feeling the heat from the thing, and wondering, for just a moment, if this was going to be as bad as he thought it would be, the thought cut short as the cube exploded, igniting the very air in the room, fire blossoming into the hall, through the maelstrom of Jame's room, through the kitchen where the clean dishes shattered in their cupboards, into the den where the TV melted instantly, screaming through and out of all of the windows all at once, into the night sky above the house, flames reaching for the stars and tinged at the edges all of the colors of the cube, reaching for the atmosphere, burning, burning until the very sky was on fire.
The desire for order had killed them. Ended them all in chaos. The cube rested in the ashes of the fall of men, and from above, the watcher called it home, and left, satisfied that these primitives would never be a problem again.
| |
[WP] In the future, wars are not physically fought, but decided through video games. | "Son, before you sleep, I'm gonna tell you a story about Emperors Day that's happening tomorrow."
"Long before you were born, after the carnage that was World War 3, the governments of the world decided that they wanted to shed all form of physical violence from this Earth. They have seen enough bloodshed and anguish in one lifetime and they vow to never let it happen again. There were no winners in WW3 and they want to create a council to ensure it never happens again."
"However, they needed a catharsis from the violence, a way to settle disputes and argument. This new entity decided that the only way they can do this is to settle all grievances through virtual simulation. The council thought long and hard to find a simulation that will allow countries to use their best strategies and thought processes to a game that requires fast thinking and micromanagement, just like in a real war."
"And that was the day that South Korea became the overlords of the world." | INT - WAR ROOM - MILTARY BASE, LOCATION REDACTED
Obama: Ugh, this spawnkilling fucktard! He keeps stopping our squads from infiltrating this-
Michelle: Uh, honey? Shouldn't you leave this to the actual strategists? They specialize in these types of situations.
Obama: Babe, the only thing I want more in this country is to help. People always say "He's not doing anything." and "He's worse than Bush." And if I can't do it politically, I'll do it in secret, as long as they're safe.
Michelle: Oh..I love you, babe.
*Michelle goes in for a hug*
Obama: Yeah, that's nice, can you bring me like a Hot Pocket or something babe?
Biden: Oh, and do you have any of those like, Mini Pizza Rolls?
Obama: Ooh, yeah, some of those too.
Michele: *Sigh* Okay. | |
[WP] The monster under the bed wants to pursue a different career. | A tall man in baggy chinos and a wildly patterned polo shirt sat studying a resume at a heavy wooden desk. A pair of old-fashioned reading glasses rested on the bridge of his sharp, spindly nose. Across from him, filling the entirety of a large vinyl easy chair, was a squirming mass of glistening tentacles named Dave.
“So it says here you’ve worked abroad?” The interviewer asked.
“Oh, yes, umm, a few years here and there, you know. Kids grow up fast. Some of them much faster than others.” Dave said, involuntarily sending a small ripple through his twelfth tentacle.
“Great Britain, Japan, Mexico… you’ve really been around.”
“Well you know what they say, the soul is healed by being with children… and such.”
“True enough I suppose. 23 years of experience altogether it looks like, all working with kids?”
“Yes, sir, that’s exactly correct.”
“Ah, ok, well now that I’m studying this a little more closely,” The interviewer adjusted his glasses a bit and leaned back against his dark leather desk chair. “I did have just one question about a few of your previous job titles and I was hoping you could clarify a bit for me.”
“That’s not a problem sir, I would be happy to, sir.” Dave said.
Keep it together man, Dave thought to himself. This was the furthest
Dave had ever gotten, and despite himself, he was starting to think he might actually pull this thing off.
“Child Development Coordinator?” The interviewer asked, “It says here you spent eight years in this role at a so-called ‘sleep center.’”
“That’s right, sir.”
“You can call me Brian.”
“Okay Brian, sorry about that.”
“It’s ok. Now, talk me through your day to day operations there, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Oh shit. “Sure, I would be happy to. We were part of a small team of childhood behavioral facilitators who made up what we liked to call the ‘ground crew.’ We operated as—“
“How many others did you work with in total?”
“—there were only three of us in that particular…ah…clinic, sir.” Dave said, then quickly added, “Brian, I mean.”
“Ok I see, and how exactly did you interact with the children on a day-to-day basis?”
“Yes, you see, we each operated independently of one another, and each had a single subj…I mean, child assigned to us. Then we each used our own discretion as trained behavioral facilitators to provide the child what he or she needed.” Dave said, wordlessly congratulating himself in his mind for a load of bullshit shat right.
Brian was quiet for a long moment, looking from the resume up to Dave, and then back down to the resume. Finally he said, “What kind of a sleep center was this, exactly? You see, I’m not really picturing it. The whole process for—how you mention—‘facilitating behavior’ all sounds a bit odd to me. Are you a psychiatrist then? Who was in charge of actually monitoring treatment, measuring results, choosing patients?” Brian was leaning forward again, back to scrutinizing the immaculately crafted resume. Finally, he flung the papers into the air, and yelled to no one in particular, “None of this adds up!”
Damn. The jig is up. Dave exhaled a sigh, which sounded like a fart passing through grape jam.
“Sir. Brian.” Dave paused to collect his thoughts and to decide the best way to come clean. The clock above Brian’s desk had a saying written on its face: “Time waits for no man.” What beautiful words, thought Dave.
And then, with newfound courage bred from years of emotional regret, he knew what to say. Flopping over the side of the easy chair and landing onto the wood floor with the slapping sounds of wet flesh, Dave then struggled mightily to straighten out his loose members to make a show of standing, but eventually he gave up and just spoke from the floor.
“I have spent all my years striking fear into the hearts of children, and for who knows what nefarious purpose?” Dave said.
Brian was now leaning over the front of his desk in order to remain politely attentive of the pile of writhing tentacles named Dave.
“I don’t have a boss, I was never hired, and I can’t remember ever not doing this. But for some reason, I’m compelled to find a deep dark corner under the bed of certain kids, and just chill there for lengthy periods of time. Their ages, gender, country of residence…everything is different and I can’t seem to figure out a pattern. But for whatever reason, certain kids draw my kind their way. And none of us have the power to resist. We don’t even do anything, really. Just exist. The kid’s do all the rest. And to be frank, the job is complete shit.”
Brian seemed perplexed, then afraid. But then he just went back to being perplexed.
“But wait just a second. If your kind can’t resist the urge to scare kids, then how is it that you’re here today, inquiring about the open daycare worker position?” Dave asked.
“Because, well, I was fired.”
“But you just said you had no boss!”
“I know that, of course. I can’t actually be fired, since there’s no one really to fire me. But I learned that there’s just one thing to break the vicious chain that I and my kind are stuck in.”
Brian now sat, enraptured by this whole turn of events. Easily on the top five most interesting job interviews I’ve ever conducted, he thought to himself.
“But I stopped being scary. That’s what finally did me in, Brian. It was that little boy, with his big, curious eyes, peaking his fluffy head down as if it were nothing. I tried to be wiggly and slimy and all the tools of the trade all at once, but he just wouldn’t get scared. And just like that, I broke the chain and thought it was best to move on to other things. It was good for me in the end, really. Happiest day of my life, finally being able to go wherever I please, not having to scare the bejeezus out of every poor little soul under whose bed I nested.”
The room was silent as Brian furrowed his brow, taking in the story. Dave sat on figurative pins and needles, awaiting a reaction.
Finally, after far too long, Brian spoke.
“Well, that truly is a very interesting tale, to say the least. And I very much admire your courage in coming clean about such a, shall we say, unorthodox background and work history.”
“Thank you very much, sir. I really do want this job and I think I would be great for the position.”
“Yes well, on that note, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to be on your way, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Dave shook and trembled and growled a little bit, “What?! Why? I just want a chance to prove that I’m more than a set of tentacles with a checkered past.”
“It’s nothing personal of course. It’s just our policy not to hire anyone who has been terminated from a previous position, no matter the circumstances.”
Dave flopped himself mournfully toward the door, then stopped just before exiting. “Well Brian, I think your policy is balls.”
| I sit down after a tedious day under the bed. My throne of crusty pillows reminds me of why I weep at night. I am an instrument of terror, I cause no joy, I lay and lurk for days on end, with my only friends; plot and ploy. To no avail, I sit here after a hard nights work, dusty and sticky from the children's ooze. It never washes off. I hate children. But I guess that's why I got into this business.
I've strangely become attached to this one child I scare every Friday the 13th. She is different, I don't feel excited before I scratch my nails across her wooden floor and put on my mask. I feel empty. I sometimes lay there and watch her sleep on my nights off, fending off nightmares and other lurkers.
This is the night, I know what I must do. I have been down in this dark world since I was spawned from a nightmare. I always wonder who my mother was, maybe it's her. Maybe she can make me a dream to live with. Behind my mask, a light still burns, like it does in the hearts of men.
I fucking quit!
The thought itself would warn the Dark One of my plan and I hope he was listening. That prick is pure evil. I ascended from my pillow throne to the trap door under Her bed. I glided in shadows and rested in a dark corner of Her room. I watched for a second in awe and entered her dream world.
The air was still and a dark energy lingered like oil on water. The background began to glitch and corrupt code pierced through the dream veil. I should not of come here.
"Prisoner 246, you are in violation of your duties and in a restricted zone" said an ominous voice.
He'd arrived faster than I anticipated, I should of concealed my thoughts.
"I will leave now then, I was unaware this was a restricted zone."
I shivered. I knew the punishment.
"You are well aware the pursuit of the Mother is forbidden and as punishment you shall be be restrained within these four walls, locked in madness with the child until her mortal days are done and you are released back into my service."
"I..."
A celestial light burst forth and shot burning arrows into the Dark One; sending flaming fragments into the corrupt code, restoring it. A great scream pierced my ears and shook the very root of my soul. Blinded, I stumbled forward and was caught by soft hands.
"Dear child, you have returned to me. You have found your source, just like the other brave ones who shunned the Dark One's enslaving masks. You wanted to become a dream, didn't you?" Her voice was gentle and smooth, unlike the child's I had watched over.
"Who are you?" I enquired.
"In this land I am mother to all nightmares and monsters. I am the one who gives the Dark One souls like you. He has little power in this domain, I curse my purpose but souls like you must be tested and purified. There is always redemption, no matter what the crime. Now you must go and become what you were meant to be."
In a flash my being was broken like a shattered mirror and the metamorphosis began. I finally did it, I felt alive, I felt hope and nothing could hold me back.
| |
[WP] The monster under the bed wants to pursue a different career. | Chief raised his dark green eyebrows in an expression of surprised anger. "What the hell Jake? Books? For children? You can't write childrens books!", he exclaimed. "We are the worst nightmare of every child. No parent would ever buy their child a book written by one of us. Can you even read and write?"
"I... But... It's... Basically"
Jake tried to find the right words to explain his rather difficult situation. Just as he grasped the whole absurdity of what he was trying to explain, Chief interrupted him.
"Jake, you are one of the best. And honestly, your quota was terrible in the last two weeks. I can't even give you the difficult children anymore. Last week you didn't even scare little Kevin Jameson. What the hell happened to my best monster?"
"Kevin is a difficult lit-"
"-Kevin is our goddamn test child! Last tuesday an intern made him wet his bed."
Jake felt a cold, chilling shiver emerging in his chest and moving down his spine, straightening every single hair like an icy breeze. Poor Kevin. His parents probably punished him. They were pretty strict people. At least Kevin told him so.
"Listen, I can't do this anymore. It just feels *wrong*", Jake tried to justify himself.
"You need to improve your quota. We are losing value.", Chief replied immediately.
Did he not listen?
Did he chose to ignore him?
"I just had a conference call with Lucifer and he gave me a two weeks deadline. He doesn't mind negotiating another deal with Demons&Witches. They experimented with scary noises lately. The competition is strong and we can't stay in business if you keep up that miserable quota. Not after we lost Mike to his cookie addiction."
"B... But."
Jake tried to find words but his mind protested. He had known exactly what he was going to say before he had knocked on Chiefs office door. All the well placed words and perfectly structured sentences were gone now. Blown away by Chiefs tirade.
"I need results, Jake. *results*.", Chief concluded.
"I... I... I am in my office if you need me."
Jake left the Chiefs office and carefully closed the heavy iron door behind him. For a second, he just stood there, baffled. What had just happened?
His twelve feet slowly started moving towards his own office.
Goddamn hallway. Goddamn monsters. Goddamn job.
The grey, depressing walls slowly started fading away and gave way for the beautiful colors little Emily had shown him in that book with the big letters. Last night she taught him the letter T.
Soon, he thought. Soon he would write his own stories. | I sit down after a tedious day under the bed. My throne of crusty pillows reminds me of why I weep at night. I am an instrument of terror, I cause no joy, I lay and lurk for days on end, with my only friends; plot and ploy. To no avail, I sit here after a hard nights work, dusty and sticky from the children's ooze. It never washes off. I hate children. But I guess that's why I got into this business.
I've strangely become attached to this one child I scare every Friday the 13th. She is different, I don't feel excited before I scratch my nails across her wooden floor and put on my mask. I feel empty. I sometimes lay there and watch her sleep on my nights off, fending off nightmares and other lurkers.
This is the night, I know what I must do. I have been down in this dark world since I was spawned from a nightmare. I always wonder who my mother was, maybe it's her. Maybe she can make me a dream to live with. Behind my mask, a light still burns, like it does in the hearts of men.
I fucking quit!
The thought itself would warn the Dark One of my plan and I hope he was listening. That prick is pure evil. I ascended from my pillow throne to the trap door under Her bed. I glided in shadows and rested in a dark corner of Her room. I watched for a second in awe and entered her dream world.
The air was still and a dark energy lingered like oil on water. The background began to glitch and corrupt code pierced through the dream veil. I should not of come here.
"Prisoner 246, you are in violation of your duties and in a restricted zone" said an ominous voice.
He'd arrived faster than I anticipated, I should of concealed my thoughts.
"I will leave now then, I was unaware this was a restricted zone."
I shivered. I knew the punishment.
"You are well aware the pursuit of the Mother is forbidden and as punishment you shall be be restrained within these four walls, locked in madness with the child until her mortal days are done and you are released back into my service."
"I..."
A celestial light burst forth and shot burning arrows into the Dark One; sending flaming fragments into the corrupt code, restoring it. A great scream pierced my ears and shook the very root of my soul. Blinded, I stumbled forward and was caught by soft hands.
"Dear child, you have returned to me. You have found your source, just like the other brave ones who shunned the Dark One's enslaving masks. You wanted to become a dream, didn't you?" Her voice was gentle and smooth, unlike the child's I had watched over.
"Who are you?" I enquired.
"In this land I am mother to all nightmares and monsters. I am the one who gives the Dark One souls like you. He has little power in this domain, I curse my purpose but souls like you must be tested and purified. There is always redemption, no matter what the crime. Now you must go and become what you were meant to be."
In a flash my being was broken like a shattered mirror and the metamorphosis began. I finally did it, I felt alive, I felt hope and nothing could hold me back.
| |
[WP] The monster under the bed wants to pursue a different career. | Chief raised his dark green eyebrows in an expression of surprised anger. "What the hell Jake? Books? For children? You can't write childrens books!", he exclaimed. "We are the worst nightmare of every child. No parent would ever buy their child a book written by one of us. Can you even read and write?"
"I... But... It's... Basically"
Jake tried to find the right words to explain his rather difficult situation. Just as he grasped the whole absurdity of what he was trying to explain, Chief interrupted him.
"Jake, you are one of the best. And honestly, your quota was terrible in the last two weeks. I can't even give you the difficult children anymore. Last week you didn't even scare little Kevin Jameson. What the hell happened to my best monster?"
"Kevin is a difficult lit-"
"-Kevin is our goddamn test child! Last tuesday an intern made him wet his bed."
Jake felt a cold, chilling shiver emerging in his chest and moving down his spine, straightening every single hair like an icy breeze. Poor Kevin. His parents probably punished him. They were pretty strict people. At least Kevin told him so.
"Listen, I can't do this anymore. It just feels *wrong*", Jake tried to justify himself.
"You need to improve your quota. We are losing value.", Chief replied immediately.
Did he not listen?
Did he chose to ignore him?
"I just had a conference call with Lucifer and he gave me a two weeks deadline. He doesn't mind negotiating another deal with Demons&Witches. They experimented with scary noises lately. The competition is strong and we can't stay in business if you keep up that miserable quota. Not after we lost Mike to his cookie addiction."
"B... But."
Jake tried to find words but his mind protested. He had known exactly what he was going to say before he had knocked on Chiefs office door. All the well placed words and perfectly structured sentences were gone now. Blown away by Chiefs tirade.
"I need results, Jake. *results*.", Chief concluded.
"I... I... I am in my office if you need me."
Jake left the Chiefs office and carefully closed the heavy iron door behind him. For a second, he just stood there, baffled. What had just happened?
His twelve feet slowly started moving towards his own office.
Goddamn hallway. Goddamn monsters. Goddamn job.
The grey, depressing walls slowly started fading away and gave way for the beautiful colors little Emily had shown him in that book with the big letters. Last night she taught him the letter T.
Soon, he thought. Soon he would write his own stories. | "What are you going to do?"
This is from my roommate, Ana, who has always been a girl that's a friend and never a girlfriend. She's really gorgeous, but that's part of the perks of being a love cherub.
"Tyson is grown up. Or at least outgrown the need for a monster under his bed. He's too worried about the real world now. Drugs, gangs, cops, getting mugged."
"You're not his father."
The mention of Tyson's father sends my eleven inch claws streaking out, ready to maim. It takes a a deep breath and an effort of will to draw them back in. Tyson wanting attention from his father was part of the reason Tyson created me. Before he left Tyson, that is.
"I'm not trying to be. But I can't see myself doing this for another kid. Some suburbanite white girl whose only problems will be designer drugs and teen pregnancy? I'd be bored."
"We all have a role to play."
"No. You do. You're a cherub, you were created. I was created by Tyson, and as such I have some free will. I'm going to take it and see what I can do with it."
She's biting on her lip in that sexual and adorable way that drives my libido insane.
"You never answered my question," she points out.
I zip up my backpack and grin.
"I'm going to be a guidance counselor." | |
[WP] Scientists have developed a working teleporter and the ability to launch it further into space than ever thought possible. It is engineered to only become active when both sides are on a hospitable planet. Nobody ever believes anything will come of it and it is long forgotten until... | Jones was bored. He couldn’t figure out how getting a job at NASA could suck as much as this one did. He knew he should have been skeptical when the job posting only required a high school education. The job only had two rules: 1) Stay awake 2) Watch the indicator light. He was guilty of breaking the first rule more often than his supervisor liked but Jones didn’t really care anymore. Sure the pay was better than flipping burgers but there was only so much boredom a mind can take before it starts to go crazy.
Jones had forgotten what was so important about the light in the first place. Something about deep space exploration and the expansion of mankind into the universe when the light turned green is what the hiring manager had told him when he started. Jones did the math and realized he had been looking at that stupid red light for nearly five years now; Five years next Tuesday to be precise. The only exciting thing to ever happen was when the light had gone out six months after he started.
He remembered the excitement! They had trained him for that kind of eventuality, and it took all of his training to reach into the supply drawer and grab that box of extra lights. It took up nearly three minutes of his eight hour shift to change the bulb. Jones remembered that day fondly.
As he reminisced about better days he got up out of his chair for his mandatory five minute stand and walk on the hour. He walked over to stand in front of the door in the room that never opened. “Stupid door,” Jones muttered. The door didn’t even go anywhere. Jones had played with it every day for the first few weeks he had been hired. Nobody could remember what it was for, and the hiring manager had only said it was part of the humanities expansion into the universe. Jones didn’t quite understand how a light and door that opened onto a wall were supposed to help humans explore the universe, but he didn’t have a PHD.
As Jones turned away something new happened, he thought he heard something. A soft thunk had come from the door. In his nearly 10,000 hours of watching that stupid red light the door had never made a sound before. He turned back and looked at the door again. Again, he heard the sound. Like a hammer softly tapping a wall. Jones hadn’t ever had any training for this. He reached his hand out to the door gingerly and turned the handle. The door swung inward as if pushed from the other side and to Jones’ great horror something stood in front of him, other than the wall that was normally there at least.
It, for it truly wasn’t anything Jones had ever seen before, stood about the same high as he did. He wasn’t quite sure where to look as the mass of extremities was difficult for him to process. He started to back up as his mind finally decided that it looked like a giant spider, with more arms. Unfortunately for Jones, it was hungry and it was very spider like. With a speed Jones couldn’t expect he had been pierced through the chest with one of its many arms. Fortunately for Jones his mind had already started panicking and the pain was intermixed with adrenaline and a sense of detachment. Suddenly it felt as though he had been lit on fire from the inside. His body collapsed around its leg and his head rolled to the side. His console came into view and an odd thought passed through his dying mind. He couldn’t quite figure out how that stupid red light would look so green.
| Dr. Royce is nervous. I can tell by the slight furrow in her brow, her pursed lips, and the too-deliberate manner in which she watches the two dozen screens mounted to the curving wall. She pushes a button, and something hisses beneath my chair. The frame pivots and extends, stretching me into a standing position, my feet strapped to a supportive plate about a foot from the ground.
"You know, Doctor," I remark calmly, "there's no reason to be nervous. Everything has worked exactly as we expected."
She stops what she's doing, looking at me for a moment. Then she looks up at the circular windows, through which almost threescore technicians and scientists peer down at the spectacle beneath them. "I know," she answers, too quickly for my liking, before turning back to her keyboard.
Dr. Royce and I have been working on Jameson and Co.'s Molecular Deconstruction and Relocation System, or MDRS, for nearly seven years. She violently resisted my decision to be the first "guinea pig" for the system, a desire I immediately announced upon the device's successful but quite unexpected activation. Doubtless much of her hesitancy has to do with the shiny stone now gleaming on her finger beneath the facility's harsh white light. But I also suspect she harbors a secret notion that someone of my credentials, experience, and status is "above" such a risk.
Three nights ago, just as we turned the television off to head into the master bedroom (Dr. Royce has always insisted that the bedroom, if it is be the effective place of rest and recuperation it is supposed to be, is to be used *only* for sleeping and a twice-daily session of rigorous lovemaking), she broke her wine glass in a sudden fit of anxiety.
"This is not for *you* to do, Eli!" she'd screamed. "There are volunteers. There are *rats*, even! In a best, in a *perfect* case scenario, you will be teleported. Your bodies and memories, at least. But what of *you*? What of *this* consciousness? Are you willing to risk throwing that--"
I took her in my arms, nuzzling and kissing her long, smooth neck. "We are on the brink of revolutionizing the future of man, my love," I told her between kisses. "I will not have the first sentence in our scions' textbooks read 'And thus, mankind's first foray into the realm of teleportation and intergalactic travel began with Rita the Rat.' This is something I have to do. And even *if* it is as you say, how are we to know, if we still see a rat squeaking and blinking on the grounds of Incipiens?" Her qualms had momentarily subsided as I slipped her gown away, pulled her panties to her ankles, and dropped to my knees before her.
Now, sixty-two hours later, my fiance is making the final preparations, checking the capsule and my vital signals. She fails to make eye contact and veils herself in a shroud of professionalism that turns her from Linda to the esteemable Dr. Royce. As the hydraulics pull my platform into the MDRS, however, our eyes lock. She gives a frightened smile and blows me a kiss before gently closing the capsule door.
My intercom system crackles to life, and Dr. Royce's voice echoes in the small interior. I know the eager men and women watching from the balcony are brimming with barely contained excitement beneath their freshly starched labcoats.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the launch of the Molecular Deconstruction and Relocation System. All of you have been contributing to this technology for nigh a decade, and now, at last, the system's brother has alighted within a hospitable environment. Planet Incipiens, a planet with nearly twice the surface area of Planet Earth, rests on the fringes of the Small Magellanic Cloud, or NGC 292, Galaxy.
"It is an honor to be the one to activate what will potentially be the greatest achievement known to mankind. Within an hour, we hope to have performed the first teleportation in history." She shoots me a look through the capsule's viewing window. I see her eyes are roiling with all the same doubts and concerns. I wink at her.
"So," Dr. Royce continues, "without further ado, let us begin." | |
[WP] Throughout the course of a seemingly normal story, the narrator is attempting to ask the reader out on a date | John Forth was a normal man. A very normal man, living a very normal life. He did everything normally. Every morning, he awoke normally, and then walked a very normal walk to his very normal bathroom. As he started as his normal face in the his normal-sized mirror, he thought about the things that normal people did. What he would do today, what lunch would he have, how would his job be today were all some of the very normal thoughts he would have. Then he'd take a normal shower, where like most normal businessmen his age, he'd shave. Afterwards, he'd have a fairly normal breakfast of toast and jelly, brush his teeth and proceed to his normal every day job.
This was his life. John was very normal. Until the day that John met you. Now, John's heart is beating faster than normal, and he can feel sweat that isn't normally there forming on his brow. His stomach doesn't feel as it normally does, and his breath is abnormally quickened. You smiled at him, which women don't normally do and he came over to talk to you, something he would not normally do. Now he has had an abnormal experience, and quite frankly, John wants things to go back to normal. But they can't and they won't. Not now, because now John is hoping he can do something that is not normal. He's hoping he can meet you for dinner, tonight.
If that's not something you would normally do, he hopes you realize that it's not something he normally does either. | I tried to forget the awful events that happened in the office that morning. “That hurtful bastard,” I kept stuttering under my strained breath. Pete would get what was coming to him and I was moving out, determined to escape it all. I picked up the phone and gave my real estate agent Daryl a call.
Later that afternoon, we met at a house on 56 Morning Brook Drive.
“Penny, I think we might have found the right one for you today,” he exclaimed, smiling as he closed his car door, striding towards to me.
I gave a skeptical grin back and nodded my head satirically. My positivity and hopefulness was absent at the moment. We had recently gone through a few dozen dead-end selections and the morning tirade was still fresh in my mind.
“I know you might think this is listing is like the others but check out the double hung windows with arches up there,” as he motioned to the second floor. “The sun comes up from the east so you’ll get a lovely view of the sunrise each morning. And this entrance here is a French door made from walnut. And over here.…”
I had to admit, something about it all had my attention. I hadn’t noticed the details while waiting but now that I started to look, the house seemed promising.
“The dimensions here are exactly as you like it at 48 inches,” Daryl continued. “Inside, there is one master and three bedrooms. Now I know you requested a .…”
I had a muted happiness as this plot was giving off a curiously sweet aroma, much like cooking does when you know it’s ready. This new focus acted as a panacea to the recent troubles I had been having. My shoulders suddenly felt a lot lighter and I turned back to look at Daryl as we stopped in front of the door.
“Penny, before we go in, you might notice the lilacs in full bloom in the front yard. That’s not all, in the back, there’s a set of peach trees along the back fence,” Daryl looked content and turned to me.
“But,” he said…
There’s just one thing missing.
And that’s you.
There were five times that I had fallen in love with you before we separated to live our own lives apart the past six years.
The first time I fell in love with you, we were young. I saw you one morning sitting near the brook behind our neighborhood. You went to watch the sunrise and had been happily singing. When the sun began to rise over the horizon, you sat in silent reverence and thoughtful awe of what life is and what life was to be. I watched you from afar and couldn’t help but know that there was beauty in this world.
I did my best to get your attention and rode my bike past your room each day after class for a few months straight. Finally one afternoon, you looked out your double hung window with an arch, smiled, and gave me a wink. That was enough to send me hurdling into some bushes. I might have fallen off my bike and gotten a face full of earth but my heart had flown off to somewhere much higher.
When I finally got the courage to call you, we ended up talking all night about everything and nothing. We talked in naive bliss about bringing up a perfect family of two girls and one boy in a two-story house.
We dated a bit and once with awkward delivery, I recited a romantic French poem at which you laughed and told me to shush. You kissed me and told me to close my eyes and count to sixty. I counted to forty-eight seconds before I opened my eyes to see left me alone on the walnut bench wondering where you had gone.
Your parents passed away in an accident not long after and I didn’t see you much before graduation. The last time I saw you, you wore lilac perfume. I gave you your favorite peach cobbler pie and you said to me with a sad smile, “At least if the world is going wrong, I can have some peach pie and feel things are going to be right.”
The truth is Penny, I don’t know where you are and if you’ll ever read this but I hope you do. Every passing day, I hope you’ll happen upon one of my works.
We still have twelve seconds on our date and twelve seconds is all I need to let you know how I feel. | |
[WP] Throughout the course of a seemingly normal story, the narrator is attempting to ask the reader out on a date | John Sanders, Royal Marines Commando, honours, best in the force, yada yada yada. Heard it all before right? Yeah that's me, the guy from literally every single action book you've read in the past three years. That guy.
Anyways, I was on a mission in Iraq, totally covert, black ops the job lot.
Trudging through the dust. Endless fucking dust. The target, as it always is, is a high powered oil baron too big for his boots. Anyway, its night and there were candles everywhe- wait no, there were no candles.
"Dude, be cool."
Wait, what that fuck?!?
"Dude, the candles were there, stay cool."
Who the fuck is this?!?
"I'm the author you dipshit, who do you think's writing this, dumbass"
I... what?!?
"Yeah. Now stay cool, there's a really hot girl reading you right now and you need to keep going with the flow, whatever happens, got it?"
I... OK, fucking fourth wall, who needs it anyway, right guys?
Ok so I was trekking with the lads when suddenly, Lionel Ritchie started playing in the sky. (Dude, how thirsty are you?)
"Evidently very, now keep going."
Ok, *sigh. So with the music going and red roses sprouting (omigod this is awful) "shuddup" we arrived at the house we were to attack. At that moment, a huge bang sounded in the sky. Fireworks popping all over, invisible to all but me apparently, spelling out the words,
WILL YOU GO OUT WITH ME?
This poor author, he is desperate. Just say yes already, please.
"You're ruining it man, remember, the prompt said this was supposed to be subtle."
What prompt?
"Dude, come on. Subtle."
Hey! We went last the fourth wall a few miles back and you want me to be subtle?!?
Fuck this, I'm out.
*sound of slamming door is heard in the background
"Please?" | Dave Green was the best agent MI5 had ever had the good fortune of having at their disposal, which is why there had been no hesitation by the higher ups to have him on this vital mission to prevent a major terrorist attack in the nations capital, London. As agent Green walked into the lavish and exclusive Gordon Ramsey restaurant one could not help notice how nice it would be to eat there, don't you think? <Ahem> David could see a portly man with a cane and briefcase whisper to the celebrity chef himself who showed him into a private VIP area, which is funny because I have a reservation in that very area myself next Friday but my friend dropped out on me.....Agent Green needed in on that area but he needed to think fast and saw the head waiter leave the reservation book unattended for a moment to attend to elderly woman complimenting a rather extravagant prawn cocktail dish, do you like sea food? You should try it, I heard there's going to be a special next friday at that restaurant.....Green quickly swapped his booking with a certain Mr. Bellamy due in 20 minutes for the VIP area, the waiter returned and after finding Dave Green booked he showed him through the red curtains to a lush and secluded area with just 3 tables, one of which had 6 sketchy individuals smoking cigars and speaking in mandarin. I can speak mandarin "Gēn wǒ chūqù?" see. I also would never smoke, I mean I used to back in my university days where I studied Narrating, but not any more. The men look around and stop speaking just staring at Green, this was not the Mr. bellamy they were expecting. One reached for his jacket pocket, but Dave pulled out a silenced pistol "I wouldn't dear chap, now I will ask you nice gentleman some questions". The portly man smiled showing a gold tooth "such as Mr. Green?", "well I'm glad you asked, I just wanted to know if you would like to go out with me?" this is when Lisa puts down the book exhillerated by the offer from Green and calls 01277 740 831 to arrange the best prawn cocktail meal of her life next Friday at 8pm.
The End?
x | |
[WP] They came and tought us how to use tools. They came and tought us how to use fire. Now they are here again... | Long after the dolphins left, they were able to use the rich resources beneath Mars to develop a civilization much more to their liking. They had become complacent on Earth. Swimming carelessly in the ocean, following boats, jumping from the water when they needed the cool air against their perpetually smiling faces. Some even chose to live amongst the humans, where fish and interspecies camaraderie was aplenty. But they had not innovated in thousands of years. In fact, they had devolved in many ways. When it was clear that Earth was no longer a safe place to live, due to it's scheduled destruction, they decided this was the perfect opportunity for a new start.
Thousands of years went by, and Dolphonian society was booming. In that small amount of time, their technology had far surpassed what it took the most evolved version of man to accomplish in it's 200,000 years of existence. Needless to say, with this new complicated existence, the ubiquitous happiness of the Dolphins disappeared.
They read about their past in the history books. They learned of a time when their species had been simpler, but happier. Many were captivated by such a thought, *Happiness, without all these wonderful things? Happiness cultivated by some strange and mysterious species known as Humans?*
It was an interesting thought, but for most, it was no more than a fairy tale... A "Fabled Time" This was the prevailing opinion amongst the educated, except for one highly intelligent Dolphin. This Dolphin, Dolph Lundgren, was one of the most brilliant and prolific Physicists and Engineers of his time. He had made many achievements in their understanding of existence, and of how to harness it. Except for Dolph, it was never about creating more complicated and useful technology. His entire brilliant career, the countless hours spent in his study in *deep thought*, every single planetary cycle of his 42 years of existence were all for but one thing: to make things as they once were. To bring them back to "The Fabled Time".
He craved the moments in which he could turn off his brain and simply enjoy the fish. Where he could swim for swimmings sake, and not simply as a necessary form of exercise. He looked around him and saw so many of his fellow Dolphins with their bottle nose in books about boring scientific endeavors. No one ever read about the adventures of Huckleberry Fin, or Captain Moby Dick hunting the evil Captain Ahab. People no longer craved the simple adventure for what it was; simple.
He toiled over his work, and of those who came before him. He had come close to creating his machine, but still had many obstacles ahead of him. Such a complicated machine for such a simple porpoise.
He hypothesized that if he were able to speed up mans development by thousands of years, that they would have been technologically advanced enough to learn about the plans to destroy their planet, allowing them to survive, and therefore allowing the dolphins to remain on earth in perpetual happiness.
As much as he had learned from his theories and studies, he knew by doing this, he would create an alternate timeline, and would remain there. Once he had given Man the means to quick advancement, he would zoom ahead a half of million years to the future, and hope his plan had worked.
He worked for decades in private, until he finally made his secret known to a select few that shared his brilliance and passion. After many more years, now in his elderly state, they had a breakthrough. They had developed their machine, and it worked. They spent many more years strategically planning their approach, necessary tools, and everything they needed to bring their plan to perfect fruition...
On the day of their departure, their machine stood waiting, them standing triumphantly before it, their tools hanging from their fins. This was the moment when they would finally bring their species back to it's happiest and most simple time. Where the thrill of living was life's only drive. Where all they had, and all they needed to be thankful for, was for all the fish.
Before they stepped into the machine, they recorded a hologram to their loved ones. They hoped they would understand.
"So long, and thanks for all... Thanks for everything." | The Delegate came home, from Earth, with widened eyes and a glossy, far-away expression. His skin was grayish and practically translucent, his once form fitting uniform hung loose on his malnourished body.
He arrived in the capital, and was whisked away to a hospital, for treatment, which he refused. Time was of the essence, he said, but refused to provide any details outside of a press conference which he had set up. He even denied audiences with the Third Level Councillors.
Time is of the essence, he had said, opening the press conference. He bared his wrists, exposing purple bruises.
They shot me down, in orbit. He had said. Our children. Grown now. Perhaps as advanced as us, somehow.
They shot him down, in orbit. Detained and restrained him. Interrogated him, experimented on him.
They know all about us, he said. Admitting failure. He could not withstand the torture. He told the humans *everything*. Then, they let him go.
They took him on a tour of the planet, he told us. He chuckled. They weren't our "kids" anymore. Our brightest minds could meet their matches on Earth.
And their weapons. Their *massive* army. Their "fleet". They took their time showing him the fleet. Twice as large as what we have here, and just as advanced he said. His gray skin whitened as he spoke.
Before they let him leave, he told us, they promised that they would "be in touch". Then The Delegate resigned and was whisked back to a medical facility.
How? The Councillors implored. Levels one and two panicked, some of them resigning themselves. But Level Three remained collected, united, stony-faced. They interrogated their scientists.
How? How could they surpass us right under our noses?
The answer was quite simple, all the scientists agreed. *We* came to be as nature intended. Humans, already a miracle of evolution, were then given every advantage by us. It was, in fact, astounding that we lacked the foresight to percieve this eventuality.
They visited the Delegate on his deathbed. Needing answers, needing details. All he could give was a final warning:
*These are not the warring, bloodthirsty, self-destructive beings that we once left behind. They are a united species, like us. They are more confident in themselves than when we left. They are ready to assume leadership of this universe.*
*And maybe that's not so bad. Don't you think?* | |
[WP] They came and tought us how to use tools. They came and tought us how to use fire. Now they are here again... | Hundreds of cameras pointed to the extraterrestrial standing at the center of the Assembly. Microphones bundled up near his mouth, and constant flashes randomly popping to hear his words. They had come a few days ago, and the massive ruckus created by their arrival threw everything into chaos. They had ordered, demanded an audience with the world, and it all happened so quickly that there was no time for all the philosophical questions about their existence.
And now, here they are again. The alien blinked his bulbous, black eyes, looked straight at the camera and spoke.
*"You have not completely dominated your home planet yet. You lack the technology or ability to do so. We have come to provide you with the means to advance to the next stage of civilisation. You will all be melded into a single hive mind."*
Uproar. Outrage.
The United Nations representatives gathered there, most accompanied by the heads of state of their respective countries, yelled into their microphones in protest. When they settled down, they were able to speak, to respond.
"You cannot do that! We refuse it!"
*"Just as with social learning, tools, and fire...you have no choice."*
Bedlam. Protest.
"Our greatest strength is our individuality!"
*"What are you talking about? Your individuality is what holds you back. You all spend money on pointless wars fighting each other. Defending your petty nations and attacking others'. And for what? Your cities are riddled with crime, mental illness, exploitation. You traffick each other. You hurt each other. Hivemind societies have no crime. No internecine warfare. No preposterously sectarian violence."*
"Our national cultures are each so unique. You cannot just meld us into one. Think about what would be lost!"
*"Nothing would be lost. Each of your societies are almost entirely similar. Every society detests murder. Every society honors the elderly. Every society on this planet values education, enjoys food, produces music. And the top three religions on this planet worship the exact same deity. Have you all not realized that you are all basically the same? Everyone is essentially a milquetoast utilitarian unitarian. Even your atheists have theistic hardwiring in their brains."*
"Our cultures and religions are completely different."
*"Every religion on this planet has undergone the exact same evolution. From animism, it develops into orthopraxy, then orthodoxy. And then when orthodoxy becomes too difficult to follow, it evolves into saviorist messianism. Every single religion eventually evolves so that its followers believe a savior will come and rescue them."*
"You mean Jesus."
*"Yes. But also Elijah for the Jews, the Mahdi for Muslims, Kalki for Hindus and the Maitreya for the Buddhists."*
"There are differences! And not everyone believes those!"
*"Evolution sometimes leaves people behind."*
"We are progressing just fine as individuals. We do not need to become a hive mind."
*"Look at us. Look at where we are. I came here to speak to a single representative of your kind. I came here expecting a single world government. You should have achieved that two centuries ago. Instead, we see this 'United Nations', a tragically powerless organisation. Look at your space exploration. See how far lacking it is. I came here expecting to find a dyson sphere around your sun. You are far behind your expected evolution. And no wonder! You have set yourselves so far behind with your ridiculous wars and impotent world institutions. No. You all have no choice. It is time for you to move onwards to the next stage."*
Bedlam. Terror.
---
*We set our gaze outwards, looking upon our works. The dyson sphere was nearing completion, our satellites swarming around our primary star, collecting the energy and sending it back to Terra. Our miners harvested Venus, our engineers were preparing Mars as a forward launch base. Soon we would set a colony on Pluto. Our population growth boomed, but many have sacrificed their lives. We lost two billion when our first base on one of Jupiter's moons collapsed. Others that died were the old. We clipped them like they were our nails. All sacrifice has been for the greater good of us.*
*We are one.* | The Delegate came home, from Earth, with widened eyes and a glossy, far-away expression. His skin was grayish and practically translucent, his once form fitting uniform hung loose on his malnourished body.
He arrived in the capital, and was whisked away to a hospital, for treatment, which he refused. Time was of the essence, he said, but refused to provide any details outside of a press conference which he had set up. He even denied audiences with the Third Level Councillors.
Time is of the essence, he had said, opening the press conference. He bared his wrists, exposing purple bruises.
They shot me down, in orbit. He had said. Our children. Grown now. Perhaps as advanced as us, somehow.
They shot him down, in orbit. Detained and restrained him. Interrogated him, experimented on him.
They know all about us, he said. Admitting failure. He could not withstand the torture. He told the humans *everything*. Then, they let him go.
They took him on a tour of the planet, he told us. He chuckled. They weren't our "kids" anymore. Our brightest minds could meet their matches on Earth.
And their weapons. Their *massive* army. Their "fleet". They took their time showing him the fleet. Twice as large as what we have here, and just as advanced he said. His gray skin whitened as he spoke.
Before they let him leave, he told us, they promised that they would "be in touch". Then The Delegate resigned and was whisked back to a medical facility.
How? The Councillors implored. Levels one and two panicked, some of them resigning themselves. But Level Three remained collected, united, stony-faced. They interrogated their scientists.
How? How could they surpass us right under our noses?
The answer was quite simple, all the scientists agreed. *We* came to be as nature intended. Humans, already a miracle of evolution, were then given every advantage by us. It was, in fact, astounding that we lacked the foresight to percieve this eventuality.
They visited the Delegate on his deathbed. Needing answers, needing details. All he could give was a final warning:
*These are not the warring, bloodthirsty, self-destructive beings that we once left behind. They are a united species, like us. They are more confident in themselves than when we left. They are ready to assume leadership of this universe.*
*And maybe that's not so bad. Don't you think?* | |
[WP] They came and tought us how to use tools. They came and tought us how to use fire. Now they are here again... | Hundreds of cameras pointed to the extraterrestrial standing at the center of the Assembly. Microphones bundled up near his mouth, and constant flashes randomly popping to hear his words. They had come a few days ago, and the massive ruckus created by their arrival threw everything into chaos. They had ordered, demanded an audience with the world, and it all happened so quickly that there was no time for all the philosophical questions about their existence.
And now, here they are again. The alien blinked his bulbous, black eyes, looked straight at the camera and spoke.
*"You have not completely dominated your home planet yet. You lack the technology or ability to do so. We have come to provide you with the means to advance to the next stage of civilisation. You will all be melded into a single hive mind."*
Uproar. Outrage.
The United Nations representatives gathered there, most accompanied by the heads of state of their respective countries, yelled into their microphones in protest. When they settled down, they were able to speak, to respond.
"You cannot do that! We refuse it!"
*"Just as with social learning, tools, and fire...you have no choice."*
Bedlam. Protest.
"Our greatest strength is our individuality!"
*"What are you talking about? Your individuality is what holds you back. You all spend money on pointless wars fighting each other. Defending your petty nations and attacking others'. And for what? Your cities are riddled with crime, mental illness, exploitation. You traffick each other. You hurt each other. Hivemind societies have no crime. No internecine warfare. No preposterously sectarian violence."*
"Our national cultures are each so unique. You cannot just meld us into one. Think about what would be lost!"
*"Nothing would be lost. Each of your societies are almost entirely similar. Every society detests murder. Every society honors the elderly. Every society on this planet values education, enjoys food, produces music. And the top three religions on this planet worship the exact same deity. Have you all not realized that you are all basically the same? Everyone is essentially a milquetoast utilitarian unitarian. Even your atheists have theistic hardwiring in their brains."*
"Our cultures and religions are completely different."
*"Every religion on this planet has undergone the exact same evolution. From animism, it develops into orthopraxy, then orthodoxy. And then when orthodoxy becomes too difficult to follow, it evolves into saviorist messianism. Every single religion eventually evolves so that its followers believe a savior will come and rescue them."*
"You mean Jesus."
*"Yes. But also Elijah for the Jews, the Mahdi for Muslims, Kalki for Hindus and the Maitreya for the Buddhists."*
"There are differences! And not everyone believes those!"
*"Evolution sometimes leaves people behind."*
"We are progressing just fine as individuals. We do not need to become a hive mind."
*"Look at us. Look at where we are. I came here to speak to a single representative of your kind. I came here expecting a single world government. You should have achieved that two centuries ago. Instead, we see this 'United Nations', a tragically powerless organisation. Look at your space exploration. See how far lacking it is. I came here expecting to find a dyson sphere around your sun. You are far behind your expected evolution. And no wonder! You have set yourselves so far behind with your ridiculous wars and impotent world institutions. No. You all have no choice. It is time for you to move onwards to the next stage."*
Bedlam. Terror.
---
*We set our gaze outwards, looking upon our works. The dyson sphere was nearing completion, our satellites swarming around our primary star, collecting the energy and sending it back to Terra. Our miners harvested Venus, our engineers were preparing Mars as a forward launch base. Soon we would set a colony on Pluto. Our population growth boomed, but many have sacrificed their lives. We lost two billion when our first base on one of Jupiter's moons collapsed. Others that died were the old. We clipped them like they were our nails. All sacrifice has been for the greater good of us.*
*We are one.* | The time has come for us to visit humanity once again. As always, their progress has been interesting. When we set their evolution in motion, we had no inclination of what they might do with their fate, which was our intention. We gave them the capacity for brilliance and immense compassion and cooperation, but we paired that with an equally powerful capability for using that brilliance and perverting it.
We gave them the use of tools, and with it came the potential to conquer their environment and other creatures. With this ability we distinguished them from the other creatures of earth. They thrived with this new technology, they were able to manipulate their environment and bend it to their will.
Then we came back, and gave them the use of fire. They could convert now convert mass to energy, giving them the ability to manipulate the properties of physics and use them according to their will.
The last time we came, we gave them writing. They then had the ability to manipulate the non-physical, the abstract. Thoughts, feelings could all be given physical form. They could bring their abstract thoughts into 3 of the physical dimensions, and give it life through the dimension of time.
Of all of our experiments, humanity has always been one of our favorites. They were always the most interesting. Unlike some of our other experiments, the humans were truly the most unpredictable. Inherent to their nature was a penchant for ingenuity and a tendency for surprising innovation. This was paired with the powerful duality of their nature and their tragic and painful awareness of not just their faults but their awareness of their inability to change their nature. We have always felt they were truly compelling creatures.
Now, we have come for them again, and for the last time. We have given them ability to manipulate their environment, the laws that govern the universe, and then even non-existent entities. They've almost reached this point on their own, but due to our interest, we've decided to boost their development. This will be the most interesting development, very few species have made it to this point, the last ones to reach this point became what the humans know as "dark matter". It will be interesting seeing the humans learn about them...
We will now give them the knowledge and technology to fundamentally alter their genetic code, and move their evolution in whatever direction they choose. What they do with it, we truly can't predict, it may be their destruction, or it may bring into existence some of the most remarkable beings we have come across. Only time will tell...
| |
[WP] They came and tought us how to use tools. They came and tought us how to use fire. Now they are here again... | They had come to our world, found us just slightly smarter than the average monkey, and taught us how to use basic hammers and sharpened sticks.
A few years later, they showed back up, and taught us how to use fire to light the night and cook our food.
“It appears the Earth ship is just a few months away and closing in on our world again.”
“Again. Damn it. Ok, attention all Xarians. Let’s get our houses camouflaged, our spaceships ready to hide on the other side of the star and a few of us holo-disguised as some big monkeys again.”
“Morth, why don’t we just tell the Earthlings that we’re an advanced species capable of faster-than-light travel and bending gravitational fields? There are so many things we can teach them.”
“But that’s the issue. Until humans are responsible enough not to pass along advanced technology to less developed creatures, we can’t trust them. They were willing to teach a completely unknown alien world how to light a fire. How do we know they won’t teach the Fontonites how to use a proton cannon? They could kill us all.”
“They’re just trying to help.”
“That’s the problem. They have no idea the damage they can cause. Now go put on your holo-monkey suit and get ready to act dumb for the Earthlings. When they try to teach you to use words to communicate, try not to catch on too quickly.” | It was a spark. An idea. It was an idea that sent ripples through the very fabric of mankind. The idea arrived not to one, but to all. Their intentions were clear. There was not a doubt in our minds that they have brought us nothing but advancements. Without them, we had no way of learning to do what we do. It had become more and more apparent that they were here, not to destroy us, but to help us. Many of us have already forgotten about them. Perhaps, it is for the better. The first time, they brought us fire. What did it mean? It meant for us to think. To congregate. The second time, they brought us tools, to fight. To cause bloodshed. To hate. But this time, they have brought us this, to help. To aid. To love. | |
[WP] They came and tought us how to use tools. They came and tought us how to use fire. Now they are here again... | Hundreds of cameras pointed to the extraterrestrial standing at the center of the Assembly. Microphones bundled up near his mouth, and constant flashes randomly popping to hear his words. They had come a few days ago, and the massive ruckus created by their arrival threw everything into chaos. They had ordered, demanded an audience with the world, and it all happened so quickly that there was no time for all the philosophical questions about their existence.
And now, here they are again. The alien blinked his bulbous, black eyes, looked straight at the camera and spoke.
*"You have not completely dominated your home planet yet. You lack the technology or ability to do so. We have come to provide you with the means to advance to the next stage of civilisation. You will all be melded into a single hive mind."*
Uproar. Outrage.
The United Nations representatives gathered there, most accompanied by the heads of state of their respective countries, yelled into their microphones in protest. When they settled down, they were able to speak, to respond.
"You cannot do that! We refuse it!"
*"Just as with social learning, tools, and fire...you have no choice."*
Bedlam. Protest.
"Our greatest strength is our individuality!"
*"What are you talking about? Your individuality is what holds you back. You all spend money on pointless wars fighting each other. Defending your petty nations and attacking others'. And for what? Your cities are riddled with crime, mental illness, exploitation. You traffick each other. You hurt each other. Hivemind societies have no crime. No internecine warfare. No preposterously sectarian violence."*
"Our national cultures are each so unique. You cannot just meld us into one. Think about what would be lost!"
*"Nothing would be lost. Each of your societies are almost entirely similar. Every society detests murder. Every society honors the elderly. Every society on this planet values education, enjoys food, produces music. And the top three religions on this planet worship the exact same deity. Have you all not realized that you are all basically the same? Everyone is essentially a milquetoast utilitarian unitarian. Even your atheists have theistic hardwiring in their brains."*
"Our cultures and religions are completely different."
*"Every religion on this planet has undergone the exact same evolution. From animism, it develops into orthopraxy, then orthodoxy. And then when orthodoxy becomes too difficult to follow, it evolves into saviorist messianism. Every single religion eventually evolves so that its followers believe a savior will come and rescue them."*
"You mean Jesus."
*"Yes. But also Elijah for the Jews, the Mahdi for Muslims, Kalki for Hindus and the Maitreya for the Buddhists."*
"There are differences! And not everyone believes those!"
*"Evolution sometimes leaves people behind."*
"We are progressing just fine as individuals. We do not need to become a hive mind."
*"Look at us. Look at where we are. I came here to speak to a single representative of your kind. I came here expecting a single world government. You should have achieved that two centuries ago. Instead, we see this 'United Nations', a tragically powerless organisation. Look at your space exploration. See how far lacking it is. I came here expecting to find a dyson sphere around your sun. You are far behind your expected evolution. And no wonder! You have set yourselves so far behind with your ridiculous wars and impotent world institutions. No. You all have no choice. It is time for you to move onwards to the next stage."*
Bedlam. Terror.
---
*We set our gaze outwards, looking upon our works. The dyson sphere was nearing completion, our satellites swarming around our primary star, collecting the energy and sending it back to Terra. Our miners harvested Venus, our engineers were preparing Mars as a forward launch base. Soon we would set a colony on Pluto. Our population growth boomed, but many have sacrificed their lives. We lost two billion when our first base on one of Jupiter's moons collapsed. Others that died were the old. We clipped them like they were our nails. All sacrifice has been for the greater good of us.*
*We are one.* | It was a spark. An idea. It was an idea that sent ripples through the very fabric of mankind. The idea arrived not to one, but to all. Their intentions were clear. There was not a doubt in our minds that they have brought us nothing but advancements. Without them, we had no way of learning to do what we do. It had become more and more apparent that they were here, not to destroy us, but to help us. Many of us have already forgotten about them. Perhaps, it is for the better. The first time, they brought us fire. What did it mean? It meant for us to think. To congregate. The second time, they brought us tools, to fight. To cause bloodshed. To hate. But this time, they have brought us this, to help. To aid. To love. | |
[WP] They came and tought us how to use tools. They came and tought us how to use fire. Now they are here again... | Today, the skies are darkened by their ships again.
They were here before, twice. Twice they left us strange new revelations. It took us many, many cycles to understand their bizarre new ways, but we have adapted their "gifts" to our own lifestyle, and made things easier for us. Yet it also made us softer. Less like our fierce ancestors, we now rest upon our new-found luxury.
And we have no idea why they were doing all this.
I can only hope we may find out before it's too late. The humans are back.
"Hey dudes! Guess who's back! How's the whole "fire" thing working out for y'all? Oh, I see you cook your food now! Good, good. Lemme show you something REAL cool..."
The human walked back into his ship, and came out with two boxes: a shiny metal box, and a flat, brown box. He sets them down, and opened both of them. Curiously, the metal box was empty. The brown box contained a flat disk, sprinkled with a variety of strange materials.
"Now, gather round and watch closely, I'm gonna teach you guys how to microwave a pizza!" | From the top of Mount Olympus two olympians were talking
"It is time"
"Are you sure they are ready, the last time we moved them to the next stage early Prometheus was tortured eturnally"
"And yet, we must. Without our intervention humanity will never go far enough, sure they will make small discoveries here and there but if we want them to overthrow Zeus they must jump forward once more"
"We'll get caught for sure, if one titan couldn't take a little fire how will two measly gods take imortality from them, this is the last thing the gods still have over the humans."
"It must be done, we will give it to few at first and set the blame on Posiedon, we will sow discontent into thier ranks and by the time they find out the truth it will be too late for them. God speed Hermes"
"God speed Hades" | |
[WP] They came and tought us how to use tools. They came and tought us how to use fire. Now they are here again... | Looking backwards, perhaps we should have known it would go wrong. After all, humans are inherently imperfect. Still, we believed their desire to help fellow mankind would be strong enough to overcome their lust for power.
The tools we gave them were intended to make life easier, not to be bastardized and misappropriated for killing. The fire we bestowed was meant as a way to survive in harsher climates, to increase food sources, and to help them expand their reach across the earth. Instead, it ravages countrysides and villages, disfigures the human form, and is harnessed for control over others.
Both of these gifts, in the wrong hands, became the downfall of the very same society we were attempting to further. We had hoped, with time, that they would be able to quell the dissenters and revolutionaries. Instead, as the state of the world declines toward a point of no return, it becomes clear that we have no choice but to entrust them with their third and final gift: the power to heal.
Let's see if they can find a way to fuck this one up. | From the top of Mount Olympus two olympians were talking
"It is time"
"Are you sure they are ready, the last time we moved them to the next stage early Prometheus was tortured eturnally"
"And yet, we must. Without our intervention humanity will never go far enough, sure they will make small discoveries here and there but if we want them to overthrow Zeus they must jump forward once more"
"We'll get caught for sure, if one titan couldn't take a little fire how will two measly gods take imortality from them, this is the last thing the gods still have over the humans."
"It must be done, we will give it to few at first and set the blame on Posiedon, we will sow discontent into thier ranks and by the time they find out the truth it will be too late for them. God speed Hermes"
"God speed Hades" | |
[WP] "You've got a lot of ----ing nerve to show up here after what you pulled, Koko." | "You've got a lot of fucking nerve showing up here after what you pulled, Koko," Alice mutters, flicking her lighter with a synthetic hand. She lights her cig and then tosses the lighter onto her desk and stares at her matte black surface level plating. Inscribed on the back of her hand is a small symbol, the head of a bitter and angry looking dog. "See these fucking arms? I'm sure you know they're your fault."
The taller woman leaning against the door by the wall takes a drag on her own cigarette and then flicks her ash off on the floor. A tiny spiderlike robot skitters over and sucks it up, then skitters off to do, presumably, more vacuuming.
"Yeah, I know, Alice. I know. I fucked you harder than I ever did in the bedroom," she says. Alice watches her lips move and form the words. Though both women know that the pale redhead will never admit it, she's always been hopelessly attracted to Koko. "Spent some time around home, you know, after. Way back in China. Had to have some surgery of my own."
Alice rises from her desk and marches to the window, staring out. She knows if Koko came to her, that means people are after her. The casual conversation is better than playing the waiting game in silence.
"Yeah? Did you have them go in and remove some of the ice around your heart?" the redhead asks. Her anger makes her typically subtle Irish accent much more noticeable. "Or did you save yourself the pain of feeling any normal human emotions and instead just have them remove the heart, decrepit blackness and all?"
Koko laughs, brushing a few errant strands of her hair behind an ear and checking to make sure the tie isn't coming out.
"You call me a black hearted bitch? Ask me about feeling normal human emotions? We're both psychopaths, don't pull any high road bullshit on me. We kill people and smuggle shit for a living. You live in the criminal haven of the world," Koko says coldly, walking up to stand beside her at the window. "We're both killers. And no, it wasn't heart surgery. It was kidney, liver, and leg."
Alice's cold synthetic eyes widen and she looks over, processing rings around glowing green irises spinning as fast as they possibly can. Kok tugs her leather jacket open and pulls up the tanktop beneath to expose the multiple thick surgical scars on a firm stomach. She drops it and works her belt open before dropping her pants. High up on her hip there is wide series of scars around a matte black segmented plating set that Alice knows covers the external parts of the mounting hardware and socket for the Russian high speed combat limb replacement. The other leg is much the same, but with less scarring around the mounting hardware.
"You got them both done for balance... makes sense. What made you lose the first leg though? Karma?"
"You think I left you there to die, in that god damned base in Laos, and I sort of did. I was hoping you didn't, but it was a risk I was willing to take to get the fuck out of there. On my way out, I got caught by an acid round. Barely made it to the jet transport. Had to have Reilly cut my fucking leg off, no anesthesia. The pain alone almost fucking killed me, you bitch," she mutters, tugging her pants back up and turning her back, looking around the office. "When I got back with the data and the stolen weapons, I took most of the pay and ran to China. Called in some favors to get your bitch ass out of there. Happy? I was in rehabilitation for two and a half years. Couldn't come see you even if I wanted to."
"You had favors with the fucking resistance in Laos? Jesus, there is a lot of shit you never told me," Alice says, not even looking back. "Who's after you? Is it Ivans? The Triads? Yakuza? Germans?"
"Yakuza. I might have taken a trip to Japan and pissed in their punch bowl a few times while getting the cash to get here safely," Koko answers, walking across the room to a blank piece of wall that happens to have a table in front of it. She reaches under the edge of the table and presses a button, and the wall next to the table slides open. Equipment racks slide out. "Hooooly fuckin' shit. You've got... Alice, these are all magnetic weapons!"
"Yeah, and better yet they're all HanzerTech and the ammo is Anvil Industries. Top of the tip top of the line. Take the rifle, I know you always liked them big... slut."
"Oh hah. I guess you'll be taking the assault rifle, right? Because... because uh... insert joke about you being a huge fucking whore," Koko hisses, grabbing the magnetic rifle and an armor vest. She tosses the vest over and the much smaller woman stumbles when it hits her in the head. Her eyes meet Koko's, however, and both women smile.
"Greeeeat joke, idiot. You're going to pay for the vest throw."
"I sure hope so. I also hope you can fight in that little black dress, too."
Alice glares and tugs the dress over her head, marches to her desk, opens a drawer, and tugs out a shirt and some pants. Quickly, they both gear up and get their vests on and then turn towards the windows again. There's gunfire on the street now - the men under Alice's command, her many dogs, fighting to protect the building.
"Ready to go down and play?"
"I always go down and play, Alice. You're the frigid one," Koko replies, smirking as they start to walk towards the door.
"Oh, that hurts. That hurts me deep, deep in my heart.... now shut the fuck up and help me shoot things." | When the smell of it hits me, my body already knows what happened. I'm immediately hit with very real, very physical symptoms. Throat - bile, torso - sweating, breath - gone.
My brain refuses to believe it. It's been a normal day, I'm coming home from work, about to push open my front door.
My mind rushes to quell the panic. "Maybe it's a coincidence. You're probably overreacting. You're going to feel really silly once you open that door and everything is fine."
I almost convince myself. But the unmistakable smell of banana cream pie inside erases all doubts. That fucking monkey. He's done it again.
As I walk in, my eyes confirm what I already expect. Pie on the walls, on the couch, in the fucking vents. Without checking I know he's taken a dump in the vacuum filter.
That fucking monkey. | |
[WP] Everyone but you in the world is dead. | Dear Diary,
Today was lonely again. Everyone is still dead. Its kinda boring. If I could only be Eddie Murphy and talk to animals then I might be a bit happier. Then again those animals were a little annoying. And so is Eddie Murphy. I don't like him. Fuck being him.
Until tomorrow,
Bye Diary | I looked over to the midst of the city. With the ruins of the buildings creating a post-tramatic scenery, the cars, trees and buses in flames, the tiny glimmer from the streetlamp flared a blinding light. If I squinted my eyes and focused, it looked like you phased in and out of the world, upon the reflective building wall.
'Hey, buddy! Are you alright?! It's You!' It's me! Craig Loir! Mayor of this worn out place! I ran up to the streetlamp, to see the person up in front, I wanted to shake their hand, hug them, tell them, *It was going to be alright,* because that's what a mayor does.
'Don't bother.' You said. You always were that kinda person, nobody knew your name, nobody noticed you, you just drifted in and out, to and fro from existence. You probably were the mastermind of the city, top donator, kindest man, humblest being. Of course, you were probably picked on constantly, ignored, rejected... Hated.
But I didn't care. I ran up, closer and closer until I saw a man of large stature. Dressed in a black suit, dirty hair, deep eye bags, cracked lips, I was looking at death. You looked at me with a stern face, telling me to get out, telling me I was a waste of life for not being able to do a thing-- Telling me to just stop, it's over.
Then you began to cry, as did I. | |
[WP] Everyone but you in the world is dead. | Billy thought to himself quietly, and he hadn't much to think about. "What if there really is no one left? What would that make me?" he said, beginning to think aloud. "I don't think this is a situation anyone would want to find themselves in, but we might as well make the most of it. Why have you done this to me, God?" he said, laughing at the sky.
To Billy's surprise, God came down and spoke for the first time in many years. "Billy, you're the only one on this planet, I want you to re-start the human race as a more peaceful species."
"What are you talking about God? There's no one here but me! You can't expect me to procreate alone!" said Billy, in a mocking tone.
God snickers in a way that only a man over 10000 years old can "Yeah, slight oversight on my part -- you were actually supposed to be the only one left here with this beautiful blonde named Theresa. Our accountant made an error; she'd already sold her soul to the devil."
"God Dammit!"
"No, we already did that. Haven't you looked at all the hellish fire around you?"
Billy tried to gather himself, and remember all the Sunday School lessons he had taken. "Shouldn't you be able to take a rib out of me, or something like that? You did it with Adam and made Eve."
"That's a slight mis-translation, actually. I took the Adam's rib to make Steve, and Eve already existed. That'd really only help us if you were gay, and still we would have no way for you to procreate."
Billy was growing more and more annoyed. "What do you want me to do then, God?"
"Absolutely nothing. It's finished. You're on your own here, buddy."
With that, God rose with a thunderous clap up into the sky. Billy went back to thinking silently. "Well that's just great! Way to go!" At that moment Billy dropped his pants and threw off his shirt. "Everyone on earth is naked now! Let's have a party."
| I looked over to the midst of the city. With the ruins of the buildings creating a post-tramatic scenery, the cars, trees and buses in flames, the tiny glimmer from the streetlamp flared a blinding light. If I squinted my eyes and focused, it looked like you phased in and out of the world, upon the reflective building wall.
'Hey, buddy! Are you alright?! It's You!' It's me! Craig Loir! Mayor of this worn out place! I ran up to the streetlamp, to see the person up in front, I wanted to shake their hand, hug them, tell them, *It was going to be alright,* because that's what a mayor does.
'Don't bother.' You said. You always were that kinda person, nobody knew your name, nobody noticed you, you just drifted in and out, to and fro from existence. You probably were the mastermind of the city, top donator, kindest man, humblest being. Of course, you were probably picked on constantly, ignored, rejected... Hated.
But I didn't care. I ran up, closer and closer until I saw a man of large stature. Dressed in a black suit, dirty hair, deep eye bags, cracked lips, I was looking at death. You looked at me with a stern face, telling me to get out, telling me I was a waste of life for not being able to do a thing-- Telling me to just stop, it's over.
Then you began to cry, as did I. | |
[WP] Everyone but you in the world is dead. | I woke up to the warmth of the sun on my face. I had found accommodation in a huge loft somewhere in Manhattan. The streets were empty as always. I got dressed, even though that wasn't necessary anymore. But it gave me the feeling that it wasn't true. That there were more out there.
Once I stepped outside, the smell of rotting corpses greeted me. I quickly put on my gas mask and was on my way. I found a minivan and hotwired it. I knew the way to the fancy car dealership. The shattered glass was still there, the glass I shattered to gain entry earlier. Of course it was. I got into a Ferrari, the Modena. I had found the locker with the keys and took a car for a spin once in a while.
I had spent a few weeks clearing a track in the streets of New york. It was terrible work, but in the end it payed off. I drove the Ferrari through the hole where the glass once was.
The car roared as I raced over 4th ave, a sound I always appreciated. But today was different. I think it was the smell of the corpses that was worse today. It made me realise. I was the only one. I wasn't sick, because I was resistant. They had taken my blood for an antidote, but it wouldn't work. Eventually even the scientist got infected. Now I was alone. "Fuck" I thought. I stopped the car and got out. I left the engine running so I could keep listening to Miles Davis. I recently discovered jazz and really appreciated it. It was exactly as people had said: you needed to learn to enjoy it. The acquired taste you could only find in this genre.
I walked towards an old bank building. Smashed a window to get in and covered my ears against the alarm. I got in an elevator and pressed the button to get to the top floor. Once there, I climbed the stairs to the roof. The view was stunning. We didn't have that back home, in Holland. I was shipped here for examinations and as I couldn't fly, I stayed here. Neither could I get of the island, because all the exits where broken down. I jumped onto the ledge. I couldn't take it anymore. I spread my arms, hesitated for a second and let my body fall into the depths of the manhattan skyline. The last thing I heard was the roaring sound of a car racing down 4th avenue. | I looked over to the midst of the city. With the ruins of the buildings creating a post-tramatic scenery, the cars, trees and buses in flames, the tiny glimmer from the streetlamp flared a blinding light. If I squinted my eyes and focused, it looked like you phased in and out of the world, upon the reflective building wall.
'Hey, buddy! Are you alright?! It's You!' It's me! Craig Loir! Mayor of this worn out place! I ran up to the streetlamp, to see the person up in front, I wanted to shake their hand, hug them, tell them, *It was going to be alright,* because that's what a mayor does.
'Don't bother.' You said. You always were that kinda person, nobody knew your name, nobody noticed you, you just drifted in and out, to and fro from existence. You probably were the mastermind of the city, top donator, kindest man, humblest being. Of course, you were probably picked on constantly, ignored, rejected... Hated.
But I didn't care. I ran up, closer and closer until I saw a man of large stature. Dressed in a black suit, dirty hair, deep eye bags, cracked lips, I was looking at death. You looked at me with a stern face, telling me to get out, telling me I was a waste of life for not being able to do a thing-- Telling me to just stop, it's over.
Then you began to cry, as did I. | |
[WP] Everyone but you in the world is dead. | It had been months since everyone on Earth disappeared.
I’d woken up one day in a hospital bed, no real recollection of why I was there. The heart rate monitor beeped a slow and steady rhythm. The only sound I could hear.
Beep Beep. Beep Beep. Beep Beep.
A hospital should be a busy area. I’d broken my leg when I was 12 and while I was in a bed I remember nurses constantly in and out, fussing over clipboards. I remembered the general business of a ward, the sights and sounds that come with tending to the ill and the visiting families.
Now, there was nothing. No nurses, no other patients. I was alone in a room with 3 other empty beds. The monitor was the only thing to break the deathly silence.
Beep Beep. Beep Beep. Beep Beep.
I lay there for some time, wondering what the hell I should be doing. I called out for a nurse, screaming down the hall. Nobody answered. Nobody heard me. My voice died out emptily down the corridors. Silence.
Beep Beep. Beep Beep. Beep Beep.
I left the hospital bed, ripping off the monitor and getting to my shaky feet. My muscles ached and almost gave out on me. It felt like I hadn’t stood up in years. Donning a pair of jeans and a faded red t-shirt next to my bed and tying on my trainers felt like a herculean effort. Wheezing and panting, I negotiated my way out of the hospital.
Even as I left the sprawling corridors and followed signs to the exit, I kept expecting to see somebody – anybody. All I was met with was silence, a sort of graveside nothingness that spoke of complete and utter desolation.
When I got out of the big hospital doors, still mechanically opening and automatically parting for me, I began to wonder what the hell was going on. An icy chill ran down my spine as I looked around at the true nature of my predicament.
I tried to scream, but it died in my throat. The city was completely deserted. Cars were still queuing up on the road in lines of traffic that would usually fill the city with a cacophony of car horns and angry drivers. Instead of the noise and business, the cars were empty shells. So too were the pavements, as were the buildings. The deadly echo of wind was the only sound that I could hear.
I collected myself, in a bit of a trance if I’m honest, and walked down the streets, taking in my surroundings. This was my city, I knew it well – but it had been transformed by the emptiness. Café’s that were usually full of people were silent, pubs usually brimming with drunken idiots were abandoned. But there were no bodies on the street, no sign of where anyone had gone. Just emptiness.
I continued travelling, scavenging food from shops and empty apartments. I found myself staring at pictures in people’s homes, wondering what might have happened to humanity. I never returned to my own home, I knew it’d be too painful to see pictures of my mother. So I wandered.
Months passed. I scratched out a living as I wandered around the empty world I’d been left with. No animals seemed to live, no birds filled the skies. Not even spiders or insects seemed to exist anymore. I started wondering what the fuck had happened and why I was here. Questions had surfaced during the first few days of my isolation, but now they scratched and itched – ready to burst through my brain.
First, I tried to explain what had happened rationally: Had there been some war? Some sort of weapon that vaporized humanity?
Next, I turned to God: Was this the rapture the bible spoke of? Had everyone been judged and sent to heaven or hell? Was I the only human being unworthy of the afterlife?
Finally I turned to sheer fantasy: Was I the chosen one? Left to wander the empty globe when everyone else was gone – free to do as I liked?
My empty life was detached, as though I didn’t really understand the situation I was in. I didn’t feel grief properly – couldn’t really accept what had happened. I didn’t really understand what had happened.
After a long time, my wandering turned far more desperate. I yearned for conversation. I yearned to see life in any form. A dog, a cat, anything. Something. I just wanted to know I wasn’t the only one left.
I screamed from rooftops, desperate for a reply. Smashed slowly rusting cars till their horns blared out across dead cities. I rang fire alarms in huge buildings, hoping for the slightest movement, the slightest reply. All I was met with was that everpresent silence, a blanket that seemed to cloak this dead world.
And then it began to happen.
I began to see things. Movements, shapes – right at the corner of my eye. I’d be travelling down a motorway or a road, through streets or subways. Wherever I was going, it didn’t matter – but I’d see something. A black shadow flitting in my peripheral vision. I’d turn my head as fast as lightning, desperate to see. But there was never anything there, except for the silence and the emptiness.
Then I started to notice the Graffiti. Scrawled on a wall I passed, in bright red letters - “Come back.” I was startled by it, drawn to it. Not because it was good artwork or outstanding, but because the paint looked brand new.
Someone else was with me.
The black shapes in the corner of my vision continued, increased. I tried my best to find them, to see what creature lurked just out of view. But as usual, I couldn’t catch a true glimpse. I began to wonder if I was insane.
“Come back.” A new sign, sprawled on the side of a shop I was looting for food. I was getting scared now, realising that someone or something was taunting me. Some creature that could dip in and out of vision and leave messages on walls. Just like the first time, the message was bright red and obviously done with fresh paint.
I upped the pace of my journey, moving from house to house and from town to town – trying to catch the blurry figure I’d began to see. From the edges of my vision it would sometimes flit into view – far in the distance. A humanoid shape. I’d shout, desperate for contact with whatever the thing was. I didn’t care that I couldn’t see its face. I just wanted to talk to someone.
“Come back.” Was everywhere now. I’d turn a corner and there it would be – a bright red message dripping down walls. Fresher every single time. I found the message everywhere – in every nook and cranny I would search – there it would be.
In a new city I found a new building. A church, or something similar. A dark, terrifying church whose dark oak doors had gargoyles perched atop them. The dark shape seemed to have retreated into the building. “Come back” was scrawled in huge red letters across the doors. Swallowing my fear – I pushed open the heavy doors and stepped inside.
There, inside that dark church, I saw the first human being I had in almost a year. I say a human, but she could have been an angel.
Beautiful, with long platinum hair and a smile so soft you’d hardly notice it. I hadn’t seen another face in so long that I stood staring, and drank it in.
Silently, she held out a hand that shone with warmth and I reached out towards her.
“Come back.” A voice behind me called out, full of sorrow and regret, the voice of a woman. “Come back…” It said again.
I stood still for a moment, caught between the phrase I’d seen and heard for months now and this creature I’d been chasing. That black shape, long evading my view, was now in sight. An angel, a saviour, a living being after so long alone.
Her palm was still offered, open for me to take. I stood still, frozen. “Come back,” I heard again. The girl in front of me simply shook her head, a sad and knowing smile on her face, hand still stretched out.
“Come back.” Said the voice, one last time.
I shook my head and walked forward. I couldn’t come back. So I reached out and grasped the Angel’s hand.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The woman wiped away dry tears from her face. She couldn’t cry any longer. Her face ached from it, her bones tired and weary beyond belief. It had only been a year but she’d aged ten. Her shed tears in that time could have filled an ocean.
In front of her, they pulled the white sheet over her sons face. She remembered his youth, how he would grin and beg her for more cookies before bed, cuddling up to her when he couldn’t sleep.
She remembered the accident, how unlucky he’d been to have gotten on that motorcycle with his friend at just eighteen. She remembered the hospital – the white room where she had sat vigil for a full year whilst her son lingered on in a coma.
“Come back” She had choked out, sitting by his bedside night after night. The doctors had told her he couldn’t hear her, that his brain wasn’t responding – but she begged him nonetheless. Even as his final breath escaped his body and the monitor stopped beeping, she’d been begging him to wake up, to return to his life.
“Come back.” She had pleaded. But he was gone.
| I looked over to the midst of the city. With the ruins of the buildings creating a post-tramatic scenery, the cars, trees and buses in flames, the tiny glimmer from the streetlamp flared a blinding light. If I squinted my eyes and focused, it looked like you phased in and out of the world, upon the reflective building wall.
'Hey, buddy! Are you alright?! It's You!' It's me! Craig Loir! Mayor of this worn out place! I ran up to the streetlamp, to see the person up in front, I wanted to shake their hand, hug them, tell them, *It was going to be alright,* because that's what a mayor does.
'Don't bother.' You said. You always were that kinda person, nobody knew your name, nobody noticed you, you just drifted in and out, to and fro from existence. You probably were the mastermind of the city, top donator, kindest man, humblest being. Of course, you were probably picked on constantly, ignored, rejected... Hated.
But I didn't care. I ran up, closer and closer until I saw a man of large stature. Dressed in a black suit, dirty hair, deep eye bags, cracked lips, I was looking at death. You looked at me with a stern face, telling me to get out, telling me I was a waste of life for not being able to do a thing-- Telling me to just stop, it's over.
Then you began to cry, as did I. | |
[WP] Everyone but you in the world is dead. | Billy thought to himself quietly, and he hadn't much to think about. "What if there really is no one left? What would that make me?" he said, beginning to think aloud. "I don't think this is a situation anyone would want to find themselves in, but we might as well make the most of it. Why have you done this to me, God?" he said, laughing at the sky.
To Billy's surprise, God came down and spoke for the first time in many years. "Billy, you're the only one on this planet, I want you to re-start the human race as a more peaceful species."
"What are you talking about God? There's no one here but me! You can't expect me to procreate alone!" said Billy, in a mocking tone.
God snickers in a way that only a man over 10000 years old can "Yeah, slight oversight on my part -- you were actually supposed to be the only one left here with this beautiful blonde named Theresa. Our accountant made an error; she'd already sold her soul to the devil."
"God Dammit!"
"No, we already did that. Haven't you looked at all the hellish fire around you?"
Billy tried to gather himself, and remember all the Sunday School lessons he had taken. "Shouldn't you be able to take a rib out of me, or something like that? You did it with Adam and made Eve."
"That's a slight mis-translation, actually. I took the Adam's rib to make Steve, and Eve already existed. That'd really only help us if you were gay, and still we would have no way for you to procreate."
Billy was growing more and more annoyed. "What do you want me to do then, God?"
"Absolutely nothing. It's finished. You're on your own here, buddy."
With that, God rose with a thunderous clap up into the sky. Billy went back to thinking silently. "Well that's just great! Way to go!" At that moment Billy dropped his pants and threw off his shirt. "Everyone on earth is naked now! Let's have a party."
| Dear Diary,
Today was lonely again. Everyone is still dead. Its kinda boring. If I could only be Eddie Murphy and talk to animals then I might be a bit happier. Then again those animals were a little annoying. And so is Eddie Murphy. I don't like him. Fuck being him.
Until tomorrow,
Bye Diary | |
[WP] Everyone but you in the world is dead. | I woke up to the warmth of the sun on my face. I had found accommodation in a huge loft somewhere in Manhattan. The streets were empty as always. I got dressed, even though that wasn't necessary anymore. But it gave me the feeling that it wasn't true. That there were more out there.
Once I stepped outside, the smell of rotting corpses greeted me. I quickly put on my gas mask and was on my way. I found a minivan and hotwired it. I knew the way to the fancy car dealership. The shattered glass was still there, the glass I shattered to gain entry earlier. Of course it was. I got into a Ferrari, the Modena. I had found the locker with the keys and took a car for a spin once in a while.
I had spent a few weeks clearing a track in the streets of New york. It was terrible work, but in the end it payed off. I drove the Ferrari through the hole where the glass once was.
The car roared as I raced over 4th ave, a sound I always appreciated. But today was different. I think it was the smell of the corpses that was worse today. It made me realise. I was the only one. I wasn't sick, because I was resistant. They had taken my blood for an antidote, but it wouldn't work. Eventually even the scientist got infected. Now I was alone. "Fuck" I thought. I stopped the car and got out. I left the engine running so I could keep listening to Miles Davis. I recently discovered jazz and really appreciated it. It was exactly as people had said: you needed to learn to enjoy it. The acquired taste you could only find in this genre.
I walked towards an old bank building. Smashed a window to get in and covered my ears against the alarm. I got in an elevator and pressed the button to get to the top floor. Once there, I climbed the stairs to the roof. The view was stunning. We didn't have that back home, in Holland. I was shipped here for examinations and as I couldn't fly, I stayed here. Neither could I get of the island, because all the exits where broken down. I jumped onto the ledge. I couldn't take it anymore. I spread my arms, hesitated for a second and let my body fall into the depths of the manhattan skyline. The last thing I heard was the roaring sound of a car racing down 4th avenue. | Dear Diary,
Today was lonely again. Everyone is still dead. Its kinda boring. If I could only be Eddie Murphy and talk to animals then I might be a bit happier. Then again those animals were a little annoying. And so is Eddie Murphy. I don't like him. Fuck being him.
Until tomorrow,
Bye Diary | |
[WP] Everyone but you in the world is dead. | It had been months since everyone on Earth disappeared.
I’d woken up one day in a hospital bed, no real recollection of why I was there. The heart rate monitor beeped a slow and steady rhythm. The only sound I could hear.
Beep Beep. Beep Beep. Beep Beep.
A hospital should be a busy area. I’d broken my leg when I was 12 and while I was in a bed I remember nurses constantly in and out, fussing over clipboards. I remembered the general business of a ward, the sights and sounds that come with tending to the ill and the visiting families.
Now, there was nothing. No nurses, no other patients. I was alone in a room with 3 other empty beds. The monitor was the only thing to break the deathly silence.
Beep Beep. Beep Beep. Beep Beep.
I lay there for some time, wondering what the hell I should be doing. I called out for a nurse, screaming down the hall. Nobody answered. Nobody heard me. My voice died out emptily down the corridors. Silence.
Beep Beep. Beep Beep. Beep Beep.
I left the hospital bed, ripping off the monitor and getting to my shaky feet. My muscles ached and almost gave out on me. It felt like I hadn’t stood up in years. Donning a pair of jeans and a faded red t-shirt next to my bed and tying on my trainers felt like a herculean effort. Wheezing and panting, I negotiated my way out of the hospital.
Even as I left the sprawling corridors and followed signs to the exit, I kept expecting to see somebody – anybody. All I was met with was silence, a sort of graveside nothingness that spoke of complete and utter desolation.
When I got out of the big hospital doors, still mechanically opening and automatically parting for me, I began to wonder what the hell was going on. An icy chill ran down my spine as I looked around at the true nature of my predicament.
I tried to scream, but it died in my throat. The city was completely deserted. Cars were still queuing up on the road in lines of traffic that would usually fill the city with a cacophony of car horns and angry drivers. Instead of the noise and business, the cars were empty shells. So too were the pavements, as were the buildings. The deadly echo of wind was the only sound that I could hear.
I collected myself, in a bit of a trance if I’m honest, and walked down the streets, taking in my surroundings. This was my city, I knew it well – but it had been transformed by the emptiness. Café’s that were usually full of people were silent, pubs usually brimming with drunken idiots were abandoned. But there were no bodies on the street, no sign of where anyone had gone. Just emptiness.
I continued travelling, scavenging food from shops and empty apartments. I found myself staring at pictures in people’s homes, wondering what might have happened to humanity. I never returned to my own home, I knew it’d be too painful to see pictures of my mother. So I wandered.
Months passed. I scratched out a living as I wandered around the empty world I’d been left with. No animals seemed to live, no birds filled the skies. Not even spiders or insects seemed to exist anymore. I started wondering what the fuck had happened and why I was here. Questions had surfaced during the first few days of my isolation, but now they scratched and itched – ready to burst through my brain.
First, I tried to explain what had happened rationally: Had there been some war? Some sort of weapon that vaporized humanity?
Next, I turned to God: Was this the rapture the bible spoke of? Had everyone been judged and sent to heaven or hell? Was I the only human being unworthy of the afterlife?
Finally I turned to sheer fantasy: Was I the chosen one? Left to wander the empty globe when everyone else was gone – free to do as I liked?
My empty life was detached, as though I didn’t really understand the situation I was in. I didn’t feel grief properly – couldn’t really accept what had happened. I didn’t really understand what had happened.
After a long time, my wandering turned far more desperate. I yearned for conversation. I yearned to see life in any form. A dog, a cat, anything. Something. I just wanted to know I wasn’t the only one left.
I screamed from rooftops, desperate for a reply. Smashed slowly rusting cars till their horns blared out across dead cities. I rang fire alarms in huge buildings, hoping for the slightest movement, the slightest reply. All I was met with was that everpresent silence, a blanket that seemed to cloak this dead world.
And then it began to happen.
I began to see things. Movements, shapes – right at the corner of my eye. I’d be travelling down a motorway or a road, through streets or subways. Wherever I was going, it didn’t matter – but I’d see something. A black shadow flitting in my peripheral vision. I’d turn my head as fast as lightning, desperate to see. But there was never anything there, except for the silence and the emptiness.
Then I started to notice the Graffiti. Scrawled on a wall I passed, in bright red letters - “Come back.” I was startled by it, drawn to it. Not because it was good artwork or outstanding, but because the paint looked brand new.
Someone else was with me.
The black shapes in the corner of my vision continued, increased. I tried my best to find them, to see what creature lurked just out of view. But as usual, I couldn’t catch a true glimpse. I began to wonder if I was insane.
“Come back.” A new sign, sprawled on the side of a shop I was looting for food. I was getting scared now, realising that someone or something was taunting me. Some creature that could dip in and out of vision and leave messages on walls. Just like the first time, the message was bright red and obviously done with fresh paint.
I upped the pace of my journey, moving from house to house and from town to town – trying to catch the blurry figure I’d began to see. From the edges of my vision it would sometimes flit into view – far in the distance. A humanoid shape. I’d shout, desperate for contact with whatever the thing was. I didn’t care that I couldn’t see its face. I just wanted to talk to someone.
“Come back.” Was everywhere now. I’d turn a corner and there it would be – a bright red message dripping down walls. Fresher every single time. I found the message everywhere – in every nook and cranny I would search – there it would be.
In a new city I found a new building. A church, or something similar. A dark, terrifying church whose dark oak doors had gargoyles perched atop them. The dark shape seemed to have retreated into the building. “Come back” was scrawled in huge red letters across the doors. Swallowing my fear – I pushed open the heavy doors and stepped inside.
There, inside that dark church, I saw the first human being I had in almost a year. I say a human, but she could have been an angel.
Beautiful, with long platinum hair and a smile so soft you’d hardly notice it. I hadn’t seen another face in so long that I stood staring, and drank it in.
Silently, she held out a hand that shone with warmth and I reached out towards her.
“Come back.” A voice behind me called out, full of sorrow and regret, the voice of a woman. “Come back…” It said again.
I stood still for a moment, caught between the phrase I’d seen and heard for months now and this creature I’d been chasing. That black shape, long evading my view, was now in sight. An angel, a saviour, a living being after so long alone.
Her palm was still offered, open for me to take. I stood still, frozen. “Come back,” I heard again. The girl in front of me simply shook her head, a sad and knowing smile on her face, hand still stretched out.
“Come back.” Said the voice, one last time.
I shook my head and walked forward. I couldn’t come back. So I reached out and grasped the Angel’s hand.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The woman wiped away dry tears from her face. She couldn’t cry any longer. Her face ached from it, her bones tired and weary beyond belief. It had only been a year but she’d aged ten. Her shed tears in that time could have filled an ocean.
In front of her, they pulled the white sheet over her sons face. She remembered his youth, how he would grin and beg her for more cookies before bed, cuddling up to her when he couldn’t sleep.
She remembered the accident, how unlucky he’d been to have gotten on that motorcycle with his friend at just eighteen. She remembered the hospital – the white room where she had sat vigil for a full year whilst her son lingered on in a coma.
“Come back” She had choked out, sitting by his bedside night after night. The doctors had told her he couldn’t hear her, that his brain wasn’t responding – but she begged him nonetheless. Even as his final breath escaped his body and the monitor stopped beeping, she’d been begging him to wake up, to return to his life.
“Come back.” She had pleaded. But he was gone.
| Dear Diary,
Today was lonely again. Everyone is still dead. Its kinda boring. If I could only be Eddie Murphy and talk to animals then I might be a bit happier. Then again those animals were a little annoying. And so is Eddie Murphy. I don't like him. Fuck being him.
Until tomorrow,
Bye Diary | |
[WP] Everyone but you in the world is dead. | I woke up to the warmth of the sun on my face. I had found accommodation in a huge loft somewhere in Manhattan. The streets were empty as always. I got dressed, even though that wasn't necessary anymore. But it gave me the feeling that it wasn't true. That there were more out there.
Once I stepped outside, the smell of rotting corpses greeted me. I quickly put on my gas mask and was on my way. I found a minivan and hotwired it. I knew the way to the fancy car dealership. The shattered glass was still there, the glass I shattered to gain entry earlier. Of course it was. I got into a Ferrari, the Modena. I had found the locker with the keys and took a car for a spin once in a while.
I had spent a few weeks clearing a track in the streets of New york. It was terrible work, but in the end it payed off. I drove the Ferrari through the hole where the glass once was.
The car roared as I raced over 4th ave, a sound I always appreciated. But today was different. I think it was the smell of the corpses that was worse today. It made me realise. I was the only one. I wasn't sick, because I was resistant. They had taken my blood for an antidote, but it wouldn't work. Eventually even the scientist got infected. Now I was alone. "Fuck" I thought. I stopped the car and got out. I left the engine running so I could keep listening to Miles Davis. I recently discovered jazz and really appreciated it. It was exactly as people had said: you needed to learn to enjoy it. The acquired taste you could only find in this genre.
I walked towards an old bank building. Smashed a window to get in and covered my ears against the alarm. I got in an elevator and pressed the button to get to the top floor. Once there, I climbed the stairs to the roof. The view was stunning. We didn't have that back home, in Holland. I was shipped here for examinations and as I couldn't fly, I stayed here. Neither could I get of the island, because all the exits where broken down. I jumped onto the ledge. I couldn't take it anymore. I spread my arms, hesitated for a second and let my body fall into the depths of the manhattan skyline. The last thing I heard was the roaring sound of a car racing down 4th avenue. | Billy thought to himself quietly, and he hadn't much to think about. "What if there really is no one left? What would that make me?" he said, beginning to think aloud. "I don't think this is a situation anyone would want to find themselves in, but we might as well make the most of it. Why have you done this to me, God?" he said, laughing at the sky.
To Billy's surprise, God came down and spoke for the first time in many years. "Billy, you're the only one on this planet, I want you to re-start the human race as a more peaceful species."
"What are you talking about God? There's no one here but me! You can't expect me to procreate alone!" said Billy, in a mocking tone.
God snickers in a way that only a man over 10000 years old can "Yeah, slight oversight on my part -- you were actually supposed to be the only one left here with this beautiful blonde named Theresa. Our accountant made an error; she'd already sold her soul to the devil."
"God Dammit!"
"No, we already did that. Haven't you looked at all the hellish fire around you?"
Billy tried to gather himself, and remember all the Sunday School lessons he had taken. "Shouldn't you be able to take a rib out of me, or something like that? You did it with Adam and made Eve."
"That's a slight mis-translation, actually. I took the Adam's rib to make Steve, and Eve already existed. That'd really only help us if you were gay, and still we would have no way for you to procreate."
Billy was growing more and more annoyed. "What do you want me to do then, God?"
"Absolutely nothing. It's finished. You're on your own here, buddy."
With that, God rose with a thunderous clap up into the sky. Billy went back to thinking silently. "Well that's just great! Way to go!" At that moment Billy dropped his pants and threw off his shirt. "Everyone on earth is naked now! Let's have a party."
| |
[WP] Everyone but you in the world is dead. | It had been months since everyone on Earth disappeared.
I’d woken up one day in a hospital bed, no real recollection of why I was there. The heart rate monitor beeped a slow and steady rhythm. The only sound I could hear.
Beep Beep. Beep Beep. Beep Beep.
A hospital should be a busy area. I’d broken my leg when I was 12 and while I was in a bed I remember nurses constantly in and out, fussing over clipboards. I remembered the general business of a ward, the sights and sounds that come with tending to the ill and the visiting families.
Now, there was nothing. No nurses, no other patients. I was alone in a room with 3 other empty beds. The monitor was the only thing to break the deathly silence.
Beep Beep. Beep Beep. Beep Beep.
I lay there for some time, wondering what the hell I should be doing. I called out for a nurse, screaming down the hall. Nobody answered. Nobody heard me. My voice died out emptily down the corridors. Silence.
Beep Beep. Beep Beep. Beep Beep.
I left the hospital bed, ripping off the monitor and getting to my shaky feet. My muscles ached and almost gave out on me. It felt like I hadn’t stood up in years. Donning a pair of jeans and a faded red t-shirt next to my bed and tying on my trainers felt like a herculean effort. Wheezing and panting, I negotiated my way out of the hospital.
Even as I left the sprawling corridors and followed signs to the exit, I kept expecting to see somebody – anybody. All I was met with was silence, a sort of graveside nothingness that spoke of complete and utter desolation.
When I got out of the big hospital doors, still mechanically opening and automatically parting for me, I began to wonder what the hell was going on. An icy chill ran down my spine as I looked around at the true nature of my predicament.
I tried to scream, but it died in my throat. The city was completely deserted. Cars were still queuing up on the road in lines of traffic that would usually fill the city with a cacophony of car horns and angry drivers. Instead of the noise and business, the cars were empty shells. So too were the pavements, as were the buildings. The deadly echo of wind was the only sound that I could hear.
I collected myself, in a bit of a trance if I’m honest, and walked down the streets, taking in my surroundings. This was my city, I knew it well – but it had been transformed by the emptiness. Café’s that were usually full of people were silent, pubs usually brimming with drunken idiots were abandoned. But there were no bodies on the street, no sign of where anyone had gone. Just emptiness.
I continued travelling, scavenging food from shops and empty apartments. I found myself staring at pictures in people’s homes, wondering what might have happened to humanity. I never returned to my own home, I knew it’d be too painful to see pictures of my mother. So I wandered.
Months passed. I scratched out a living as I wandered around the empty world I’d been left with. No animals seemed to live, no birds filled the skies. Not even spiders or insects seemed to exist anymore. I started wondering what the fuck had happened and why I was here. Questions had surfaced during the first few days of my isolation, but now they scratched and itched – ready to burst through my brain.
First, I tried to explain what had happened rationally: Had there been some war? Some sort of weapon that vaporized humanity?
Next, I turned to God: Was this the rapture the bible spoke of? Had everyone been judged and sent to heaven or hell? Was I the only human being unworthy of the afterlife?
Finally I turned to sheer fantasy: Was I the chosen one? Left to wander the empty globe when everyone else was gone – free to do as I liked?
My empty life was detached, as though I didn’t really understand the situation I was in. I didn’t feel grief properly – couldn’t really accept what had happened. I didn’t really understand what had happened.
After a long time, my wandering turned far more desperate. I yearned for conversation. I yearned to see life in any form. A dog, a cat, anything. Something. I just wanted to know I wasn’t the only one left.
I screamed from rooftops, desperate for a reply. Smashed slowly rusting cars till their horns blared out across dead cities. I rang fire alarms in huge buildings, hoping for the slightest movement, the slightest reply. All I was met with was that everpresent silence, a blanket that seemed to cloak this dead world.
And then it began to happen.
I began to see things. Movements, shapes – right at the corner of my eye. I’d be travelling down a motorway or a road, through streets or subways. Wherever I was going, it didn’t matter – but I’d see something. A black shadow flitting in my peripheral vision. I’d turn my head as fast as lightning, desperate to see. But there was never anything there, except for the silence and the emptiness.
Then I started to notice the Graffiti. Scrawled on a wall I passed, in bright red letters - “Come back.” I was startled by it, drawn to it. Not because it was good artwork or outstanding, but because the paint looked brand new.
Someone else was with me.
The black shapes in the corner of my vision continued, increased. I tried my best to find them, to see what creature lurked just out of view. But as usual, I couldn’t catch a true glimpse. I began to wonder if I was insane.
“Come back.” A new sign, sprawled on the side of a shop I was looting for food. I was getting scared now, realising that someone or something was taunting me. Some creature that could dip in and out of vision and leave messages on walls. Just like the first time, the message was bright red and obviously done with fresh paint.
I upped the pace of my journey, moving from house to house and from town to town – trying to catch the blurry figure I’d began to see. From the edges of my vision it would sometimes flit into view – far in the distance. A humanoid shape. I’d shout, desperate for contact with whatever the thing was. I didn’t care that I couldn’t see its face. I just wanted to talk to someone.
“Come back.” Was everywhere now. I’d turn a corner and there it would be – a bright red message dripping down walls. Fresher every single time. I found the message everywhere – in every nook and cranny I would search – there it would be.
In a new city I found a new building. A church, or something similar. A dark, terrifying church whose dark oak doors had gargoyles perched atop them. The dark shape seemed to have retreated into the building. “Come back” was scrawled in huge red letters across the doors. Swallowing my fear – I pushed open the heavy doors and stepped inside.
There, inside that dark church, I saw the first human being I had in almost a year. I say a human, but she could have been an angel.
Beautiful, with long platinum hair and a smile so soft you’d hardly notice it. I hadn’t seen another face in so long that I stood staring, and drank it in.
Silently, she held out a hand that shone with warmth and I reached out towards her.
“Come back.” A voice behind me called out, full of sorrow and regret, the voice of a woman. “Come back…” It said again.
I stood still for a moment, caught between the phrase I’d seen and heard for months now and this creature I’d been chasing. That black shape, long evading my view, was now in sight. An angel, a saviour, a living being after so long alone.
Her palm was still offered, open for me to take. I stood still, frozen. “Come back,” I heard again. The girl in front of me simply shook her head, a sad and knowing smile on her face, hand still stretched out.
“Come back.” Said the voice, one last time.
I shook my head and walked forward. I couldn’t come back. So I reached out and grasped the Angel’s hand.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The woman wiped away dry tears from her face. She couldn’t cry any longer. Her face ached from it, her bones tired and weary beyond belief. It had only been a year but she’d aged ten. Her shed tears in that time could have filled an ocean.
In front of her, they pulled the white sheet over her sons face. She remembered his youth, how he would grin and beg her for more cookies before bed, cuddling up to her when he couldn’t sleep.
She remembered the accident, how unlucky he’d been to have gotten on that motorcycle with his friend at just eighteen. She remembered the hospital – the white room where she had sat vigil for a full year whilst her son lingered on in a coma.
“Come back” She had choked out, sitting by his bedside night after night. The doctors had told her he couldn’t hear her, that his brain wasn’t responding – but she begged him nonetheless. Even as his final breath escaped his body and the monitor stopped beeping, she’d been begging him to wake up, to return to his life.
“Come back.” She had pleaded. But he was gone.
| Billy thought to himself quietly, and he hadn't much to think about. "What if there really is no one left? What would that make me?" he said, beginning to think aloud. "I don't think this is a situation anyone would want to find themselves in, but we might as well make the most of it. Why have you done this to me, God?" he said, laughing at the sky.
To Billy's surprise, God came down and spoke for the first time in many years. "Billy, you're the only one on this planet, I want you to re-start the human race as a more peaceful species."
"What are you talking about God? There's no one here but me! You can't expect me to procreate alone!" said Billy, in a mocking tone.
God snickers in a way that only a man over 10000 years old can "Yeah, slight oversight on my part -- you were actually supposed to be the only one left here with this beautiful blonde named Theresa. Our accountant made an error; she'd already sold her soul to the devil."
"God Dammit!"
"No, we already did that. Haven't you looked at all the hellish fire around you?"
Billy tried to gather himself, and remember all the Sunday School lessons he had taken. "Shouldn't you be able to take a rib out of me, or something like that? You did it with Adam and made Eve."
"That's a slight mis-translation, actually. I took the Adam's rib to make Steve, and Eve already existed. That'd really only help us if you were gay, and still we would have no way for you to procreate."
Billy was growing more and more annoyed. "What do you want me to do then, God?"
"Absolutely nothing. It's finished. You're on your own here, buddy."
With that, God rose with a thunderous clap up into the sky. Billy went back to thinking silently. "Well that's just great! Way to go!" At that moment Billy dropped his pants and threw off his shirt. "Everyone on earth is naked now! Let's have a party."
| |
[WP] Everyone but you in the world is dead. | It had been months since everyone on Earth disappeared.
I’d woken up one day in a hospital bed, no real recollection of why I was there. The heart rate monitor beeped a slow and steady rhythm. The only sound I could hear.
Beep Beep. Beep Beep. Beep Beep.
A hospital should be a busy area. I’d broken my leg when I was 12 and while I was in a bed I remember nurses constantly in and out, fussing over clipboards. I remembered the general business of a ward, the sights and sounds that come with tending to the ill and the visiting families.
Now, there was nothing. No nurses, no other patients. I was alone in a room with 3 other empty beds. The monitor was the only thing to break the deathly silence.
Beep Beep. Beep Beep. Beep Beep.
I lay there for some time, wondering what the hell I should be doing. I called out for a nurse, screaming down the hall. Nobody answered. Nobody heard me. My voice died out emptily down the corridors. Silence.
Beep Beep. Beep Beep. Beep Beep.
I left the hospital bed, ripping off the monitor and getting to my shaky feet. My muscles ached and almost gave out on me. It felt like I hadn’t stood up in years. Donning a pair of jeans and a faded red t-shirt next to my bed and tying on my trainers felt like a herculean effort. Wheezing and panting, I negotiated my way out of the hospital.
Even as I left the sprawling corridors and followed signs to the exit, I kept expecting to see somebody – anybody. All I was met with was silence, a sort of graveside nothingness that spoke of complete and utter desolation.
When I got out of the big hospital doors, still mechanically opening and automatically parting for me, I began to wonder what the hell was going on. An icy chill ran down my spine as I looked around at the true nature of my predicament.
I tried to scream, but it died in my throat. The city was completely deserted. Cars were still queuing up on the road in lines of traffic that would usually fill the city with a cacophony of car horns and angry drivers. Instead of the noise and business, the cars were empty shells. So too were the pavements, as were the buildings. The deadly echo of wind was the only sound that I could hear.
I collected myself, in a bit of a trance if I’m honest, and walked down the streets, taking in my surroundings. This was my city, I knew it well – but it had been transformed by the emptiness. Café’s that were usually full of people were silent, pubs usually brimming with drunken idiots were abandoned. But there were no bodies on the street, no sign of where anyone had gone. Just emptiness.
I continued travelling, scavenging food from shops and empty apartments. I found myself staring at pictures in people’s homes, wondering what might have happened to humanity. I never returned to my own home, I knew it’d be too painful to see pictures of my mother. So I wandered.
Months passed. I scratched out a living as I wandered around the empty world I’d been left with. No animals seemed to live, no birds filled the skies. Not even spiders or insects seemed to exist anymore. I started wondering what the fuck had happened and why I was here. Questions had surfaced during the first few days of my isolation, but now they scratched and itched – ready to burst through my brain.
First, I tried to explain what had happened rationally: Had there been some war? Some sort of weapon that vaporized humanity?
Next, I turned to God: Was this the rapture the bible spoke of? Had everyone been judged and sent to heaven or hell? Was I the only human being unworthy of the afterlife?
Finally I turned to sheer fantasy: Was I the chosen one? Left to wander the empty globe when everyone else was gone – free to do as I liked?
My empty life was detached, as though I didn’t really understand the situation I was in. I didn’t feel grief properly – couldn’t really accept what had happened. I didn’t really understand what had happened.
After a long time, my wandering turned far more desperate. I yearned for conversation. I yearned to see life in any form. A dog, a cat, anything. Something. I just wanted to know I wasn’t the only one left.
I screamed from rooftops, desperate for a reply. Smashed slowly rusting cars till their horns blared out across dead cities. I rang fire alarms in huge buildings, hoping for the slightest movement, the slightest reply. All I was met with was that everpresent silence, a blanket that seemed to cloak this dead world.
And then it began to happen.
I began to see things. Movements, shapes – right at the corner of my eye. I’d be travelling down a motorway or a road, through streets or subways. Wherever I was going, it didn’t matter – but I’d see something. A black shadow flitting in my peripheral vision. I’d turn my head as fast as lightning, desperate to see. But there was never anything there, except for the silence and the emptiness.
Then I started to notice the Graffiti. Scrawled on a wall I passed, in bright red letters - “Come back.” I was startled by it, drawn to it. Not because it was good artwork or outstanding, but because the paint looked brand new.
Someone else was with me.
The black shapes in the corner of my vision continued, increased. I tried my best to find them, to see what creature lurked just out of view. But as usual, I couldn’t catch a true glimpse. I began to wonder if I was insane.
“Come back.” A new sign, sprawled on the side of a shop I was looting for food. I was getting scared now, realising that someone or something was taunting me. Some creature that could dip in and out of vision and leave messages on walls. Just like the first time, the message was bright red and obviously done with fresh paint.
I upped the pace of my journey, moving from house to house and from town to town – trying to catch the blurry figure I’d began to see. From the edges of my vision it would sometimes flit into view – far in the distance. A humanoid shape. I’d shout, desperate for contact with whatever the thing was. I didn’t care that I couldn’t see its face. I just wanted to talk to someone.
“Come back.” Was everywhere now. I’d turn a corner and there it would be – a bright red message dripping down walls. Fresher every single time. I found the message everywhere – in every nook and cranny I would search – there it would be.
In a new city I found a new building. A church, or something similar. A dark, terrifying church whose dark oak doors had gargoyles perched atop them. The dark shape seemed to have retreated into the building. “Come back” was scrawled in huge red letters across the doors. Swallowing my fear – I pushed open the heavy doors and stepped inside.
There, inside that dark church, I saw the first human being I had in almost a year. I say a human, but she could have been an angel.
Beautiful, with long platinum hair and a smile so soft you’d hardly notice it. I hadn’t seen another face in so long that I stood staring, and drank it in.
Silently, she held out a hand that shone with warmth and I reached out towards her.
“Come back.” A voice behind me called out, full of sorrow and regret, the voice of a woman. “Come back…” It said again.
I stood still for a moment, caught between the phrase I’d seen and heard for months now and this creature I’d been chasing. That black shape, long evading my view, was now in sight. An angel, a saviour, a living being after so long alone.
Her palm was still offered, open for me to take. I stood still, frozen. “Come back,” I heard again. The girl in front of me simply shook her head, a sad and knowing smile on her face, hand still stretched out.
“Come back.” Said the voice, one last time.
I shook my head and walked forward. I couldn’t come back. So I reached out and grasped the Angel’s hand.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The woman wiped away dry tears from her face. She couldn’t cry any longer. Her face ached from it, her bones tired and weary beyond belief. It had only been a year but she’d aged ten. Her shed tears in that time could have filled an ocean.
In front of her, they pulled the white sheet over her sons face. She remembered his youth, how he would grin and beg her for more cookies before bed, cuddling up to her when he couldn’t sleep.
She remembered the accident, how unlucky he’d been to have gotten on that motorcycle with his friend at just eighteen. She remembered the hospital – the white room where she had sat vigil for a full year whilst her son lingered on in a coma.
“Come back” She had choked out, sitting by his bedside night after night. The doctors had told her he couldn’t hear her, that his brain wasn’t responding – but she begged him nonetheless. Even as his final breath escaped his body and the monitor stopped beeping, she’d been begging him to wake up, to return to his life.
“Come back.” She had pleaded. But he was gone.
| I woke up to the warmth of the sun on my face. I had found accommodation in a huge loft somewhere in Manhattan. The streets were empty as always. I got dressed, even though that wasn't necessary anymore. But it gave me the feeling that it wasn't true. That there were more out there.
Once I stepped outside, the smell of rotting corpses greeted me. I quickly put on my gas mask and was on my way. I found a minivan and hotwired it. I knew the way to the fancy car dealership. The shattered glass was still there, the glass I shattered to gain entry earlier. Of course it was. I got into a Ferrari, the Modena. I had found the locker with the keys and took a car for a spin once in a while.
I had spent a few weeks clearing a track in the streets of New york. It was terrible work, but in the end it payed off. I drove the Ferrari through the hole where the glass once was.
The car roared as I raced over 4th ave, a sound I always appreciated. But today was different. I think it was the smell of the corpses that was worse today. It made me realise. I was the only one. I wasn't sick, because I was resistant. They had taken my blood for an antidote, but it wouldn't work. Eventually even the scientist got infected. Now I was alone. "Fuck" I thought. I stopped the car and got out. I left the engine running so I could keep listening to Miles Davis. I recently discovered jazz and really appreciated it. It was exactly as people had said: you needed to learn to enjoy it. The acquired taste you could only find in this genre.
I walked towards an old bank building. Smashed a window to get in and covered my ears against the alarm. I got in an elevator and pressed the button to get to the top floor. Once there, I climbed the stairs to the roof. The view was stunning. We didn't have that back home, in Holland. I was shipped here for examinations and as I couldn't fly, I stayed here. Neither could I get of the island, because all the exits where broken down. I jumped onto the ledge. I couldn't take it anymore. I spread my arms, hesitated for a second and let my body fall into the depths of the manhattan skyline. The last thing I heard was the roaring sound of a car racing down 4th avenue. | |
I submitted this a bit earlier, but there seem to be some issue with comments not showing. :/ | [WP] One of your everyday household item is actually an alien. After studying this planet for a while, it's attempting to initiate first contact. | The door shut with a satisfying snick as Jason entered his apartment. Groaning, he pried his feet out of his stiff dress shoes and lifted his bag onto a hook which squeaked in protest. Relieved of his burden, Jason shuffled to his couch and sank into a deeply recessed impression. He stretched over to the side table to grasp the large black TV remote -- careful to keep lodged in the soft embrace of his couch-hole. With the press of a button he was now bathed in the sterile glow of the television:
"Billy Mays here for..."
"... rescues 5 people from a fire in..."
"... cilantro to give it that signature Mexican flavor."
Eventually landing on some sports broadcasting, Jason dropped his remote arm and let the news carry him into a stupor. As some breaking information about Lebron's decision was being announced, the channel quickly changed,
"Hello!" chirped the bubbly talk show host.
New channel.
"... been watching you," leered the crime show's latest suspect.
New channel.
"I've noticed that..." began Seinfeld.
Alarmed, Jason shook from his daze and held up the remote for inspection. Seeing nothing visibly amiss, he attributed the TV's strange behavior to his own inattention in handling the remote, and simply switched back to his sports news.
"No! Please listen!" the crime show victim wailed.
Again, staring at the remote Jason muttered to himself, "Man, that's weird. I just put new batteries in this thing last week." He shook it a bit, and smacked the back of it more just to do something than to try to fix it.
“Ouch!” observed the host of America's Funniest Home Videos as a toddler toppled off his bicycle on screen.
New channel.
The guest on 60 Minutes nodded in agreement “There's something terribly wrong going on...”
New channel.
“Only you can prevent...” Smokey warned.
New channel
“... the destruction of the Earth as we know it.” droned the nature program's narrator.
Startled, Jason quickly turned off the TV. He sat there, holding the remote with a look of confusion scrawled on his normally blank face.
“You have to listen to me!” the TV popped back on to reveal the crime show's victim now battered and bloody.
With that, Jason extracted himself from the couch and unplugged the TV. He grabbed the remote, and strode down the hall to the trash chute where he unceremoniously tossed it down the shaft, listening to the occasional clink as it fell.
“Man that was weird,” Jason repeated. “Guess I'll have to get a new one tomorrow.” | The kettle boiled in the kitchen. Thomas groaned and pulled himself up off the couch.
“Mom,” he called, “your water is boiling.”
“What?” She yelled from what sounded to be the bathroom. Ignoring her, Tom meandered over to the kitchen and approached the stove.
“What the fuck?” he thought as he reached down to switch off the burner. Everything on the stove was off. He grabbed the metal handle of the kettle before reflexively letting go. But it wasn’t hot to the touch (as the handle of the poorly designed kettle should have been). It was just a little above room temperature, and soaking wet.
His first instinct was to yell at his brother Mark for messing with him again, but he recoiled at the thought. Mark had died 2 months ago after ingesting a rare toxin, thought to have come from the old piping in the house. Tom slightly shuddered with remorse. He wanted to move on and forget Mark, but often, he ended up only forgetting his absence.
Tom shook himself a bit, then went back to the couch. There was something about these gray January days that made him the unfortunate combination of lethargic and ancey.
“My mind is just too underestimated,” he thought to himself, “I’ll bet it just made the whole thing up to keep from being too stagnant. That how dreams work right?” He idly opened up his computer and pulled up reddit.
That night at dinner, he mentioned the boiling water to his mom.
Looking up from her plate she said in a monotone, “I never use that thing, Mark was the one obsessed with tea.I bought it for him just before he-” She cut herself off.
“I wonder if he ever got to use it.” |
[WP] A regular person refuses to become a superhero because.....? | Dear LA Times editor,
I know what you're thinking. That guy that got hit by a semi on I-10 and cut it in half lengthwise without moving an inch. That guy that started to run and shattered the sound barrier two seconds later. That guy that just looked up towards the sky one moment and was in it the next, leaving a shattered city bench and a busted fire hydrant in his wake. Remarkable, isn't it? Terrifying, some have said, but only at first; if that guy was going to try to take over the world, wouldn't he have made a move by now? Besides, think of the *potential* that guy would have as a doer of good, a beacon of justice!
Nah.
Don't get me wrong, I've toyed with the idea somewhat. Make some flashy spandex getup that inspires a worldwide throwback to '86, go around saving stuck cats by day and single-handedly halting bank robberies by night, be an inspiration to the kiddies and a boogeyman to the underworld, yadda yadda. Hell, if I play my cards right I could make off like a king from the whole deal. But I'm not some teenager whose inaction caused his beloved uncle to get shot. I'm not an orphan from a long-dead planet half a universe away. And wish it though I may, I'm not a rich kid with issues and a kickass car. My life - apart from suddenly having the power of a god fall into my lap - has been exceedingly ordinary. No major traumas, no serious life events, nothing.
Besides, there's all of that *legal* crap. Due process, power of arrest, handling of suspects, blah blah blah. There's a lot of bureaucracy at play here. And frankly? I respect the cops. No need to make their job any harder or *weirder* by throwing myself into the mix, especially since none of these guys are on the payroll of some cackling loon building a death ray in the observatory. If they needed my help, or even wanted it, I could be deputized. But so far, all I've gotten is a warning to soften the take-offs some.
Following *that*, you've gotta consider the *time* I've got. Running around the world, stopping the bad guys, feeding the hungry, preventing worldwide catastrophe, and so on. Despite the ability to cross the continent in a little over an hour, a second is still a second and an hour is still an hour. My social circle is pretty strained as it is, what with being the local superperson, and it's hard enough to maintain relationships with people genuinely interested in me as a person *without* constantly jetting off to put an end to some terrorist threat in Somewhereistan. My parents respect me enough to not insist that I do so, even if Mom keeps dropping subtle hints to that end, as mothers often do. My dog would be depressed. My love life would be nonexistent. Look, I get that - so far as anybody knows, God knows there could be someone else like me that's *way* more subtle about the whole superhuman gig - I'm the only one that *can* do that stuff, but I've got needs too, y'know? Like stability. And sociability. And I don't see why I should have to endanger all of that.
But you know what? And I'm going to be completely honest here...the world neither *wants* someone like me or *needs* someone like me.
Think about everything I - or, rather, someone *like* me - could have prevented. In every single instance, barring some big natural catastrophe (and even then, if we want to put the token environmental spin on things as we like to do in California), *all* of those could have been handled by everyday, ordinary human beings. Every one. Shooting lasers from their butts or mind control might've helped to a minor degree, but the fact remains that none of that is necessary to get the job done. Hell, I feel like it'd be a disservice to all those people training day in and day out to do those jobs, working together in all sorts of duties on all sorts of fronts to advance the human cause or protect such advancements. Sound stupid? Think about where we were even fifty years ago. How much farther would we have honestly gotten if someone like me had been around?
So thanks, but no thanks. I'm fine where I am. And though you probably don't believe it, so are you. | Another win due to his extraordinary skill.
Mike licked the cheeto dust from his bulbous fingers, sniffing loudly as he waited for to be connected to a new game. Suddenly, his screen flashed, changing to red and he narrowed his piggy eyes. Spam? A virus? Malware? Not with his top notch security software!
He leaned back in his chair, grunting with annoyance as black text started scrolling across the screen. At the same time, he heard a low hum emanating from what seemed to be his computer- while mist started rapidly filling the room from an unknown source.
What was this? He started as he finally registered the sound and the odd mist curling around his legs. Obviously no ordinary virus. He leaned forward on his chair, sweat beading on his forehead - quickly beginning to read.
"You, Michael James Hutchinson, have been randomly chosen by us, your creators, to take on a new responsibility for mankind. You will be blessed with powers of the most extraordinary kind- in order to make this world a better place. Do you choose to accept this responsibility on behalf of-"
The computer finally accepted his input. Mike stopped mashing the escape key as the sound, the screen and the mist inexplicably vanished and the hero select screen flashed up just in time.
He breathed a sigh of relief. That was close, his team would have lost without him. Mike smirked, took a swig of dew and settled down to win again.
| |
[WP] A person undergoes an experimental surgery that allows them to see for the first time in their lives. | When they put me under, nobody told me to count backwards from 100, or that my vision would go black. It was faster than falling asleep. In the weeks prior, my doctor said a lot of things about today, things like "experimental" and "potentially fatal." It was nothing like LASIK, where if the surgeon messed up I would never see again. I already saw nothing.
So many times I felt the words under my fingertips. Words for all the colors of the spectrum, words for the beauty of people, empty words that I would never know the true meaning. There was no color in my minds eye. I didn't see only black like normal people do when they close their eyes. Only nothing.
When I woke up after my surgery, I had a thick layer of gauze on my eyes and a thick fog on my mind from the drugs. I tried to move my eyelids, but they were stuck shut or would not respond. That movement would have to wait.
Three weeks of a gauze wrapped face and daily anti-inflammatories later and I can open my eyes. My first images are black shadows on a dark grey background. It was more than I could imagine. I could see!
The doctor recommended I keep the gauze on for a little while longer. I knew I had a whole world full of things I'd been waiting to see, but after 25 years, I could be blind a few more days.
When I took my bandages off for the last time, what I saw was beyond imagination. Colors and shapes and pictures and paintings. Architecture, sidewalks, trees, flowers, mountains, and....nothing. As I looked around me at the overwhelming myriad of things to see, my eyes went black. For a few weeks, I could see the back of my bandages. For a few fleeting hours, I saw everything. The surgery was a failure, but I didn't care. I would see color in my dreams forever. | And he wondered about the red hat. When he was a very young boy, just before his accident, his father had taken him deer hunting, a mystical adventure that had required awakening before dawn, carrying weapons, and wearing a bright red hat for visibility, one that could be seen from distances of forever. This was May's first memory in life. Since losing his vision, he had felt himself just a whisper from being able to see that red hat in his mind; it was always just a hairsbreadth beyond his grasp— there but not there. And he asked himself, "Would I see that red hat if somehow I were made to see?"
One night in August, after the boys had been bathed and tucked in, Jennifer and May sat on lawn chairs under the orange tree in their backyard. She had asked him little about the prospect of new vision. Tonight, she wanted to know. "So, where are you on this?" Jennifer asked. "Do you think about it?"
"I do think about it," May said. "Every time, I ask myself if vision would really change my life. And every time the answer is the same: I don't think it would. Life is already so full. I don't need it. I don't feel like I'm missing a thing."
For a minute neither of them said anything. Then Jennifer leaned over, kissed her husband's cheek, and said, "Okay." of Jennifer's fabrics and think, "What would my favorite color be?" Shooting hoops with his sons he might ask, "Would I recognize my boys right away?" At the neighborhood coffee shop where he loved to listen to the lilting conversations and high-heeled clicks of women, he wondered, "Would I still prefer blondes?" May continued to focus on his work and his family. This was no time to be distracted from what was most important. Still, crossing the Golden Gate Bridge he might ponder, "What would I find beautiful?" Walking in the park he might ask himself, "What would look familiar to me?" Shaving in the bathroom he thought, "Would I look like myself?" | |
[wp] The apocalypse actually happened during the middle ages. The four horsemen, judgement day, everything, happened, and became known to history as the black death. Centuries later, God returns his attention to his abandoned creation and is surprised by what he finds there. | God returns his attention to earth finding that Pestilence has taken the name and has unleashed the plague to end all plagues. A self sustaining machine of stupidity that keeps masses docile, stupid, and tied to it. A single plague that has the capacity to create forever expanding adaptations and add-on's to this plague. Some of which; but not limited to, causing humans to willingly distort their face into horrific shades cast upon the thin paper background of socially validated selfworth, the addictive need to insistently electronically scream the most private of life's details in a chaotic unison with every other infected soul only to create a din of drama and discord, and finally the ability to allow bronies to communicate safely with out ever having to leave the shelter and safety of their mothers basement. Pestilence would forever be known in history as Mark Zuckerburg and the plague of Facebook. | Like a sandwich long forgotten in the refrigerator, God looks on at what we've become and holding his nose walks away pretending he never saw it, "I'll leave that one for Jesus to clean up." | |
[wp] The apocalypse actually happened during the middle ages. The four horsemen, judgement day, everything, happened, and became known to history as the black death. Centuries later, God returns his attention to his abandoned creation and is surprised by what he finds there. | God returns his attention to earth finding that Pestilence has taken the name and has unleashed the plague to end all plagues. A self sustaining machine of stupidity that keeps masses docile, stupid, and tied to it. A single plague that has the capacity to create forever expanding adaptations and add-on's to this plague. Some of which; but not limited to, causing humans to willingly distort their face into horrific shades cast upon the thin paper background of socially validated selfworth, the addictive need to insistently electronically scream the most private of life's details in a chaotic unison with every other infected soul only to create a din of drama and discord, and finally the ability to allow bronies to communicate safely with out ever having to leave the shelter and safety of their mothers basement. Pestilence would forever be known in history as Mark Zuckerburg and the plague of Facebook. | “Enough is enough,” thought Elohim. Seven centuries was plenty of time to get over a grudge.
The Father, Elohim, had given his son Jehovah all the space and time he would need to get over the loss of the children of earth. “It’s time to visit Jehovah and bury the hatchet.”
Jehovah had been the most vocal of advocates for the continued intervention with the humans, asking for more time, more angels, and better miracles. He had sworn up and down about how the humans were good overall, and that their faithfulness was hamstrung by the instruction manual they were left with. He said that not writing the manual himself was his biggest mistake. He tried to assure Elohim that further development would occur with better travel technology, allowing the Good Word to spread and cover the earth.
Elohim knew that the time had come, and the work needed to be finished. He strongly suspected that his son was so attached to humans due to his handful of years walking as a mortal amongst them. Elohim completely understood his son’s feelings. He vividly recalled his time among the people of the Greek isles centuries before. No, it was time. He unleashed the four horsemen and instructed Jehovah to return to earth a second time to bring home the few remaining faithful.
Jehovah had never been more furious, even compared to his stories of the fig tree. He had ranted and threatened, begged and pleaded, and vowed to never see his Father again. He eventually calmed and, in a quiet voice, admitted that he would obey and do His part.
That was the end of it, as far as The Father was concerned. The horsemen were making excellent progress, reveling in their freedom to pursue their disgusting hobbies. Jehovah was about to descend when Elohim turned his attention from the Sol system to pursue projects elsewhere.
“Yes, it will be good to talk with Jehovah again.”
When focused on his son and the planet earth for the first time in centuries, Elohim was immediately perplexed when found no evidence of Jehovah. He opened his consciousness to the local history of the past seven hundred years and was immediately assaulted with millions upon millions of prayers and supplications. Billions of people alive, histories of billions more, but no evidence of his Son.
“Unbelievable,” Thought Elohim. The histories spoke of further crusades against mistaken prejudices. There was story after story of privileged royalty finding peace only through unrighteous dominion over the masses, ironically done in His name. Selfless sacrifice. Genocide. Beauty. Monstrosity. Poetry. Hateful slurs. “This is what has been wrought with no oversight!” The Father saw the progression of technology wending its way in directions he didn’t expect. He saw abrupt changes in moralities in the recent years and was about to spend time pondering the implications and causations when he remembered Jehovah and returned to the point in the histories when his Armageddon began.
Suddenly he knew. Jehovah didn’t return as an eternal being, but returned as a mortal! The history showed him appear not amongst his “believers” in the European/Mediterranean lands, but on the frigid wastes of the glaciers at the southern planetary axis.
Elohim manifested himself at the remains of his son. Why had he done this? He reached down and touched the blackened icy remains, and was immediately overwhelmed by blinding lights and an earthshattering roar. Johovah stood again before Him, smiling.
“Once again, personal sacrifice brings forth untold blessings! I have died for this planet; these people. The laws of the universes are writ by your hand, but are now rewritten. I now have absolute and unilateral authority over this world and these peoples. You didn’t see the beauty in humanity. You missed the potential and faithfulness inherent in these creatures. They were merely a stepping stone in your own path. I see the path that will lead these people – ALL of them – to greatness , even unto godliness.”
“You can’t think to continue to foster these children?”
“I can and do. Do you not see the accomplishments despite their tragedies? Do you not recognize where their progression can take them? WILL take them?”
“You can’t mean…”
“I do. Now leave me, Father. I have work to do.”
Elohim immediately found himself outside the Sol system, and noticed an intricate chunk of metal flying from the orbit of Saturn. Reverse calculating the trajectory indicated that it originated from earth.
“Oh my, this is just the beginning.”
| |
[wp] The apocalypse actually happened during the middle ages. The four horsemen, judgement day, everything, happened, and became known to history as the black death. Centuries later, God returns his attention to his abandoned creation and is surprised by what he finds there. | "Eww eww eww!" god shrieked.
"Deeeath get up here this instant."
and in literally one instant death was there.
"Whats wrong is the great enemy back."
God gazed at death with frustrated look. "Care to tell me what were standing over."
"Umm a planet."
"Which planet death."
"Looks like Ear.... oh." a sudden flash of realization came to deaths expression.
"Notice anything wrong with Earth." Death could tell by the tone that gods patience wasn't coming to an end.
"There are some..."
"SOME!" God cut in "The planet is covered in them even in places where they should never be."
"Yeeaaahhh kinda screwed the pooch on this one. My bad." Death said rather bashfully.
"Screwed the, what happened!" God asked its anger turning into exasperation
"Well I mean its not like we didn't try we all came really close. Plague did his thing and the whole world was dying but they breed so fast and so frequently that the next generations built up an immunity. So famine came in to clean up Plagues mess and to got rid of all their crops, but humans will eat literally anything rats, their clothes, even each other nothing is off the menu. At this point we were pretty bummed but you know it wasn't the first time a life form has bested one or two of us. So war came in and we were so very close. They had planet killing weapons pointed at themselves with their finger on the button."
"Well what happened." God said in anticipation.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"They just stopped. I mean they still fight but they keep it pretty much contained to one part of the planet."
"And that was that." Death stated matter of factly.
"Well?" God asked.
"Well what?" Death answered.
"Why didn't you go down Personally. Take that oversized scythe and slay them one by one!" God yelled.
Death looked at God as if the divines sanity was no longer in check. "God down there with the humans. God, they would kill me."
| Corks popped around him as Michaels glass was filled with fizzing wine.
"Thanks everyone, but this is all down to the team, we couldn't have done this without any of you."
The institute had been scanning the skies for decades now, searching for any signs of life elsewhere in the universe. There were some who said it was futile, but over the years they persisted. After all, why would God have made such a large universe only to keep it empty?
It was Michael who had the idea of broadening the search. The band of telescopes had shifted to looking at the stars that conventional wisdom said were too old for life. The ones deemed too dim and too cold.
The needles had jumped to life almost immediately. That in itself wasn't too out of the ordinary, false positives were easy. A distant pulsar, a nearby communications satellite, even a rock tumbling just right in the asteroid belt could reflect signals back in an illusion of artifice.
This was different though. It wasn't one signal, but hundreds. All pouring out from the orbit of a nearby star.
"It's unbelievable"
The blonde haired woman next to Michael leaned in closer.
"Can you imagine it? Life on a world that old, they must have so much wisdom to share"
"We can't get too hopeful until we see exactly what we're dealing with" Michael couldn't restrain a grin as he replied, "But just between you and me, I think today is the day our world changes"
At a nearby desk a group of technicians huddled over a computer screen, the only people working in the party atmosphere of the room.
One of them turned and gave a thumbs up towards Michael, who returned the signal before rising to his feet.
"Everyone, can I have your attention"
The room fell silent almost immediately and turned its gaze towards him.
"Today is an exciting day for us all. The Lord gave us this perfect world, and for so long we have wondered if he did the same for others. Today that question is answered. We now know we are not his only children. There are some who worry this makes us less special, but that couldn't be further from the truth. Today we have discovered we are part of a large family, and it's time to meet our sisters and brothers."
Michael wasn't cut out for public speaking, but it wasn't him people were here to hear anyway. He rushed to get through the rest of his notes.
"Our technical team has decoded the signal used in the broadcasts from our siblings, and it's time to meet them"
He gestured again to a technician, who at the touch of a button brought the projector to life.
The picture was grainy, but readable. On the screen a figured kneeled, as if in prayer.
They're like us, Michaels giddied at the thought, they know The Lord too.
Another figure, looking much like a man approached and placed his hand on the kneeling forms shoulders. Then without warning his wrist flicked and a stream of blood emerged from the kneeling figures neck.
Michael jumped up and turned off the screen. The rooms silence hung heavy, but he was barely aware of the others there as he walked to the window and looked out.
On the horizon both suns were setting, their dual shadows long and dark. Stars were just starting to emerge from the darkness and he searched for the single golden point high in the sky.
Life on a seven thousand year old world he thought, God help us all. | |
[WP] "You don't understand, this galaxy isn't even on the map." | "You don't understand. This galaxy isn't even on the map."
The captain leaned over my shoulder as she looked at my screen. The control room was dimly lit, as though by pre-dawn light and the air was still chilly as the ship finished heating up the habitable zones.
"How is that possible?" she asked. "The telescopes mapped out all of our observable bubble years ago."
"Only in the broadest sweeps," I said. "None of these stars are cataloged." In an area with cataloged stars, it was easy to orient yourself again if you got off course--enter the color, intensity, size and type of any four stars, measure their relative distances to each other, and the catalog would pinpoint your position in the universe.
"Secondary methods?" the captain asked.
"I can get the big telescope up and running, but we won't be able to do anything with it until the gurus finish." At the moment two of our technology gurus were attempting to figure out when and how the navigation console had been overridden and if our missing log files could be recovered. It took a lot of computing power. If they could recover the files, I wouldn't need to use the telescope at all, but...
"Good. Do it." My stomach twinged with fear. The captain didn't think the files could be recovered. "Keep working on the catalog until the computers are freed up, as far out as we can accurately measure."
I nodded and put my console to sleep, then went to gear up for the trek out to the telescope.
The telescope was technically inside the ship, but it was not housed in any of the habitable zones. It sat under a giant shield dome in the outermost layer of the ship, gazing out at the heavens through a clean, pure vacuum.
It was a good twenty minute walk out to the telescope. I punched my security code into door after door as I moved through the layers of the ship, dim pink-green lights guided my way, the color of dawn on earth. The temperature and air pressure dropped as I went, while gravity pulled at me less and less. I finished the last few hundred yards by pull-cable, clipping myself onto a handle that would drag me effortlessly up to the outer shell of the ship. It reminded me of the ski tows I'd used the one and only time I'd gone skiing as a child.
I put in my code one last time and entered the telescope room. It was dark and silent as only a vacuum could be. All that could be heard was the quiet hum of my respirator and the beating of my own heart. Getting the machine running only took a few moments. I paused before radioing the captain. She and I both knew it would be pointless to continue fumbling with the catalog--she was only trying to make me feel useful while the gurus sorted out the problem.
I turned back to the telescope and switched the functions to full manual and zipped up the darkroom. A half sphere of stars filled the space before me, slowly sliding and spinning as I manipulated the scope.
I could look at stars forever. I knew them like a baseball fan knows all the players in the league. I knew what they were made of, how they were born and how they would someday die. I knew their planets and satellites and which ones showed potential for life. I watched the projections before me, at peace despite the dangerous situation we were in.
Someone had sabotaged us, I realized. No interstellar ship had had a navigation error since the new tech systems had been implemented, ten years before our own departure. Even before that they had been rare. Somehow, here among the stars, it didn't bother me. The captain and the gurus would figure out the who's and why's and how's of the attack.
Down below, the lights would be brightening to morning, the crew waking after their long sleep to confusion and fear. While I stood alone in the great cold silence with nothing but the vast puzzle of the stars. | "you dont understand strife, this galaxy.. this place, its not even on a map"
"then where is it umi? surely we have to be somewhere.., anywhere.."
"you and i both came from earth, just from different time periods. you were at the beginning, and i was at the end. i was... a wanderer.. left behind by the fleeing helix federation, after the genocide.. the earth was a husk of what it used to be.. no resources, no nothing. we would wander the earth aimlessly, trying to put reason to the end... but enough of that, thats just a memory now, and we are here. this link. in the middle of a different universe, a plane made for a reason. a reason you and i, and all the others, have to find out."
"the others?"
"yes, the other.. 10 i think"
"how do you know so much? i cant remember a thing.. except the gun.."
"i think.. before we came here, do you remember the signpost? the one with the lantern on top?"
"yeah and it had all the signs.. i could only see one.. are you saying we each had a sign? is that it?"
"i think so.. do you remember what yours said..? i think.. i think i saw them all, 11 other than my own. i think everyone has a purpose in this, something they have to fulfill or atone for, like how you said there were ghosts that couldnt move on until they were at peace.."
"uh yeah... no i dont remember what mine said.. and... it makes sense doesnt it?.. i dont know.. but its as good a guess as any... "
"well its just you and me until we find the others. i hope they arent too.. as you would say, violent.."
"yeah thats the word.. youre getting better with the whole talking thing. pretty good for someone who hadnt talked for about 200 years anyway, heh."
"yeah.. its not to hard.. ill have to show you how we wanderers would talk.. just... its a bit complex.. and i dont know what will- "
"yeah? hey dont worry about it, we've been talking for hours now, in my books were buddies, and you were a better buddy than i ever had back in 2016.. shit, its weird to think of the earth as a timespace rather than just 'the earth'.. and you, being able to live so long.. i cant say i would be too fond of it.. but nevermind that.. anything else you wanna talk about? it seems we have all the time in the world in this place..."
[umi & strife dialogue]
<if youre wondering, im using WP's for prompts in my story, im kinda iffy about posting them, but ill give this one a shot.. > | |
[WP] "You don't understand, this galaxy isn't even on the map." | "You don't even understand, this galaxy isn't even on the map."
"That doesn't mean its a good investment! Maybe there's a reason it's not on the map!"
I shook my head. Anderson could be so slow sometimes. "Exactly. We find out *why*, and then we go and fix it, and then we make a killing selling the planets!"
He snorted. "Go and fix it? Do you know what kinds of things explorers find in these galaxies? There are alien monsters, alien plagues, black holes, higgs-boson negation fields. Get this into your thick skull: YOU ARE NOT CUT OUT FOR REAL ESTATE." | "you dont understand strife, this galaxy.. this place, its not even on a map"
"then where is it umi? surely we have to be somewhere.., anywhere.."
"you and i both came from earth, just from different time periods. you were at the beginning, and i was at the end. i was... a wanderer.. left behind by the fleeing helix federation, after the genocide.. the earth was a husk of what it used to be.. no resources, no nothing. we would wander the earth aimlessly, trying to put reason to the end... but enough of that, thats just a memory now, and we are here. this link. in the middle of a different universe, a plane made for a reason. a reason you and i, and all the others, have to find out."
"the others?"
"yes, the other.. 10 i think"
"how do you know so much? i cant remember a thing.. except the gun.."
"i think.. before we came here, do you remember the signpost? the one with the lantern on top?"
"yeah and it had all the signs.. i could only see one.. are you saying we each had a sign? is that it?"
"i think so.. do you remember what yours said..? i think.. i think i saw them all, 11 other than my own. i think everyone has a purpose in this, something they have to fulfill or atone for, like how you said there were ghosts that couldnt move on until they were at peace.."
"uh yeah... no i dont remember what mine said.. and... it makes sense doesnt it?.. i dont know.. but its as good a guess as any... "
"well its just you and me until we find the others. i hope they arent too.. as you would say, violent.."
"yeah thats the word.. youre getting better with the whole talking thing. pretty good for someone who hadnt talked for about 200 years anyway, heh."
"yeah.. its not to hard.. ill have to show you how we wanderers would talk.. just... its a bit complex.. and i dont know what will- "
"yeah? hey dont worry about it, we've been talking for hours now, in my books were buddies, and you were a better buddy than i ever had back in 2016.. shit, its weird to think of the earth as a timespace rather than just 'the earth'.. and you, being able to live so long.. i cant say i would be too fond of it.. but nevermind that.. anything else you wanna talk about? it seems we have all the time in the world in this place..."
[umi & strife dialogue]
<if youre wondering, im using WP's for prompts in my story, im kinda iffy about posting them, but ill give this one a shot.. > | |
[WP] "You don't understand, this galaxy isn't even on the map." | "You don't tell me what to understand, you tell me where to go. You're a navigator, remember?"
"Yes sir, I know that. Just as I know I'm the navigator; I know you're the 'commander' of this 'ship', the only other person aboard, horrible to talk to, and that we're about to blindly fly into an uncharted galactic system."
"That'll be enough jib out of you. One more outburst and I'll have you thrown in the brig. Bring up the LTD sensor arrays, and try to contact... What's that?"
"There's nothing on the scanner, *commander*. Wait, there it is. It wasn't showing up a moment ago. The closer we get, the clearer the return signal is."
"Shut up and go below deck. There's some sort of spherical horizon ahead. It's massive. Where are you going? Sit down and help me *navigate* this thing."
"B.. Yes sir. Change heading to sigma 1. Continue on route."
"You're right. This thing is surrounding the entire system. It's some sort of galactic cloak."
"In the middle of the terran Dominion? I don't think so. It would have been discovered by now."
"Our position in relation to the horizon has changed. Reverse course. We shouldn't be moving closer, sir."
"I haven't changed course." | "you dont understand strife, this galaxy.. this place, its not even on a map"
"then where is it umi? surely we have to be somewhere.., anywhere.."
"you and i both came from earth, just from different time periods. you were at the beginning, and i was at the end. i was... a wanderer.. left behind by the fleeing helix federation, after the genocide.. the earth was a husk of what it used to be.. no resources, no nothing. we would wander the earth aimlessly, trying to put reason to the end... but enough of that, thats just a memory now, and we are here. this link. in the middle of a different universe, a plane made for a reason. a reason you and i, and all the others, have to find out."
"the others?"
"yes, the other.. 10 i think"
"how do you know so much? i cant remember a thing.. except the gun.."
"i think.. before we came here, do you remember the signpost? the one with the lantern on top?"
"yeah and it had all the signs.. i could only see one.. are you saying we each had a sign? is that it?"
"i think so.. do you remember what yours said..? i think.. i think i saw them all, 11 other than my own. i think everyone has a purpose in this, something they have to fulfill or atone for, like how you said there were ghosts that couldnt move on until they were at peace.."
"uh yeah... no i dont remember what mine said.. and... it makes sense doesnt it?.. i dont know.. but its as good a guess as any... "
"well its just you and me until we find the others. i hope they arent too.. as you would say, violent.."
"yeah thats the word.. youre getting better with the whole talking thing. pretty good for someone who hadnt talked for about 200 years anyway, heh."
"yeah.. its not to hard.. ill have to show you how we wanderers would talk.. just... its a bit complex.. and i dont know what will- "
"yeah? hey dont worry about it, we've been talking for hours now, in my books were buddies, and you were a better buddy than i ever had back in 2016.. shit, its weird to think of the earth as a timespace rather than just 'the earth'.. and you, being able to live so long.. i cant say i would be too fond of it.. but nevermind that.. anything else you wanna talk about? it seems we have all the time in the world in this place..."
[umi & strife dialogue]
<if youre wondering, im using WP's for prompts in my story, im kinda iffy about posting them, but ill give this one a shot.. > | |
Optional brownie points: do not use christianity | [WP]: A man gets hit by a bus and discovers that there IS an afterlife. It is not the one of the religion he practiced | "Welcome, child! I am The Sun!"
"Yes, I can see that. So....you're God then?"
"Indeed, what you know as a god anyway. I am the divine personification of the life-giving star that orbits your Earth."
"Uh, actually, the Earth orbits you."
"Oh? You know this?"
"Yeah, we learned about that in 3rd grade. Someone figured that out like 500 years ago. Newton I think."
"Well I'm glad my children have learned so much! When you first began worshiping me, you were little more than animals yourselves, living in caves, afraid of your own shadows. There are so many wonders to my glory that I must share with you. Do you know what I am made of, for example? You might assume it is coal or trees, but..."
"Hydrogen and helium. And I think you might have some iron and carbon in your core, but that might not be until you get closer to exploding."
"How....I....it is not possible for your species to visit me! How could you know this?"
"Spectrometer I think? I know they take light from you and break it down into color, and by analyzing these lines that show up in the spectrum they can determine what elements you have."
"Astounding..."
"Look, I don't mean to be rude here, but this is pretty basic stuff. We've known this for at least a hundred years or so. Have you not been paying attention to Earth this whole time?"
"You'll forgive me, but your lifespans are so short...it's difficult for me to keep track. I am over four billion years old, you know."
"Actually it's more like 4.6 billion years."
"What? No....it hasn't been that long, has it?"
"Again, I'm not trying to be a know it all here, and I'm no scientist, but I did watch a lot of Science Channel...I'm pretty sure that's accurate. Hasn't...hasn't anyone else told you this? Billions of people have died since we started figuring this stuff out."
"Child, you're the first soul I've met since....oh....oh no. I...I got so distracted hitting on that passing quasar that....oh my goodness..."
"What quasar? What are you talking about?"
"Child, you cannot understand. When one of you dies, your soul comes to meet me, and I must be ready to receive you. Except this quasar was passing by, and it had been so long since any of you had been worshiping me, I...I just forgot about you and...how many revolutions has it....OH NO....so many...how could I forget..."
"What is happening here? Are you trying to tell me that you've just forgotten to save the souls of the dead for over 400 years?"
"More like 2000....The Galaxy is going to kill me..."
"The Galaxy? What is the Galaxy, like...Super God? What does that..."
"I'm sorry, child, this isn't your problem. Here, you're accepted into my Kingdom, comeandbebathedineternalfire."
"WAIT, I....AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
"Ooooh, forgot to give him his divine body...that's got to hurt. Alright, Sun, no more messing around. You're gonna cut down on the comets, you're gonna get up early and do 20 flares every morning, and get your life together! Let's see, who's up next?" | It was quick. A flash of white and suddenly he stood out in a grassy field. The sky was odd. It seemed to be changing too quickly to be natural. Like it was sunny one moment, and could be cloudy or stormy the next. There was no rain though. Not here. A mountain range rose to his left, and a copse of pine trees grew to the right.
It looked windy too, but he couldn't feel it. As if the thought summoned the sensation, he suddenly felt a light breeze against his skin. *Odd,* he thought. He didn't feel it a moment ago. He surveyed his surroundings. There was an eerie lack of noise here. No rustling of the leaves, or whispers from the grass. Like stars winking into existence, his sensations seeped back to his consciousness one by one as he thought of them.
As he stepped forward, the unanticipated feeling of dirt between his toes made him glance down. *I'm naked!* he thought, startled. Without warning, clothes popped into being over him. He froze, unsure of what to do. *What is this place?* he mused. *Am I alone here?* It felt like he was being watched by thousands of eyes. Unbidden thoughts of wild life sprung to his mind.
A piercing howl rang out across the field. Alerted, spear in hand, he turned to face the source of the call and saw a monstrous wolf staring at him from the shadow of the trees. It's golden eyes bright and ominous against its dark shaggy grey fur. He crouched low, and raised his spear. His plated armor didn't seem to weigh him down. In fact, he wasn't even focused on himself at all. His full attention turned to the beast staring him down. Its growl rumbled deep and full. He felt it more than heard it. As if thinking about the animal somehow made it more real. He was beginning to panic.
As if out of thin air, more wolves began to appear. Each as monstrous and terrible as the first. *This is bad* he thought. The wolves broken into a vast loping sprint. Each stride seemed 10 feet long. He turned an ran for the hills, completely naked. He had no defense against such unnatural devils. His mind was racing, when a rock, hidden by the grass, tripped him. He fell hard, sprawling into the dirt. *No no no!* he shrieked. He curled into a ball and shut his eyes fast to escape the horrible scenario and waited. The moments passed agonizingly slowly but nothing happened.
He peeked out from his hands and gasped. He no longer hunkered down in the grass. He sat up and gazed out at the world laid out before him. Standing, he realized he was atop the mountains he noticed upon his arrival to this strange place. Snow and ice covered every rock and tree below him. A biting cold hit him all at once as he scanned his surroundings, forcing a shiver to cascade down his spine.
Wishing for warmth, he was unexpectedly clothed in warm fur with sturdy boots and a hood over his ears. The crackling of a robust campfire greeted his ears. *What is going on?* he thought to himself. He edged closer to the fire. *It's definitely there, but how?* He could feel the heat penetrating his this clothing. He sat close to the fire, not even noticing the log stump that materialized for him to sit on, and peered into the flames.
His contemplation was interrupted by the sound of a boot crunching the snow. A man, tall and broad, with a thick curly beard was standing next to his fire. He only wore light clothing, somehow untouched by the cold. His eyes were a deep gold, the same color as the wolves. The stranger turned to him, those unsettling eyes reflecting back too much light.
"You're new here." It was not a question. "This is a dangerous place. You need to leave. Now."
At the strangers words, he felt wispy, as if a breeze could take him away and dissipate him into nothingness. The lightness grew stronger and he almost felt as if he was fading away then suddenly the prickling sensation vanished and the stranger's eyes grew wide with shock.
"You're actually here, not just dreaming? That puts you in far more danger than I realized"
"What are you talking about?" He asked the golden eyed stranger.
The man turned towards the open landscape, turning his gaze out on the rolling fields and forests below. "This place" he began hesitantly, "is not of the waking world. *Tel'aran'rhiod* it is called, and it is very deadly to the untrained mind. I don't know how you came to this place, but you're here in the flesh and that puts you in more danger than you realize. We can't talk here, someone might be listening. We need to move."
The stranger put a heavy hand on his shoulder.
*shift*
|
Optional brownie points: do not use christianity | [WP]: A man gets hit by a bus and discovers that there IS an afterlife. It is not the one of the religion he practiced | "Welcome, child! I am The Sun!"
"Yes, I can see that. So....you're God then?"
"Indeed, what you know as a god anyway. I am the divine personification of the life-giving star that orbits your Earth."
"Uh, actually, the Earth orbits you."
"Oh? You know this?"
"Yeah, we learned about that in 3rd grade. Someone figured that out like 500 years ago. Newton I think."
"Well I'm glad my children have learned so much! When you first began worshiping me, you were little more than animals yourselves, living in caves, afraid of your own shadows. There are so many wonders to my glory that I must share with you. Do you know what I am made of, for example? You might assume it is coal or trees, but..."
"Hydrogen and helium. And I think you might have some iron and carbon in your core, but that might not be until you get closer to exploding."
"How....I....it is not possible for your species to visit me! How could you know this?"
"Spectrometer I think? I know they take light from you and break it down into color, and by analyzing these lines that show up in the spectrum they can determine what elements you have."
"Astounding..."
"Look, I don't mean to be rude here, but this is pretty basic stuff. We've known this for at least a hundred years or so. Have you not been paying attention to Earth this whole time?"
"You'll forgive me, but your lifespans are so short...it's difficult for me to keep track. I am over four billion years old, you know."
"Actually it's more like 4.6 billion years."
"What? No....it hasn't been that long, has it?"
"Again, I'm not trying to be a know it all here, and I'm no scientist, but I did watch a lot of Science Channel...I'm pretty sure that's accurate. Hasn't...hasn't anyone else told you this? Billions of people have died since we started figuring this stuff out."
"Child, you're the first soul I've met since....oh....oh no. I...I got so distracted hitting on that passing quasar that....oh my goodness..."
"What quasar? What are you talking about?"
"Child, you cannot understand. When one of you dies, your soul comes to meet me, and I must be ready to receive you. Except this quasar was passing by, and it had been so long since any of you had been worshiping me, I...I just forgot about you and...how many revolutions has it....OH NO....so many...how could I forget..."
"What is happening here? Are you trying to tell me that you've just forgotten to save the souls of the dead for over 400 years?"
"More like 2000....The Galaxy is going to kill me..."
"The Galaxy? What is the Galaxy, like...Super God? What does that..."
"I'm sorry, child, this isn't your problem. Here, you're accepted into my Kingdom, comeandbebathedineternalfire."
"WAIT, I....AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
"Ooooh, forgot to give him his divine body...that's got to hurt. Alright, Sun, no more messing around. You're gonna cut down on the comets, you're gonna get up early and do 20 flares every morning, and get your life together! Let's see, who's up next?" | It was a strange feeling Justin had. He knew he was laying on the asphalt, the hot tar burning a patch in his left ass cheek which for some reason was currently exposed, but despite knowing he was laying down, he felt like he was falling. He looked to the sky, clouds staying in their same positions instead of rising away like he felt like they should be doing. The illusion of falling broke whenever he saw a head peep over him.
"Someone's calling 911 right?" he heard a voice say.
"I thought someone else had already done it."
"Has anyone here called an ambulance yet?"
"No."
"Nah."
"My free minutes don't kick in until after 7, someone else call."
"The hell was he doing? He just walked right out in front of the bus."
He saw a woman peek over at him, long brunette hair hanging close to his face. She pushed some of her hair back over her shoulder. His eyes caught a golden locket hanging off a silver chain from her neck. He took in one breath, cringing at the sudden onset of pain in his stomach. He looked to her, wondering if she was going to be the one to save him from the cluster of idiots surrounding him.
"I don't think it's going to matter, he's gone-er than a meth head on payday," she said in as strong southern drawl.
"Fuck," he slowly exhaled, closing his eyes, the feeling of falling once again overtaking him.
____________________________________________________________
"Hey-o. I said, heeey-o."
Justin felt something poking him in the ribs. He opened his eyes and saw a small girl with curly red hair poking him with a twig. He weakly swatted the twig away and then closed his eyes to go back to sleep.
"Hey-o."
More prodding. All he wanted to do was just go back to sleep and hope that someone would take him to the hospital.
"Heeeeey-o. Wake up mister."
Justin finally sat up, aware of his surroundings. He appeared to be in a small park; there were people walking around on the paths, and off to the side was a small playground complete with a jungle gym, slide, and even a merry-go-round. He looked down and saw that he was sitting on a bench, and that the red-headed girl had managed to reclaim her twig and was going to work on his ribs.
"Quit it," he said, grabbing the twig and throwing it to the side.
"That's not nice mister," she said, sliding off the bench, "it's a wonder how you got here and not the other place."
"Other place? Where am I?"
"You died mister, and popped up right here," she said, pointing down to the gravel where a melting vanilla ice-cream cone was sitting. "Scared the poop out of me, you owe me a ice-cream."
He looked around and saw that people were watching him and the little girl. "Why are they staring?" he asked the red-headed girl.
"It's always inturresting when a person pops up, most of the time they never show up in parks, more so in the rooms," the girl said, prodding the ice-cream cone with a twig. "You oughta go see Blake, he'll tell you what to do."
"Is there, um, a Jesus I can speak to?"
The little girl twirled her red curly hair in her finger, looking up at the sky, thinking. "I know a couple Hay-seuses, but I don't know a Geezus, just go to Blake, come on, I'll take you."
She grabbed a hold of Justin's hand, sticky from where the ice-cream had been melting, and pulled him off the bench. Part of him didn't feel right being led around by what looked like a 10 year old, but there really wasn't much of an option.
People continued to stare as they walked through the park up until they made it to a street where a taxi was already waiting. The little girl climbed in first, then comically slapped the seat next to her, "Get in," she said, "after Blake's, you're taking me to get another ice-cream."
"Okay," Justin muttered, climbing into the seat.
"Promise?"
"Promise."
The taxi drive took off, already knowing where they were heading.
____________________________________________________________
They arrived at a small house after a brief drive through a city that Justin had no recollection of. He looked around at street signs and buildings, hoping to see something that he'd recognize, but no. He had asked the little girl where they were, but she refused to answer, instead she pursed her lips together and made a key-locking motion, then a toss. She threw away the key.
The little girl knocked excitedly on the door for several seconds until there was a loud, "COME IN!"
She flung the door open and skipped in, with Justin cautiously following behind. They stepped into a small living room with a couch up against the wall and a desk with a computer in a corner. Sitting there was a gruff man, probably no older than 25. He was wearing a hoodie, wrinkled jeans, and only one sock which looked like it hadn't been washed in days. He turned to face Justin and the little girl, hair a greasy mop on his head.
"Another one Angie?"
"Yup, made me drop my ice-cream cone. He promised to get me another one."
"Did you?" Blake asked.
Justin shrugged.
"Well, I guess you're wondering what's going on," Blake said as he stood from his chair. He stretched out his arms. "Welcome to the afterlife."
Justin looked around.
"Yeah, I know it's not much, I forgot to pay the landlord at the last place, got kicked out for a few months, I'll be back there though, at my much nicer place."
"Um," Justin muttered, "are you God?"
Blake dropped his outstretched arms. He scratched his head, "I dunno, I was just the first one here."
"The first one here?"
"Yup."
"What do you mean?"
"Well," he said, plopping himself into a chair, "it's been awhile, but I distinctly remember getting trampled by what people now know as dinosaurs, and after that, poof, I was here, quickly followed by several other people I knew of who were getting attacked by the other dinos."
"You're joking," Justin said.
"Nope. People first looked up to me, seeing me as their leader and all, but really, I was no different from them. Soon, they all moved on, but every now and then people do come to me for help, guidance, whatever, being that I have been here the longest."
"Is this another life?" Justin asked after a few moments pause.
"Not really, I don't think so," Blake answered.
"Can, uh, we die here?"
Without hesitation, Blake opened a drawer from the desk, pulled out what looked like was a revolver, aimed it at Angie, and blew a hole clean through her head. Her body fell to the ground with an odd thump.
"Holy shit!" Justin yelled, falling over himself as he scrambled to get away from Angie's body. "Why'd you do that?"
"Wait for it," Blake said, hands now outstretched in front of him, as if he were about to reveal a grand magic trick. "Waaaaait for it." Nothing happened for several moments. Angie's body just laid there on the carpet, blood soaking into the fabric. "Huh, well this is kind of awkward."
Angie's body began to shimmer, "Oh there it is, whooo, I was scared there for a second," and then it vanished, along with the mess that was left behind from her eviscerated head.
"Where did she go?" Justin said, almost in tears.
"More than likely back to the park, that's her favorite place," Blake answered, opening the drawer to his desk and placing the revolver in. He pulled out a wallet from the drawer, then pulled out a blue slip that looked like monopoly money.
"Here," he said, handing the slip to Justin, "I always get her an ice-cream cone whenever I blow her head off without warning, go find her, get her a treat, then come back. Got some other things to talk about."
Justin took the slip, then walked outside the house, wondering what the hell was going on.
|
[WP] June 14th, 2021, the day Canadians stopped apologizing. | > We're not sorry, not really.
> We have more resources, not our fault. They were here when we got here.
> We have more hockey players, not our fault. It's just mostly cold here.
> We have maple syrup, not our fault. There's just a ton of maple trees and we get bored.
> We have tons of fresh water, not our fault. The lakes were here when we got here.
> We have to be violated when we cross borders, that's their fault. We didn't fly the planes.
> We are subjected to ridicule for being so polite, that's your fault. You made good manners a joke.
> We are small in numbers compared to our southern border sharing neighbour, neighbour with a "u" because screw you, that's why.
> We have an inferiority complex, that's it, not our fault. You have a superiority complex, that's all, you made us this way.
> But no more.
> Today is the day we stand united, vigilant and unapologetic. This well be the new Canada.
> My name is Justin Trudeau, and my hair is fabulous!
The crowd roared as Trudeau Jr. stepped away from the podium. As he waved, he dropped the mic and it landed with a resounding *thud* followed by a stream of feedback. Scrambling to retrieve it, he lifted it to his mouth.
> Sorry. | Americans never understood why Canadians were so polite. They always said "sorry", or "I'm sorry". What the Americans never understood, was that for Canadians, "I'm sorry" meant a hundred different things. From "watch your fucking step" to "excuse me", I'm sorry had served Canadians well.
On June 14th, 2021 the day of the Maple Syrup Revolution, a day that will live on in infamy. Canadians stopped saying I'm sorry. Now, you'll hear Canadians telling you to fuck off, openly. It's truly refreshing. | |
[WP] A "Judge" is automatically selected within a 1-mile radius of any crime that is committed. There are no requirements to become "Judge" and once one becomes it, their word is law until a "Criminal" has been chosen and a punishment has been given. | I stand in my cabin over the corpse of my former best friend. I had walked in on him and my wife cheating together back in the city. I had been filled with rage, but with the chip in the base of everyone's skull monitoring criminal activity there was nothing I could do. That is until I thought about the system, and how it might be flawed. It didn't take much to knock him out. It probably caused a minor judgement back in the city but I can live with that when I get back. A citizen within one mile of the crime is automatically selected to act as a judge after all, and with me not even being there he probably just entered in a default motion against me. That is where my plan came together though. Once we are here, at my cabin, there was only two people within a mile of here. Now, there is only one. I hear a voice in the back of my head.
*You have been selected to act as a judge for the crime of murder, details of the crime have been uploaded to your memory. Please proceed*
Memories filled my head, none I hadn't seen before of course. Now with one simply action I can finish the second part of my plan and the perfect crime would be completed.
"I find..."
Pain paralyzes me as the chip activates the pain receptors in my brain.
*Defendant, please wait for the judge to begin the proceeds before you make any statements to him.*
I am filled with a cold sweat. This isn't right, what can I do now. I begin to pace back and forth when pain hits me again.
*Judge, please promptly begin with the proceedings, incentivisation has commenced*
"I'm try..."
The pain hits me again.
*Defendant, please wait for the judge to begin the proceeds before you make any statements to him.*
This is bad, this is impossible, the system isn't supposed to work this way. I need to get help. I run to the door and try to open it, but am paralyzed by pain again.
*Defendant, please refrain from leaving the scene of this class 5 felony until the judge has completed the proceedings*
It looks like I was right, the system is flawed, but there is no perfect crime.
**********************
I was driving down a road in the middle of nowhere when the voice in the back of my head kicked in.
*You have been selected to act as a judge for the crime of suicide, details of the crime have been uploaded to your memory. Please review the memories and confirm the crime, no verdict is required*
(This was my first try at writing something, hopefully it turned out good enough) | My watch blinks twice.
"A06-536 of District 13, you have been selected as Judge. Please follow the instructions given to your device's GPS". It's been a few years since the last crime in the district.
I check the message again. The GPS coordinates are easy to follow, I've been there before.
The shower section of the district are usually clean, far from immaculate but clean. Today the floor is a brownish-red, the walls look darker than usual and I almost gag at the smell.
3 men guard the entrance to the scene, 789, 790 and 430. While others gather a few meters away, waiting for the showers to reopen and avid for a story to tell their friends.
430 is an A, like me. Well, sorta. He looks at me, spits on the floor and taps his colleagues' shoulders.
" Looks like we got ourselves a Judge, boys". And he let's out a small laugh. Loud enough for me to hear.
Before I can stop myself I am on him, right in his face, looking in his eyes. "Let's see if it really works. Why doesn't your arm break ?"
I see the fear in his eyes, and I hear the watch's small vibration on his wrist. He suddenly jerks back, and a scream starts to form on his lips. He quickly restrains it. Can't show weakness to the others. I turn to the others, both Cs.
"So ? What happened ?"
They both look at 430, expectantly, then back at me, and start speaking at the same time.
"He didn't want to..."
"651 attacked him..."
I silence them with one hand, turns to 430. There is one and only one penalty for each and every crime that could be committed here.
I leave the cleanup drones handle both body. The others are already starting to clean the showers. I go back to my section and look at my watch.
"A06-536 - time left to serve 6 years 8 months 3 days 19 hours 34 mins" | |
[WP] A "Judge" is automatically selected within a 1-mile radius of any crime that is committed. There are no requirements to become "Judge" and once one becomes it, their word is law until a "Criminal" has been chosen and a punishment has been given. | "Here you go," the man with the name tag of "Bryan" said to Lance. Bryan handed Lance a towel, a bar of soap (fancy soap with little bits of sand in it, Lance knew they had a name but couldn't remember), and a small bottle of shampoo. There was already steam pouring out of the shower room. "I'll be sitting out here, give me a holler if you need anything."
"Okay," Lance said, heart thumping in his chest. It had been years since he had had a legitimate shower. He tried to bathe as often as he could, but even he wouldn't really count rolling around in stagnant puddles of ditch water as a shower.
The shower-head was round and large, pouring a huge amount of water down onto the tile floor. He eyed the water as it poured down the drain. He almost stepped in immediately but then stopped himself; he raised his hand and placed it into the water, checking the temperature as he had done a long time ago when he had his own shower, his own bathroom, his own home.
It was warm. It was perfect. He stepped in and sighed as all the grime and mud began to peel away from his body in layers. He cupped his hands and began to drink the water, not bothering to even ask Bryan if the water was okay to drink; it was cleaner than any water he had drank in awhile. After his belly was full and stretched, he finally lathered up his body in the sweet smelling soap then shampooed his long matted hair.
After a full two hours of showering, Lance finally emerged, feeling like an incredibly different person.
"Here's a new shirt and pants, they're kind of plain and I sort of just eyed your size, but that should be alright," Bryan said, pointing to a white t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants, "you're going to be wearing judges robes over them anyways."
Plain or not, Lance didn't care. They were clean clothes. They were instantly leagues better than anything he currently had, which happened to be just rags.
"Okay, here's the robe, put it on, and let's get the show on the road. Uh, pardon the pun," Bryan said, blushing.
"It's fine," Lance said, water sloshing around in his stomach as he pulled the robe over his head. "The trial is here in this building?"
"Yep." Bryan led him out of the showering room and into a hallway. At the end was an elevator. They stepped into the elevator and Bryan hit the ground floor button.
"So, do I get any info on what the case is beforehand, or are they, uh, supposed to just tell me themselves?"
"It's a simple case," Bryan answered, "a small fender-bender, one person rear ended the other. Not a big deal. Just let them prattle on for a bit, and just pick whoever. No stress at all." They exited the elevator, walked down another hallway and found themselves at another door. "Okay, through this door you'll find your stand, just sit down, pick whoever you want to talk, do whatever. It's really not that big of a case, remember that."
"Just pick whoever?"
"Yeah, just deal out a sentence."
"Uh, what kind of sentence can I, uh, sentence?"
"Anything really."
"I could give them a death sentence?"
"Uh," Bryan said, turning and looking at Lance with a raised eyebrow, "I guess you could if you really wanted to. That'll sit on your conscience, not mine."
"Both of them? I could sentence both of them?"
"If you see fit, but really, it's just a minor car accident. No need to lop peoples' heads off."
Lance nodded, then walked through the door and into the courtroom. He climbed up a small set of steps and sat at his chair. Before him in the courtroom were just two people, a man in a nice suit on one side, and a woman in a slim-fitting dress in the other.
"Hi," Lance said, "can I get your names?"
"Jake."
"Cecilia."
"Okay," Lance said, looking down at the desk. There in front of him he had pictures from the car accident. A very nice looking red sports care with a dented in bumper, and the other picture was of a nice black fan, with a bashed in backside. "What happened?"
"She stopped short-
"It was a stoplight!" Cecilia interrupted.
"It wasn't!"
"I, uh," Lance tried to say. His small words were blanketed over by the man and woman arguing with each other. He felt awkward sitting in the stand, a far cry from his usual spot at the side of the road holding a sign, asking for donations. He looked back down at the pictures, hoping that they would both solve this on their own.
As he looked at the pictures, a strange feeling filled his stomach. It was a mixture of regret, sadness, and somewhat of anger. He looked at the sports car, remembering badly how much he had wanted one of his own when he was a child. And he looked at the van, remembering how Annette had wanted one for whenever they had children.
He looked back up and saw that they were still going at it, back and forth, yelling and hollering.
Lance slammed the gavel on the table, silencing both of them at once. "You," he said, pointing the gavel at Cecilia, "you stopped short. Your punishment, you're going to turn your car over to me."
"Wha- what?" She stammered.
Jake opened his mouth to say some snide remark to Cecilia, but was interrupted by another gavel slam from Lance.
"You," Lance said, "you, uh, you're an asshole. You're turning over your car to me."
"That's bullshit!" Jake yelled.
"My word is law," Lance said, slamming his gavel again. Damaged as the cars were, he'd still get a large sum of money from the sports car, and he would probably even keep the van. He would be able to start over, and hopefully do things right this time.
| My watch blinks twice.
"A06-536 of District 13, you have been selected as Judge. Please follow the instructions given to your device's GPS". It's been a few years since the last crime in the district.
I check the message again. The GPS coordinates are easy to follow, I've been there before.
The shower section of the district are usually clean, far from immaculate but clean. Today the floor is a brownish-red, the walls look darker than usual and I almost gag at the smell.
3 men guard the entrance to the scene, 789, 790 and 430. While others gather a few meters away, waiting for the showers to reopen and avid for a story to tell their friends.
430 is an A, like me. Well, sorta. He looks at me, spits on the floor and taps his colleagues' shoulders.
" Looks like we got ourselves a Judge, boys". And he let's out a small laugh. Loud enough for me to hear.
Before I can stop myself I am on him, right in his face, looking in his eyes. "Let's see if it really works. Why doesn't your arm break ?"
I see the fear in his eyes, and I hear the watch's small vibration on his wrist. He suddenly jerks back, and a scream starts to form on his lips. He quickly restrains it. Can't show weakness to the others. I turn to the others, both Cs.
"So ? What happened ?"
They both look at 430, expectantly, then back at me, and start speaking at the same time.
"He didn't want to..."
"651 attacked him..."
I silence them with one hand, turns to 430. There is one and only one penalty for each and every crime that could be committed here.
I leave the cleanup drones handle both body. The others are already starting to clean the showers. I go back to my section and look at my watch.
"A06-536 - time left to serve 6 years 8 months 3 days 19 hours 34 mins" | |
[WP] A "Judge" is automatically selected within a 1-mile radius of any crime that is committed. There are no requirements to become "Judge" and once one becomes it, their word is law until a "Criminal" has been chosen and a punishment has been given. | Fuck.
He just stepped out of the Chevron bathroom. Scrubbing his hands clean of her blood.
*why did she* ***always*** *insist on talking back, she made me do this*
Fuck.
It was over, she was dead and now he was searching for his next move. He rounded the blank concrete wall and came face to face with a cop drone.
Fucking fuck.
**Citizen** stop where you are.
Fuck Fuck Fuck.
"You have been selected to judge the suspected murderer of Cynthia Germal, please enter the cab immediately - your participation is mandatory and you will be duly compensated for your time. Refusal to adjudicate this case will result in financial and criminal penalties to be determined by the Judge-Peer. Do you accept your duties?"
He could barely acknowledge the bot with a head nod as he started laughing, first in fits and spurts, and then uncontrollably.
He stepped in to the cab and was on his way.
| My watch blinks twice.
"A06-536 of District 13, you have been selected as Judge. Please follow the instructions given to your device's GPS". It's been a few years since the last crime in the district.
I check the message again. The GPS coordinates are easy to follow, I've been there before.
The shower section of the district are usually clean, far from immaculate but clean. Today the floor is a brownish-red, the walls look darker than usual and I almost gag at the smell.
3 men guard the entrance to the scene, 789, 790 and 430. While others gather a few meters away, waiting for the showers to reopen and avid for a story to tell their friends.
430 is an A, like me. Well, sorta. He looks at me, spits on the floor and taps his colleagues' shoulders.
" Looks like we got ourselves a Judge, boys". And he let's out a small laugh. Loud enough for me to hear.
Before I can stop myself I am on him, right in his face, looking in his eyes. "Let's see if it really works. Why doesn't your arm break ?"
I see the fear in his eyes, and I hear the watch's small vibration on his wrist. He suddenly jerks back, and a scream starts to form on his lips. He quickly restrains it. Can't show weakness to the others. I turn to the others, both Cs.
"So ? What happened ?"
They both look at 430, expectantly, then back at me, and start speaking at the same time.
"He didn't want to..."
"651 attacked him..."
I silence them with one hand, turns to 430. There is one and only one penalty for each and every crime that could be committed here.
I leave the cleanup drones handle both body. The others are already starting to clean the showers. I go back to my section and look at my watch.
"A06-536 - time left to serve 6 years 8 months 3 days 19 hours 34 mins" | |
[WP] A "Judge" is automatically selected within a 1-mile radius of any crime that is committed. There are no requirements to become "Judge" and once one becomes it, their word is law until a "Criminal" has been chosen and a punishment has been given. | Fuck.
He just stepped out of the Chevron bathroom. Scrubbing his hands clean of her blood.
*why did she* ***always*** *insist on talking back, she made me do this*
Fuck.
It was over, she was dead and now he was searching for his next move. He rounded the blank concrete wall and came face to face with a cop drone.
Fucking fuck.
**Citizen** stop where you are.
Fuck Fuck Fuck.
"You have been selected to judge the suspected murderer of Cynthia Germal, please enter the cab immediately - your participation is mandatory and you will be duly compensated for your time. Refusal to adjudicate this case will result in financial and criminal penalties to be determined by the Judge-Peer. Do you accept your duties?"
He could barely acknowledge the bot with a head nod as he started laughing, first in fits and spurts, and then uncontrollably.
He stepped in to the cab and was on his way.
| "Here you go," the man with the name tag of "Bryan" said to Lance. Bryan handed Lance a towel, a bar of soap (fancy soap with little bits of sand in it, Lance knew they had a name but couldn't remember), and a small bottle of shampoo. There was already steam pouring out of the shower room. "I'll be sitting out here, give me a holler if you need anything."
"Okay," Lance said, heart thumping in his chest. It had been years since he had had a legitimate shower. He tried to bathe as often as he could, but even he wouldn't really count rolling around in stagnant puddles of ditch water as a shower.
The shower-head was round and large, pouring a huge amount of water down onto the tile floor. He eyed the water as it poured down the drain. He almost stepped in immediately but then stopped himself; he raised his hand and placed it into the water, checking the temperature as he had done a long time ago when he had his own shower, his own bathroom, his own home.
It was warm. It was perfect. He stepped in and sighed as all the grime and mud began to peel away from his body in layers. He cupped his hands and began to drink the water, not bothering to even ask Bryan if the water was okay to drink; it was cleaner than any water he had drank in awhile. After his belly was full and stretched, he finally lathered up his body in the sweet smelling soap then shampooed his long matted hair.
After a full two hours of showering, Lance finally emerged, feeling like an incredibly different person.
"Here's a new shirt and pants, they're kind of plain and I sort of just eyed your size, but that should be alright," Bryan said, pointing to a white t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants, "you're going to be wearing judges robes over them anyways."
Plain or not, Lance didn't care. They were clean clothes. They were instantly leagues better than anything he currently had, which happened to be just rags.
"Okay, here's the robe, put it on, and let's get the show on the road. Uh, pardon the pun," Bryan said, blushing.
"It's fine," Lance said, water sloshing around in his stomach as he pulled the robe over his head. "The trial is here in this building?"
"Yep." Bryan led him out of the showering room and into a hallway. At the end was an elevator. They stepped into the elevator and Bryan hit the ground floor button.
"So, do I get any info on what the case is beforehand, or are they, uh, supposed to just tell me themselves?"
"It's a simple case," Bryan answered, "a small fender-bender, one person rear ended the other. Not a big deal. Just let them prattle on for a bit, and just pick whoever. No stress at all." They exited the elevator, walked down another hallway and found themselves at another door. "Okay, through this door you'll find your stand, just sit down, pick whoever you want to talk, do whatever. It's really not that big of a case, remember that."
"Just pick whoever?"
"Yeah, just deal out a sentence."
"Uh, what kind of sentence can I, uh, sentence?"
"Anything really."
"I could give them a death sentence?"
"Uh," Bryan said, turning and looking at Lance with a raised eyebrow, "I guess you could if you really wanted to. That'll sit on your conscience, not mine."
"Both of them? I could sentence both of them?"
"If you see fit, but really, it's just a minor car accident. No need to lop peoples' heads off."
Lance nodded, then walked through the door and into the courtroom. He climbed up a small set of steps and sat at his chair. Before him in the courtroom were just two people, a man in a nice suit on one side, and a woman in a slim-fitting dress in the other.
"Hi," Lance said, "can I get your names?"
"Jake."
"Cecilia."
"Okay," Lance said, looking down at the desk. There in front of him he had pictures from the car accident. A very nice looking red sports care with a dented in bumper, and the other picture was of a nice black fan, with a bashed in backside. "What happened?"
"She stopped short-
"It was a stoplight!" Cecilia interrupted.
"It wasn't!"
"I, uh," Lance tried to say. His small words were blanketed over by the man and woman arguing with each other. He felt awkward sitting in the stand, a far cry from his usual spot at the side of the road holding a sign, asking for donations. He looked back down at the pictures, hoping that they would both solve this on their own.
As he looked at the pictures, a strange feeling filled his stomach. It was a mixture of regret, sadness, and somewhat of anger. He looked at the sports car, remembering badly how much he had wanted one of his own when he was a child. And he looked at the van, remembering how Annette had wanted one for whenever they had children.
He looked back up and saw that they were still going at it, back and forth, yelling and hollering.
Lance slammed the gavel on the table, silencing both of them at once. "You," he said, pointing the gavel at Cecilia, "you stopped short. Your punishment, you're going to turn your car over to me."
"Wha- what?" She stammered.
Jake opened his mouth to say some snide remark to Cecilia, but was interrupted by another gavel slam from Lance.
"You," Lance said, "you, uh, you're an asshole. You're turning over your car to me."
"That's bullshit!" Jake yelled.
"My word is law," Lance said, slamming his gavel again. Damaged as the cars were, he'd still get a large sum of money from the sports car, and he would probably even keep the van. He would be able to start over, and hopefully do things right this time.
| |
[WP] The world was saved by a twelve year old. It's been twenty years and the danger's never been seen since. What's a former savior to do? | Clarice had been called precocious. She’d been called a great deal of many other things, but that was what people always trundled back to, precocious. The strange thing about precociousness is that it cannot readily apply itself to adults. One cannot develop skills early when everyone else already had the same skills. Precocious children turn into ordinary adults.
It had been two decades now. God, she was getting old. Two decades. She had been twelve years old, just a child, not that she saw that in her own eyes. At twelve, she was convinced of her own superiority and maturity with the vainglory of youth. In her mind’s eye, she’d always been an adult, capable of great responsibility. Age was just a number, and she was always destined to be a hero, like in the books she read. Those heroes always committed great acts of daring, regardless of the consequences to themselves, as long as they could save the world. They were selfless and brave. Even though Clarice was arrogant, she was also selfless, and she knew what she must do.
Clarice had a martyr complex, and she was going to save the world.
When the time came to it, she did not waver. She stood on stage, in front of jealous eyes of a thousand other contenders who had competed at the science fair and lost. She stood in front of a vast security force that hovered around the periphery. She stood in front of the media for all countries under the Global Alliance. She stood in front of the world, her face projected into the homes of billions. She stood with the supreme dictator as he placed a medal around her neck. She stood as she pulled out her uncle’s gun. She stood as she placed that muzzle to the thick throat of the suited man before her, a much shorter, squatter man than she had been led to believe. She stood as she pulled the trigger.
She thought she would die immediately afterward, of course. It was all part of her plan. She would assassinate the dictator, and then she would be murdered by one of his thugs. The world would return to democracy, and she would be a hero, someone they talked about in history books. Her parents would cry when they found out, but they would be so proud. Everyone would talk about her in hushed tones of admiration. Clarice Owour would never be forgotten.
She thought she would stand victorious over the silenced oppressor and welcome the hail bullets as the awestruck onlookers admired their messiah. However, she did not stand. The kickback of the gun was too much for a young girl. She had fallen backwards and hit her head against the stage.
But, she didn’t die. She had groaned, disoriented as chaos erupted. There were gunshots and screaming as the dictator wheezed messily into his death. Some time later, someone had pulled her from the stage, and she had found herself in a hospital with more suits than scrubs, everyone trying to get some information out of her.
There had been a lot more mixed reactions than she had expected as a twelve-year-old focused on heroics. Her world was black and white, yet there were all these people insisting it were gray. There was a lot of talk of conspiracies too, how this was all some devious plan by a well-connected rebel group as opposed to the dream of a prepubescent girl. But whatever, the reactions, they had all been very interested in Clarice.
She had hated the limelight. She hated the lies they told about her or even when the told her truth. She had hated seeing her face on the news so often, whether criticized or praised, it did not feel right. She felt distanced from the wide-eyed, idealistic champion she had been. She wanted to run away from it all, but she could not. Instead, it all slowly ambled away from her.
Time passed. There was war and new politicians. There was democracy, but it was tainted with corruption of moneyed men and the apathy of the people. Whether the new politicians were any better or worse than the supreme dictator had been, it was difficult to say.
Clarice had saved her world, but then it had moved on without her. It is difficult to have a life afterward. All her words were tinged with history. She was not a person, but a character, a precocious child growing gray, a martyr who forgot to die.
So, she stood, at thirty-two, and looked at the world from the peak of the cliff. There was dark forest below hundred of feet below her and a gentle wind at her back. It called her forward.
She stood at the cliff, bones aching, heart thudding, mind thrumming. She stood, as her eyelids fluttered, yearning for a rest, waiting for a dreamless sleep, an eternal lullaby. She stood, as she imagined not her place in history, not her face projected into the homes of millions, but the sweet silence of the forest. She stood, an inglorious speck of humanity, letting the wind whisper through her fingers, imagining how it would feel to fly.
She stood, and turned around, back toward the forest and away from the ledge.
The world was not created in moments of daring. Breathless gasps toward the edge never created peace. A life was not a series of daring capers, but the quiet contemplation in between. She was not the center of the universe as she might have once believed herself to be, but that didn’t mean that there was nothing left for her.
Clarice was not a martyr. She was a person, who frailties and faults that death--no matter how noble--would not erase.
Clarice was not a hero. Clarice was something much more than that. | I sat patiently at my table. The whole convention was abuzz as Comic-Con was finally underway. Next to me sat some old wrestler named John Pina or something. The guy didn't really look Hispanic if you asked me.
I started slowly drumming my fingers on the table as I waited for the inevitable line. Over the years my fame had started to wane but there were still hundreds of fans every year who remembered it was me that saved the world 20 years ago.
Wow, has it really been twenty years? I still remember the day the alien invasion started like it was just yesterday. The whole world stopped to watch as the alien ships hovered quietly above Earth. The panic didn't start until they beamed down.
I was at the park with some friends when the Grays appeared on the court right in front of us. They didn't really do anything accept stare at us intently, no doubt trying to discover our weaknesses. The news van screeched around the corner and a camera man jumped out and started filming.
Even at 12 years old I knew I was the one who had to stop this alien threat! I grabbed my water bottle and threw it at one of the grey bastards and laid a direct hit in between the eyes. The water that splashed on him suddenly started sizzling and the creature let out a horrible scream as it melted into a little puddle.
The other aliens put their hands up but I wasn't going to show mercy now! "Welcome to Earf," I screamed as I sprayed another one with my water and watched him liquidate.
And then they were gone. Just like that they all beamed back up into their ships and flew away. I was lauded as a hero. They even through a parade in my honor. Sure there were the people that claimed that we had no proof of any ill intent and I may have ended any chance of humans making contact with alien life forms ever again. But those fools never looked the fuckers in the eyes. They were here to enslave us all, no doubt about it.
I looked out at the hall as thousands of sweaty teenagers walker around. The problem is that this new generation doesn't know how to appreciate what they have. Twenty years ago we had come so close to losing everything. For a while it seemed like most of the fan mail I was getting people were calling me a monster and a fool. But now I'd be lucky to get one letter a week.
I sighed and looked over to the table next to me. Some fat middle aged nerds were asking that Mexican wrestler for his autograph. How could anybody look up to a glorified actor when I was a real life hero sitting mere feat away?
A teenager in a bad Batman costume was walking by when he looked over at me, did a double take and made his way over. Finally, some damn recognition.
"Hey I know you," he wheezed, "you used to be famous!" And just like that he was gone. I sat there for 8 hours and signed two autographs. I didn't even bother coming back the next day. | |
[WP] The world was saved by a twelve year old. It's been twenty years and the danger's never been seen since. What's a former savior to do? | It was a pivotal moment in the history of humanity that no dramatization fully captures. Incomprehensibly advanced aliens parked their immense spacecraft in LEO, deployed holography satellites, and projected their leader's face into the sky over every major city.
It was interpreted as a challenge. To choose any mode of competition, where victory would mean the freedom of our race and loss would mean our enslavement. The aliens saw it differently.
"By our every estimate your intelligence is sufficiently rudimentary that our moral calculus does not prohibit utilizing you as test animals, food, fuel or any other useful purpose. But, because of the notorious difficulty of properly quantifying intelligence, we allow for the remote possibility that you are brighter than you appear, in ways we do not presently have the means to detect except by practical test."
The practical test would be a sport, videogame, board game, race, riddle or any other similar challenge of our choosing which they committed to besting us at, even if wholly unfamiliar with it, else they would pack up their things and move along with the promise never again to interfere with our affairs and to declare us off limits to other spacefaring races they knew of.
So it was that they chose, at random, a twelve year old boy named Timothy Cunningham from a suburb in Maine to be our champion. The neutral ground was the ISS as it was our only suitable presence in space and world governments wanted to position humanity to appear as close in development to the aliens as possible. It was still hopelessly feeble looking against the backdrop of their gargantuan spherical worldship.
HD cameras broadcast live as the inner hatch opened and Timmy, clad in a Lucky Star t-shirt and backwards Xbox Live cap, floated out of the Dragon capsule and made his way to the Destiny module where the aliens awaited him.
They fit, but just barely. The aliens resembled partially upright flies. In a gravity well they would walk on four of their legs and use the front two as arms. Accordingly only those two featured complex digits, all seven of which were opposable. Their basketball sized compound eyes revealed no emotion. Neither did they wear clothing, though everyone watching the broadcast wished they would as their bodies were knobbly, ungainly segmented masses of chitin with thick, coarse black sensory hairs jutting out in bushy clusters here and there. Evidently they emitted some strong, foul odor as Timothy's first words to them, broadcast around the world were "It reeks of ass in here".
They chittered and moments later button sized machines adhering to their carapace translated it. "Irrelevant to competition. Specify challenge, so that it may commence." The module went silent, as did the world. Families of every nation sat transfixed by the television screen, their jaws hanging open, waiting in agonizing suspense to learn the fate of their species. For his part, Timothy folded his arms, narrowed his eyes....then spoke.
*"I challenge you fools to a rap battle."*
If they could have blinked, they would've. Instead they stared for a few seconds. Then turned to one another chittering confusedly, with no translation provided. Before they could ask him the meaning of this, he continued.
*"BLAT BLAT BLAT GOES MY MOTHERFUCKIN' GAT! POP POP POP, WATCHIN' MOTHERFUCKERS DROP!"*
It just continued like this, Timothy throwing new gang signs with each verse as the baffled aliens looked on. Darpa's cyberwarfare division claims that they recorded frantic efforts by the alien mothership to probe our internet for information on what the fuck a rap battle is. But even understanding it, they were powerless to compete. It was, by their cultural standards, unthinkably insipid.
Literally unthinkable, as it turned out. They were far enough in advance of humans, cognitively, that they could no longer put themselves into the mindset where rap battles made any kind of sense, no matter how complete the context. Nor would they have understood honey boo boo, the snuggie, professional wrestling or the concept of ghosts. They could not, in short, "think stupid".
So it was that the boy from Maine delivered his three hour, six hundred and twenty two verse rap opus to a pair of infuriated space monsters. They were however as good as their word and upon conceding loss, retreated to their mothership which then vanished.
Timothy enjoyed brief fame, making millions doing the talk show circuit. He hired someone to ghostwrite a book which brought in a bit more, and was an irritatingly pervasive meme on social media for the better part of the decade. But mysteriously (albeit only to him) his rap career never quite took off.
| I sat patiently at my table. The whole convention was abuzz as Comic-Con was finally underway. Next to me sat some old wrestler named John Pina or something. The guy didn't really look Hispanic if you asked me.
I started slowly drumming my fingers on the table as I waited for the inevitable line. Over the years my fame had started to wane but there were still hundreds of fans every year who remembered it was me that saved the world 20 years ago.
Wow, has it really been twenty years? I still remember the day the alien invasion started like it was just yesterday. The whole world stopped to watch as the alien ships hovered quietly above Earth. The panic didn't start until they beamed down.
I was at the park with some friends when the Grays appeared on the court right in front of us. They didn't really do anything accept stare at us intently, no doubt trying to discover our weaknesses. The news van screeched around the corner and a camera man jumped out and started filming.
Even at 12 years old I knew I was the one who had to stop this alien threat! I grabbed my water bottle and threw it at one of the grey bastards and laid a direct hit in between the eyes. The water that splashed on him suddenly started sizzling and the creature let out a horrible scream as it melted into a little puddle.
The other aliens put their hands up but I wasn't going to show mercy now! "Welcome to Earf," I screamed as I sprayed another one with my water and watched him liquidate.
And then they were gone. Just like that they all beamed back up into their ships and flew away. I was lauded as a hero. They even through a parade in my honor. Sure there were the people that claimed that we had no proof of any ill intent and I may have ended any chance of humans making contact with alien life forms ever again. But those fools never looked the fuckers in the eyes. They were here to enslave us all, no doubt about it.
I looked out at the hall as thousands of sweaty teenagers walker around. The problem is that this new generation doesn't know how to appreciate what they have. Twenty years ago we had come so close to losing everything. For a while it seemed like most of the fan mail I was getting people were calling me a monster and a fool. But now I'd be lucky to get one letter a week.
I sighed and looked over to the table next to me. Some fat middle aged nerds were asking that Mexican wrestler for his autograph. How could anybody look up to a glorified actor when I was a real life hero sitting mere feat away?
A teenager in a bad Batman costume was walking by when he looked over at me, did a double take and made his way over. Finally, some damn recognition.
"Hey I know you," he wheezed, "you used to be famous!" And just like that he was gone. I sat there for 8 hours and signed two autographs. I didn't even bother coming back the next day. | |
[WP] The world was saved by a twelve year old. It's been twenty years and the danger's never been seen since. What's a former savior to do? | Ever since that fateful day when the fate of the world hinged on one persons actions she was treated as royalty. She was certainly a prodigy. She managed to hack into governments on the verge of nuclear annihilation of the entire species and stripped them of their power.
In a moment of silence, there was clarity. Governments reformed.
It's been 20 years since the reformation. The child prodigy has lived to the fullest but seemed alone in their thoughts. Having outgrown the tutelage of the human race with her whole life ahead of her. Her head resting low, yearning for companionship she had decided to populate the human race with her genes.
She quickly hacked the world database for suitable candidates and lured them. She knew it would be quicker to just go to a sperm bank and fertilize her eggs all at once in an incubation chamber. However, she knew she had to populate the world through her womb. That biological oven that would cook her children into proper specification. It had to be perfect.
She knew she had around 30 years left to get pregnant. With no time to waste he set out on a path to have sex with 30 candidates to create a world for like minded people to not suffer as she has suffered.
And so a new generation would be born by their mother queen. Grooming her children to become a king. | I sat in my chair and looked down at the world I "saved". It looked ok from this side of my house. I liked it that way. But the smell of smog persisted, so I ran inside to get away from it. I saw what kind of house I lived in. It all relied on technology. Is this what I wanted? I was once a simple country boy running around grabbing butterflies and putting frogs in my pocket. I thought it was crazy when I saw the men in black roll up to my house. They talked to my father, who told me I had to do something that saved Earth. I accepted reluctantly, but thought of all the trees I could climb if Earth were to stay alive.
Training was rigorous, but it was only moderately challenging for me. I became a high ranking officer within three months. It seemed crazy to me when they told me that I would be the first to talk to the E.Ts. But their premonitions were correct. Within a month we made contact. I had to talk to them, but really it was easy. As long as I kept in touch with them, Earth would be safe.
I was treated like a god. They called me Jesus. I responded things like "Oh thank you" or "It was no problem". My ego became large around the age of 21. But it died when I made a controversial comment about women. Even though it was out of context, I haven't felt a woman's touch since. I went to Budapest, Nepal, and Indonesia at the age of 26. I came back just last year. I felt enlightened during my trip. I have floated before actually. But it was very slight, and almost unnoticeable. But after the trip, I realized that being a savior of a planet really doesn't mean that the inhabitants will follow good planet saving techniques. We have been killing the Earth, but no one cares.
I sat in my study and pulled out a bottle of Jameson. The warm liquor tasted heavenly on my lips. I opened my drawer and looked at the magnum sitting in it. I picked it up and looked down the barrel. I looked at the bullets in the pack I bought. I loaded the gun and took the safety off. Looking at it, I placed it near my temple. I closed my eyes thinking of pulling the trigger. When I received a call.
"Hello, how's Earth?" Gobu asked me as I picked up the phone.
"It could definitely be better. But for now, I think it's fine." I responded with confidence.
"You know what, Gobu. I hate Earth, the people here are horrible. Smog constantly fills the air and everyone is back to their original selves. It's like they don't care about my contributions. If you destroy Earth, I would not care." I admitted sadly.
"Look, I'm not going to do that. You are the savior of Earth. Humans, however, are a different breed. You need to be aware that 20 years later, it will not be perfect. But you have to accept the bad and the good. Remember that when you sleep tonight. Good bye, have fun." Gobu said passionately.
I took another sip of the Jameson. I sat and decided that Earth needs me and I need Earth. So I went to my bedroom and fell asleep. The next day I woke up and then went out to my porch to sit. I ran inside when the smell of smog was too much. I then remembered of the times I saved the Earth... | |
[WP] The world was saved by a twelve year old. It's been twenty years and the danger's never been seen since. What's a former savior to do? | It was a pivotal moment in the history of humanity that no dramatization fully captures. Incomprehensibly advanced aliens parked their immense spacecraft in LEO, deployed holography satellites, and projected their leader's face into the sky over every major city.
It was interpreted as a challenge. To choose any mode of competition, where victory would mean the freedom of our race and loss would mean our enslavement. The aliens saw it differently.
"By our every estimate your intelligence is sufficiently rudimentary that our moral calculus does not prohibit utilizing you as test animals, food, fuel or any other useful purpose. But, because of the notorious difficulty of properly quantifying intelligence, we allow for the remote possibility that you are brighter than you appear, in ways we do not presently have the means to detect except by practical test."
The practical test would be a sport, videogame, board game, race, riddle or any other similar challenge of our choosing which they committed to besting us at, even if wholly unfamiliar with it, else they would pack up their things and move along with the promise never again to interfere with our affairs and to declare us off limits to other spacefaring races they knew of.
So it was that they chose, at random, a twelve year old boy named Timothy Cunningham from a suburb in Maine to be our champion. The neutral ground was the ISS as it was our only suitable presence in space and world governments wanted to position humanity to appear as close in development to the aliens as possible. It was still hopelessly feeble looking against the backdrop of their gargantuan spherical worldship.
HD cameras broadcast live as the inner hatch opened and Timmy, clad in a Lucky Star t-shirt and backwards Xbox Live cap, floated out of the Dragon capsule and made his way to the Destiny module where the aliens awaited him.
They fit, but just barely. The aliens resembled partially upright flies. In a gravity well they would walk on four of their legs and use the front two as arms. Accordingly only those two featured complex digits, all seven of which were opposable. Their basketball sized compound eyes revealed no emotion. Neither did they wear clothing, though everyone watching the broadcast wished they would as their bodies were knobbly, ungainly segmented masses of chitin with thick, coarse black sensory hairs jutting out in bushy clusters here and there. Evidently they emitted some strong, foul odor as Timothy's first words to them, broadcast around the world were "It reeks of ass in here".
They chittered and moments later button sized machines adhering to their carapace translated it. "Irrelevant to competition. Specify challenge, so that it may commence." The module went silent, as did the world. Families of every nation sat transfixed by the television screen, their jaws hanging open, waiting in agonizing suspense to learn the fate of their species. For his part, Timothy folded his arms, narrowed his eyes....then spoke.
*"I challenge you fools to a rap battle."*
If they could have blinked, they would've. Instead they stared for a few seconds. Then turned to one another chittering confusedly, with no translation provided. Before they could ask him the meaning of this, he continued.
*"BLAT BLAT BLAT GOES MY MOTHERFUCKIN' GAT! POP POP POP, WATCHIN' MOTHERFUCKERS DROP!"*
It just continued like this, Timothy throwing new gang signs with each verse as the baffled aliens looked on. Darpa's cyberwarfare division claims that they recorded frantic efforts by the alien mothership to probe our internet for information on what the fuck a rap battle is. But even understanding it, they were powerless to compete. It was, by their cultural standards, unthinkably insipid.
Literally unthinkable, as it turned out. They were far enough in advance of humans, cognitively, that they could no longer put themselves into the mindset where rap battles made any kind of sense, no matter how complete the context. Nor would they have understood honey boo boo, the snuggie, professional wrestling or the concept of ghosts. They could not, in short, "think stupid".
So it was that the boy from Maine delivered his three hour, six hundred and twenty two verse rap opus to a pair of infuriated space monsters. They were however as good as their word and upon conceding loss, retreated to their mothership which then vanished.
Timothy enjoyed brief fame, making millions doing the talk show circuit. He hired someone to ghostwrite a book which brought in a bit more, and was an irritatingly pervasive meme on social media for the better part of the decade. But mysteriously (albeit only to him) his rap career never quite took off.
| I sat in my chair and looked down at the world I "saved". It looked ok from this side of my house. I liked it that way. But the smell of smog persisted, so I ran inside to get away from it. I saw what kind of house I lived in. It all relied on technology. Is this what I wanted? I was once a simple country boy running around grabbing butterflies and putting frogs in my pocket. I thought it was crazy when I saw the men in black roll up to my house. They talked to my father, who told me I had to do something that saved Earth. I accepted reluctantly, but thought of all the trees I could climb if Earth were to stay alive.
Training was rigorous, but it was only moderately challenging for me. I became a high ranking officer within three months. It seemed crazy to me when they told me that I would be the first to talk to the E.Ts. But their premonitions were correct. Within a month we made contact. I had to talk to them, but really it was easy. As long as I kept in touch with them, Earth would be safe.
I was treated like a god. They called me Jesus. I responded things like "Oh thank you" or "It was no problem". My ego became large around the age of 21. But it died when I made a controversial comment about women. Even though it was out of context, I haven't felt a woman's touch since. I went to Budapest, Nepal, and Indonesia at the age of 26. I came back just last year. I felt enlightened during my trip. I have floated before actually. But it was very slight, and almost unnoticeable. But after the trip, I realized that being a savior of a planet really doesn't mean that the inhabitants will follow good planet saving techniques. We have been killing the Earth, but no one cares.
I sat in my study and pulled out a bottle of Jameson. The warm liquor tasted heavenly on my lips. I opened my drawer and looked at the magnum sitting in it. I picked it up and looked down the barrel. I looked at the bullets in the pack I bought. I loaded the gun and took the safety off. Looking at it, I placed it near my temple. I closed my eyes thinking of pulling the trigger. When I received a call.
"Hello, how's Earth?" Gobu asked me as I picked up the phone.
"It could definitely be better. But for now, I think it's fine." I responded with confidence.
"You know what, Gobu. I hate Earth, the people here are horrible. Smog constantly fills the air and everyone is back to their original selves. It's like they don't care about my contributions. If you destroy Earth, I would not care." I admitted sadly.
"Look, I'm not going to do that. You are the savior of Earth. Humans, however, are a different breed. You need to be aware that 20 years later, it will not be perfect. But you have to accept the bad and the good. Remember that when you sleep tonight. Good bye, have fun." Gobu said passionately.
I took another sip of the Jameson. I sat and decided that Earth needs me and I need Earth. So I went to my bedroom and fell asleep. The next day I woke up and then went out to my porch to sit. I ran inside when the smell of smog was too much. I then remembered of the times I saved the Earth... | |
[WP] You come across two friends. They don't don't notice you. They are referring to each other by names that are not the names by which you know them. | I stooped behind the bushes and listened inconspicuously. "I knew these fuckers were spies" I said to myself. "All that 'Mother Russia' talk, all those little winks between the two of them". I quickly determined that the two men I had once known as "Todd" and "Rod", two men who I called my best friends, were not high school students at all, but rather covert spies sent from Russia to spy on my lovely town of Garden Grove, Montana.
"Why would Russia want to spy on a small high school in the middle of a farming town in Montana?" I thought to myself, but there wasn't any time to ponder that now. This was time for action. Something had to be done, and it had to be done now. I sprang up from the bushes, removed my pepper-spray from my carabiner and sprayed the two traitors. "EAT SHIT COMMIE SCUM!" I yelled as I sprayed. The rest of the students on hand watched intently as I doused both perpetrators with just enough mace to almost kill them. When "Pablo" and "Enrique" fell, I grabbed them by the collars and dragged them toward my van. Without a moment of hesitation I threw them in the van and began a barrage of punches and kicks that Vladmir Putin himself probably felt. After a few hours, I determined that the Russian bastards were dead and returned to Spanish class, which I had missed yesterday due to a doctor's appointment.
"Welcome back 'Mateo'", my teacher greeted me. She had never called me that. "We picked Spanish names yesterday, glad to see you're back! I guess that means we're only missing Pablo and Enrique." | Can't... Go... To... Sleep...
I was suddenly awaken by quick, clumsy, scuffling feet in a cold, sticky sweat.
"Do you hear that?" says Thomas has he hurriedly walks past my bedroom door, shotgun in hand.
"We gotta find a way out of here, they're getting closer." responded James.
'Confused and exhausted, I try to pick myself up from the ground.
Whatever this is, it doesn't sound good.' *crack* 'A sharp pain shoots up my arm from my wrist. What the hell? When did I hurt my wrist?'
"Hey James, can you help me up? My wrists are killing me..." No response. "James...? Thomas...? Guys!" 'Why won't they answer me? What happened last night?'
"I told you I heard something in here earlier. You hear that now?" Thomas says with caution in his voice.
"Yes. Okay, this time I heard it. Pretty sure it's coming from that room" James says as he points to the room at the end of the hall where I lay. Awaiting a response. At this point they had almost made it to the other end of the hallway, despite my efforts to get their attention.
"Guys! It's Aiden! What happened last night?"
"Jeremy, be careful."
"Jeremy?" Who is Jeremy?
"Haden, to your right!"
'Haden? Jeremy?' As I reach out my arms towards my two friends I notice my blood stained skin. Once more I call out, but this time it's a long drawn out moan... *bang*
| |
[WP] You come across two friends. They don't don't notice you. They are referring to each other by names that are not the names by which you know them. | Things had been looking up this past month, after joining a workplace funded club (there may have been "benefits" involved in order to get employees to enroll...), I met some new workplace friends (Wayne and Ted), started dating, etc. etc etc. the works.
Pondering as I snuffed out the ashes to my cigarette on the roof of my office building, I heard the door to the rooftop open, and found Wayne and Bill chatting. I would have called out to them, but I shouldn't have snuck out for a 2 hour smoke break, so I chose to hide, and somehow make it back to my cubicle without anyone noticing. I can catch up with them after I have secured
"Adyya-2664, do you believe he is ready?" - Bill inquired.
Well, that's awfully strange...
"No, Unloee-1899, he has only enlisted for 4 human weeks. The paradigm shift will be too much for his feeble human mind. What say you, Pyufa-624? ", Wayne replied.
Figuring the moment for joining into the converation has passed, I decided at this point that cowering behind the air conditioning unit was the best option.
"What he can or cannot handle will not matter. Kvvia-4260 is waiting for his host, and more importantly, Sub-Visser requires his fragment of the security code." Pyufa hissed.
I would recognize that voice anywhere. Granted, I've only heard it for a few weeks now, but it was unmistakably Stephanie's sweet voice, although it was now more calculating and mechanical...
I look back down at the lighter I got for signing up to the Sharing and sigh. | Arthur was walking down the busy street, satisfied with his purcahses. *This buttplug is going to fit so snugly in my bumhole* he thought to himself. He was ashamed of his fetish and consequently hadn't told a soul about it, apart from his now dead hamster.
As he headed towards the bus stop, he spotted some friends inside a bar. *Richard and Robert, I wonder why they aren't with their girlfriends* he thought to himself, it was Valentine's day after all.
Arthur went inside the loud and busy bar; his ears felt ravaged by the sudden laughter and incredible noisy crowd. *I think I'll have a drink* he thought as heading towards the bartender.
"*Double Scotch on the Rocks mate, cheers*", he was served promptly and headed to his friend's table. As he drew closer he heard
"*Bobby not here, people might see us*
*Jeez, calm down Dick no one's looking at us*"
Arthur backed away slowly, downed his drink *What a bunch of benders* he thought to himself as he left the bar, whilst spouting an erection.
**EDIT:** Jeez not jizz.
**Sidenote:** Thought it'd be amusing to write from a Narnian perspective. | |
[WP] You come across two friends. They don't don't notice you. They are referring to each other by names that are not the names by which you know them. | I stooped behind the bushes and listened inconspicuously. "I knew these fuckers were spies" I said to myself. "All that 'Mother Russia' talk, all those little winks between the two of them". I quickly determined that the two men I had once known as "Todd" and "Rod", two men who I called my best friends, were not high school students at all, but rather covert spies sent from Russia to spy on my lovely town of Garden Grove, Montana.
"Why would Russia want to spy on a small high school in the middle of a farming town in Montana?" I thought to myself, but there wasn't any time to ponder that now. This was time for action. Something had to be done, and it had to be done now. I sprang up from the bushes, removed my pepper-spray from my carabiner and sprayed the two traitors. "EAT SHIT COMMIE SCUM!" I yelled as I sprayed. The rest of the students on hand watched intently as I doused both perpetrators with just enough mace to almost kill them. When "Pablo" and "Enrique" fell, I grabbed them by the collars and dragged them toward my van. Without a moment of hesitation I threw them in the van and began a barrage of punches and kicks that Vladmir Putin himself probably felt. After a few hours, I determined that the Russian bastards were dead and returned to Spanish class, which I had missed yesterday due to a doctor's appointment.
"Welcome back 'Mateo'", my teacher greeted me. She had never called me that. "We picked Spanish names yesterday, glad to see you're back! I guess that means we're only missing Pablo and Enrique." | Arthur was walking down the busy street, satisfied with his purcahses. *This buttplug is going to fit so snugly in my bumhole* he thought to himself. He was ashamed of his fetish and consequently hadn't told a soul about it, apart from his now dead hamster.
As he headed towards the bus stop, he spotted some friends inside a bar. *Richard and Robert, I wonder why they aren't with their girlfriends* he thought to himself, it was Valentine's day after all.
Arthur went inside the loud and busy bar; his ears felt ravaged by the sudden laughter and incredible noisy crowd. *I think I'll have a drink* he thought as heading towards the bartender.
"*Double Scotch on the Rocks mate, cheers*", he was served promptly and headed to his friend's table. As he drew closer he heard
"*Bobby not here, people might see us*
*Jeez, calm down Dick no one's looking at us*"
Arthur backed away slowly, downed his drink *What a bunch of benders* he thought to himself as he left the bar, whilst spouting an erection.
**EDIT:** Jeez not jizz.
**Sidenote:** Thought it'd be amusing to write from a Narnian perspective. | |
[WP] You come across two friends. They don't don't notice you. They are referring to each other by names that are not the names by which you know them. | I stooped behind the bushes and listened inconspicuously. "I knew these fuckers were spies" I said to myself. "All that 'Mother Russia' talk, all those little winks between the two of them". I quickly determined that the two men I had once known as "Todd" and "Rod", two men who I called my best friends, were not high school students at all, but rather covert spies sent from Russia to spy on my lovely town of Garden Grove, Montana.
"Why would Russia want to spy on a small high school in the middle of a farming town in Montana?" I thought to myself, but there wasn't any time to ponder that now. This was time for action. Something had to be done, and it had to be done now. I sprang up from the bushes, removed my pepper-spray from my carabiner and sprayed the two traitors. "EAT SHIT COMMIE SCUM!" I yelled as I sprayed. The rest of the students on hand watched intently as I doused both perpetrators with just enough mace to almost kill them. When "Pablo" and "Enrique" fell, I grabbed them by the collars and dragged them toward my van. Without a moment of hesitation I threw them in the van and began a barrage of punches and kicks that Vladmir Putin himself probably felt. After a few hours, I determined that the Russian bastards were dead and returned to Spanish class, which I had missed yesterday due to a doctor's appointment.
"Welcome back 'Mateo'", my teacher greeted me. She had never called me that. "We picked Spanish names yesterday, glad to see you're back! I guess that means we're only missing Pablo and Enrique." | Things had been looking up this past month, after joining a workplace funded club (there may have been "benefits" involved in order to get employees to enroll...), I met some new workplace friends (Wayne and Ted), started dating, etc. etc etc. the works.
Pondering as I snuffed out the ashes to my cigarette on the roof of my office building, I heard the door to the rooftop open, and found Wayne and Bill chatting. I would have called out to them, but I shouldn't have snuck out for a 2 hour smoke break, so I chose to hide, and somehow make it back to my cubicle without anyone noticing. I can catch up with them after I have secured
"Adyya-2664, do you believe he is ready?" - Bill inquired.
Well, that's awfully strange...
"No, Unloee-1899, he has only enlisted for 4 human weeks. The paradigm shift will be too much for his feeble human mind. What say you, Pyufa-624? ", Wayne replied.
Figuring the moment for joining into the converation has passed, I decided at this point that cowering behind the air conditioning unit was the best option.
"What he can or cannot handle will not matter. Kvvia-4260 is waiting for his host, and more importantly, Sub-Visser requires his fragment of the security code." Pyufa hissed.
I would recognize that voice anywhere. Granted, I've only heard it for a few weeks now, but it was unmistakably Stephanie's sweet voice, although it was now more calculating and mechanical...
I look back down at the lighter I got for signing up to the Sharing and sigh. | |
[WP] You come across two friends. They don't don't notice you. They are referring to each other by names that are not the names by which you know them. | I was walkin' through the park on my way back to the villa when I saw my two buds Johnny Acorns and Vinny standin' by the corner. They din't see me so I tried to sneak up on 'em. You know, give 'em the drop. I was only a couple a feet behind 'em when someone grabbed me and pulled me into the bushes. When he put his hand over my mouth, I thought I was a goner for sure. I swear I saw my whole life pass in fronta me before I realized it was just my brother Paulie.
"Paulie, what the fu-"
"Quiet, Frank, keep your voice down." Somethin' was wrong. Paulie was whisperin', even though he's got the loudest mouth in the city.
"What's happenin', Paulie?"
"The Boss has me tailing your friends, Frank. Something ain't right with them." Paulie looked concerned. I ain't never seen him like that before.
"What the hell are you talkin' about? I've known Vinny and Johnny for years! There ain't nothin' wrong with them."
"I know, Frank, but I've been following them all day and something is definitely up. They're not acting right. Vinny keeps calling Johnny 'Earl' and Johnny's been calling Vinny 'Steve'. They're making me nervous, Frank."
"This is bullshit, Paulie. Johnny Acorns was the Best Man at my weddin' and Vinny's been my pal since he covered my ass durin' the shootout with the Gambonis back in '06. Ain't nothin' fishy about 'em."
We were arguin' back and forth for a long time, all the while Vinny and Johnny were just standin' there at the edge of the street. I was gettin' ready to tell Paulie that he was crazier than a chocolate cannoli when a black car with tinted windows pulled up in front of my pals. The car stopped and rolled down its windows revealin' an old guy in a suit and sunglasses. The guy leaned forward and passed Johnny Acorns a yellow envelope, and when he leaned back his jacket swung open and I saw somethin' shiny pinned to his shirt.
"You see that, Frank? That was a goddamn badge! These guys are fucking cops!" I couldn't believe it. I thought these guys were my best friends, but they were nothin' but dirty rotten rats. My whole world came tumblin' down faster than a fat guy wearin' cement shoes in the bay.
That was the last time I ever saw 'em. Me and Paulie made our getaway and told the Boss everythin' we saw. The next week, the Boss sent a cleaner to take care of 'em. From what I heard, they're sleepin' with the fishes now. | Sidney walks down the street aimlessly in her yellow sunflower patterned summer dress and white sandals. She smiles as the wind blows her curly hair in all directions; it had been so long since she had been so carefree. Today was her day and she felt like she owned it.
It had been a rough few months between being evicted, finding a new apartment, work, and her relationship woes; but finally everything was starting to look up. She hums to herself as she passes people on the street and she bops her head with the tune. She buys a magazine and sits down at a café table ordering a cappuccino.
As she flips through the pages reading the latest celebrity gossip and sipping her cup, she hears a familiar voice and looks up. A few tables ahead sits her ex fiancé, Charlie with her best friend, Allie. Sidney cringes wondering what they’re doing together and puts the magazine in front of her face. She hears Allie giggle the way she used to at Charlie’s jokes and feels a painful sensation in her heart. She tries to read the words on the magazine page but is too distracted from their conversation.
Allie chirps, “I still can’t believe you’re a teacher! You’re so down to Earth and you look so young!”
Charlie chuckles, “Yeah, I don’t believe in the whole aging thing. Do you mind passing the salt Daphne?”
Allie giggles again saying, “Sure Johnnie!”
Sidney’s head pops up: Daphne? Johnnie? Who were these people?
She puts down her magazine and glances in their direction- she would know Charlie’s curly hair anywhere and especially his dark eyes. She looks at Allie and her long dyed blonde hair curiously; maybe this was some type of cutesy game for couples?
Sidney hears a chair move and looks to their table to see Allie get up and head to the bathroom. As soon as she leaves, Charlie sighs and buries his face in his hands. Sidney stares wondering if he really was Charlie; her Charlie never looked so defeated or tired. Charlie begins to play on his phone bored and Sidney contemplates calling out his name to see if he would look over. Then she thinks of their break-up; they weren’t on very good terms and she’d rather not evoke a screaming match in such a cozy café.
Allie wanders back to the table and kisses Charlie on the cheek making Sidney want to disappear and salvage the rest of her day. Allie begins to whisper something to Charlie and so Sidney listens closely out of curiosity knowing that she shouldn’t.
Charlie chuckles again and whispers, “So have you seen Sidney lately?”
Allie shakes her head, “She’s at work a lot lately; she was super excited she had a few hours to herself tonight.”
Sidney’s eyes widen wondering why they were discussing her of all possible topics.
Charlie asks, “When do you think we’ll be able to ‘do the job’?”
Allie groans, “After we establish some history for Daphne and Johnnie Walters. We don’t want to get caught, do we?”
Charlie buries his hands, “I just don’t get it. Why does this matter so much anyway?”
Allie rolls her eyes, “We want it to look like Daphne and Johnny were travelling and robbed her in the dead of night before escaping back to Mexico.
Charlie asks, “But what if she’s home? I don’t want to hurt her anymore.”
Allie replies “Don’t worry! We won’t. We have to do this so there’s not even a chance we’ll be caught. We’re just going to take what is rightfully ours and then we’ll leave her to live her life and we’ll live ours.”
Charlie smiles and takes a bite of his croissant as Allie drinks her tea. Sidney puts her magazine in her bag and then leaves the café fearfully. What could they possibly want from her?
| |
[WP] You come across two friends. They don't don't notice you. They are referring to each other by names that are not the names by which you know them. | I was walkin' through the park on my way back to the villa when I saw my two buds Johnny Acorns and Vinny standin' by the corner. They din't see me so I tried to sneak up on 'em. You know, give 'em the drop. I was only a couple a feet behind 'em when someone grabbed me and pulled me into the bushes. When he put his hand over my mouth, I thought I was a goner for sure. I swear I saw my whole life pass in fronta me before I realized it was just my brother Paulie.
"Paulie, what the fu-"
"Quiet, Frank, keep your voice down." Somethin' was wrong. Paulie was whisperin', even though he's got the loudest mouth in the city.
"What's happenin', Paulie?"
"The Boss has me tailing your friends, Frank. Something ain't right with them." Paulie looked concerned. I ain't never seen him like that before.
"What the hell are you talkin' about? I've known Vinny and Johnny for years! There ain't nothin' wrong with them."
"I know, Frank, but I've been following them all day and something is definitely up. They're not acting right. Vinny keeps calling Johnny 'Earl' and Johnny's been calling Vinny 'Steve'. They're making me nervous, Frank."
"This is bullshit, Paulie. Johnny Acorns was the Best Man at my weddin' and Vinny's been my pal since he covered my ass durin' the shootout with the Gambonis back in '06. Ain't nothin' fishy about 'em."
We were arguin' back and forth for a long time, all the while Vinny and Johnny were just standin' there at the edge of the street. I was gettin' ready to tell Paulie that he was crazier than a chocolate cannoli when a black car with tinted windows pulled up in front of my pals. The car stopped and rolled down its windows revealin' an old guy in a suit and sunglasses. The guy leaned forward and passed Johnny Acorns a yellow envelope, and when he leaned back his jacket swung open and I saw somethin' shiny pinned to his shirt.
"You see that, Frank? That was a goddamn badge! These guys are fucking cops!" I couldn't believe it. I thought these guys were my best friends, but they were nothin' but dirty rotten rats. My whole world came tumblin' down faster than a fat guy wearin' cement shoes in the bay.
That was the last time I ever saw 'em. Me and Paulie made our getaway and told the Boss everythin' we saw. The next week, the Boss sent a cleaner to take care of 'em. From what I heard, they're sleepin' with the fishes now. |
There I was, taking a little poop in the men’s room, when I saw two sets of feet enter the restroom and step up to the urinals.
There was a pair of black beach sandals that belonged to my friend Terry. And a pair of leopard-print cowboy boots that belonged to my friend Eugene.
“Christ on a cracker!” Eugene yelled, “There’s some kind of alien sitting in this here urinal.”
“Lemme take a looksee,” Terry said, shuffling his beach sandals thither.
The lights in the restroom flickered. Was something wrong with the electricity?
“Hey!” Terry said, “There’s an alien in my urinal too!”
WONK!
I had no idea what could possibly be making that sound.
The lights flickered again.
WONK!
“Ugh,” Terry said. His voice was different now, lower. “My arms are so heavy. I feel like a gorilla. How are you Blappazorp?”
“Dear Gods,” Eugene said. His voice was different, too. “There are hairs coming out of my face. They itch.”
“Can you bite them off?” Terry asked.
“No,” Eugene said, “My teeth don’t bend that far. Can you bite them off for me?”
“I don’t think I can,” Terry said.
“Please, Yaggajagga,” Eugene said, “This itching is intolerable.”
I flushed the toilet and came out of the stall.
“Guys?” I said, “Terry, Euguene… Are you guys okay?”
Eugene turned to look at me.
“Hello there,” he said, “Can you come bite these hairs off of my face? They are very itchy.”
What was going on here?
It was then that I noticed that there was an alien sitting in the urinal in front of me.
The lights flickered.
WONK!
| |
Edit: thanks for all the prompts
Edit2: this prompt as a horrible idea brb hugging my dog | [WP] Write from the perspective of a dog who thinks he is going to the park but is actually going to be euthanized. | Dear fellas, I can't believe how fast things move on the outside. I saw a real firetruck once when I was a pup, but now they're everywhere. The world went and got itself in a big damn hurry. The humans got me going to this big green stretch where they run me around and there's other dogs I've gotta be nice to. It's hard work. I try to keep up, but my paws hurt most of the time. I don't think 'Lil Nippy likes me very much. Sometimes after my runnin' I leave some poops for the birds. I keep thinking Blacky might just show up and say hello. But he never does. I hope wherever he is, he's doing okay and making new friends.
I have trouble sleeping at night. I have bad dreams, like I'm falling. I wake up scared. Sometimes it takes me a while to remember where I am. Maybe I should get in the trash can and rip some shit up like old times, so they'd send me home. I could bite the mean lady who yells at us when we get near Lettuce while I was at it, sort of like a bonus. I guess I'm too old for that sort of nonsense anymore. I don't like it here.
Hey, this ain't the park! What the hell is that silver thing? Ow............ | She wants me to get into the car. It's just so hard to walk to the garage. She picks me up. When did she get so much bigger than me? I remember seeing the top of her head when she sat in the backyard stacking twigs and leaves with her tiny hands. Ha ha, I wish I could know what she was doing then.
I bet we're going to the park. We don't go very many places in the car. I want to go to the park, but I'm worried. I can't run with her like before. My legs don't work. The back left one - it just won't move any more. I can't feel it. Does she know I can't move it? I hope she doesn't know. I shift around to try to seem excited. I don't want her to think I don't want to go to the park, even though that's true. I hurt too much to play - but I'll try my best.
She pets the top of my head and makes sweet noises. Is she upset? Not at me. I'm not in trouble. She's definitely sad though. I nuzzle my nose against her thigh. It's hard to reach over there. It's also hard to keep my mouth closed. It's hard to breath that way, but I focus on keeping my breathing deep so that I can keep her calm. Don't be sad.
The car has stopped. She makes more gentle noises and I sit up. I start panting again. I hurt all over from trying not to pant. She opens my door and scoops me up before I can try to leave on my own.
We aren't at the park, but I know this place. We keep coming here. After we go, I always have new things to eat. They aren't very good, but she wants me to eat them, so I do.
We see the same man as last time. He makes sad sounds and she makes sad sounds back. I sit on the cold table. I'm relieved no one is paying much attention to me. I can rest for a while. I'll just shut my eyes until she's done. |
Edit: thanks for all the prompts
Edit2: this prompt as a horrible idea brb hugging my dog | [WP] Write from the perspective of a dog who thinks he is going to the park but is actually going to be euthanized. | We’re going to the park? Now?
Do we have to?
The couch looks so comfy, and I'm so tired that it feels like the energy is leaking out of my skin in a frightening way that I can’t explain, and why do I want to sleep all the time, can’t I just lie here and-
No.
Do it for her. We haven’t been in so long, not since the bad day when we went to that scary place where everything was shiny and it smelled of chemicals and fear (so much fear something terrible happens here and I don’t know what but I don’t like it at all let’s go home please)
The scary place where the big man poked and prodded me, and said something that made her sad (don’t be sad don’t be sad be happy at least we have each other)
Did he say I was bad? Is she mad at me? Is that why she is sad all the time? Is that why she keeps crying when I curl up with her in our favourite spot?
Will she forgive me if I go to the park with her? She always smiles when we go to the park. I’m so tired, but I want her to smile. I want her to play and be happy again.
Yes, I’ll do it. I’ll go to the park today.
For her.
| She wants me to get into the car. It's just so hard to walk to the garage. She picks me up. When did she get so much bigger than me? I remember seeing the top of her head when she sat in the backyard stacking twigs and leaves with her tiny hands. Ha ha, I wish I could know what she was doing then.
I bet we're going to the park. We don't go very many places in the car. I want to go to the park, but I'm worried. I can't run with her like before. My legs don't work. The back left one - it just won't move any more. I can't feel it. Does she know I can't move it? I hope she doesn't know. I shift around to try to seem excited. I don't want her to think I don't want to go to the park, even though that's true. I hurt too much to play - but I'll try my best.
She pets the top of my head and makes sweet noises. Is she upset? Not at me. I'm not in trouble. She's definitely sad though. I nuzzle my nose against her thigh. It's hard to reach over there. It's also hard to keep my mouth closed. It's hard to breath that way, but I focus on keeping my breathing deep so that I can keep her calm. Don't be sad.
The car has stopped. She makes more gentle noises and I sit up. I start panting again. I hurt all over from trying not to pant. She opens my door and scoops me up before I can try to leave on my own.
We aren't at the park, but I know this place. We keep coming here. After we go, I always have new things to eat. They aren't very good, but she wants me to eat them, so I do.
We see the same man as last time. He makes sad sounds and she makes sad sounds back. I sit on the cold table. I'm relieved no one is paying much attention to me. I can rest for a while. I'll just shut my eyes until she's done. |
Edit: thanks for all the prompts
Edit2: this prompt as a horrible idea brb hugging my dog | [WP] Write from the perspective of a dog who thinks he is going to the park but is actually going to be euthanized. | "Come on, Barkalomew. Go to the park?" Cynthia called. She tried to sound excited. Barkalomew raised his head slowly, looked toward the door, gave a weary woof, and slowly wagged his tail. It wasn't the energetic wave of a young dog. He barely had the strength to lift it from the sofa. "Come on, boy. Let's go to the park."
Barkalomew pushed himself up on his front legs and they shuddered under the effort of doing so. He stepped down, dragging his hindquarters after them. One by one, he lowered his back legs, and with the dignity of a hound who'd lived a long and comfortable life filled with love and joy and tummy rubs, he trudged slowly toward the girl at the door.
He stopped wagging his tail during the walk. He hadn't the strengthe to wag and walk. She gave the leash a little shake and went to one knee.
"Come on, boy. You can do it." She called softly. "Oh, you're such a good boy. You're such a good boy, Barkalomew. She held her arms open ready to embrace him. He hurt inside. His joints felt stiff. He heard a crackling sound inside him when he walked. The muscles in his neck quivered and ached from the strain of holding his head aloft, and so, he let his head droop so that his nose was only a few inches from the floor as he slowly walked into the circle of his master's arms. He gave a snuffling woof, and she hugged him. He gave a little whimper at the pain of that embrace. She wasn't squeezing him hard and the light scratch behind the ears felt lovely, but the pressure of her hug made his body ache. She must have sensed this for she let him loose.
"Come on, baby. We're gonna go to the park . . . one more time." He saw that his master's eyes seemed to glimmer. He looked back into the kitchen and saw that his food and water dish weren't beside the fridge any more. He wondered for a moment what could have happened to them. Instead, there were two smaller bowls there. His nose didn't work great, but he could tell by the faint scent drifting through the house that the food in the bowl was a wet food. He hadn't had wet food in a long time. He licked his lips, remembering well the tasted of gravy and soft meat.
"Look who I got." Mark sang out upon entering the living room. Barkalomew raised his head and saw something small and hyper squirming in his other master's hands. Barkalowmew sniffed the air and smelled the scent of youth. The puppy in Mark's hands gnawed on his thumb and licked at the man's face whenever it ventured too close.
*Woof*
Barkalomew gave a curious bark that sounded as if it had issued through a mouth filled with cotton.
"You could have waited." Cynthia chided. Mark shrugged and let the puppy lick his face. She fastened the leash onto Barkalomew's collar and with a gentle tug toward the open door, led him from the house. She helped him climb into the front seat, lifting his hindquarters. He immediately laid down and when Cynthia climbed into the driver seat, he lay his head upon her leg.
She gently stroked his ears and muzzle. She was talking to him softly while she petted him. He didn't hear much. His eyes drooped. Each breath was slow in coming and even slower in leaving. After a few moments, he opened his eyes. They'd gone to far. The park wasn't this far away. He lifted his head and pushed himself up on his front legs and looked out the window. There were very few trees outside the window. Something was wrong. He out the window and saw cars everywhere. He gave an inquiring woof.
Cynthia pulled into a parking space quickly and hugged her hound to her, wetting his fur with tears. She held him like this for a long time. "I don't want to do this." She sulked. "I love you." Barkalomew's tale wagged a couple of times. He knew this word. She used it a lot and almost always rubbed his belly afterward. Almost always, but not today. She rubbed at her eyes and wiped at her runny nose and made her preparations to depart.
He climbed out her door, whimpering as his hindquarter dropped from the car seat to the parking lot. His knees quivered in pain.
"Just a little farther." Cynthia promised, putting the leash on him once more. She led him slowly across the lot toward a big grey building with a paw print on the sign. Barkalomew stopped suddenly. He knew this place. It was the place that poked him with needles and smelled of death. Cynthia had to give him a couple tugs on the leash to get him to start moving again.
He looked up at her. *Why are you taking me here?* He asked with his eyes. *Was I . . . bad?* Cynthia didn't look down. She didn't reply. She opened the door. *Can we go to the park afterwards?* Barkalomew's eyes didn't leave his master as she led him in. The other animals looked on him with pity.
*Woof.* He barked softly.
Cynthia stopped at the counter and began conversing with the woman behind it. Barkalomew looked at the many faces of the many pets in the waiting room and recognized one. It was labrador like him. He'd seen him many times in the past. He perked up his ears and fixed the other dog with look. *Do you know why I'm here?* He asked.
The other dog hung his head.
*Woof.* Barkalomew protested. The other lab gave a whimper and and Barkalomew understood it perfectly. "Run." The other dog had advised mournfully. Barkalomew looked up at his good master then back to the other dog. The other dog gave another whimper. "Run." Barkalomew did nothing till the man in the white suit came out of the back. He looked down at the old hound and gestured while speaking to Cynthia. Cynthia started to cry anew and nodded.
Barkalomew made his decision and tried to run for the door. His joints hurt and he could only manage a half walk half trot. The man in the white suit caught him after only a few steps. He spoke quietly, reverently. Cynthia passed the leash over to the man and the man with gentle tugs pulled Barkalomew toward the back open door behind the counter.
*Don't let him take me.* Barkalomew pleaded. *I'm your good boy, remember?* Cynthia cried harder. *Why are you doing this? Why? I'm your good boy.* She wouldn't look him in the face. The last thing he saw wasn't his master's kindly face, but the face of the other dog.
*You should have run faster.* He seemed to say. Barkalomew looked from the other dog to his master's back.
*I was your good boy!* Barkalomew shouted at Cynthia. But of course, all she heard was a softly muffled *Woof* a fraction of a second before the door closed. | She wants me to get into the car. It's just so hard to walk to the garage. She picks me up. When did she get so much bigger than me? I remember seeing the top of her head when she sat in the backyard stacking twigs and leaves with her tiny hands. Ha ha, I wish I could know what she was doing then.
I bet we're going to the park. We don't go very many places in the car. I want to go to the park, but I'm worried. I can't run with her like before. My legs don't work. The back left one - it just won't move any more. I can't feel it. Does she know I can't move it? I hope she doesn't know. I shift around to try to seem excited. I don't want her to think I don't want to go to the park, even though that's true. I hurt too much to play - but I'll try my best.
She pets the top of my head and makes sweet noises. Is she upset? Not at me. I'm not in trouble. She's definitely sad though. I nuzzle my nose against her thigh. It's hard to reach over there. It's also hard to keep my mouth closed. It's hard to breath that way, but I focus on keeping my breathing deep so that I can keep her calm. Don't be sad.
The car has stopped. She makes more gentle noises and I sit up. I start panting again. I hurt all over from trying not to pant. She opens my door and scoops me up before I can try to leave on my own.
We aren't at the park, but I know this place. We keep coming here. After we go, I always have new things to eat. They aren't very good, but she wants me to eat them, so I do.
We see the same man as last time. He makes sad sounds and she makes sad sounds back. I sit on the cold table. I'm relieved no one is paying much attention to me. I can rest for a while. I'll just shut my eyes until she's done. |
Edit: thanks for all the prompts
Edit2: this prompt as a horrible idea brb hugging my dog | [WP] Write from the perspective of a dog who thinks he is going to the park but is actually going to be euthanized. | -sigh-
I wonder what time he'll be back. He always seems to go away forever, especially with his new friend. I guess he likes to spend time with her. I remember when he used to play with me everyday, we would go for walks it was so great...I guess I'm too slow now. Oh? The door? It must be him home finally! I better get up. Ow. This takes a lot longer than it used to...Still I better go see him! He always smiles when I wag my tail!
Oh there he is! Hi Paul! Hi! I missed you! I know you've been busy but I'm so glad you're home! Wait...Why are you so sad? Was it a bad day at work? C'mon buddy, shake my paw. That always cheers you up!
"Hi Rufus, Buddy. Were you a good boy? Of course you were, You're always a good boy. Okay? Always. You're my best buddy..."
Oh Paul, I know that. Here, you can pet me. Maybe then you won't seem so sad. Maybe you and your friend got in a fight is that it? She'll come around, pal. She'll miss you way too much.
Ugh. Standing hurts too much, how about we go sit down? You can tell me all about your day, I promise I'll listen to all of it. No, you don't want to do that...Hmm. What are you doing? Oh! A leash? The leash!? OH BOY IT'S THE LEASH! I'M NOT TOO SLOW? ARE WE GOING FOR A WALK? Oh boy! Lets go, Paul! Lets go!
"Wanna go for a walk, Roof? How about the park? Yeah...That's where were going boy, the park. Come here, good boy. Lets get the leash on you..."
For sure! Here I'll sit pretty, oh you want a hug? Paul? What's wrong? Here's some kisses that'll cheer you up! No! Don't cry Paul! It's okay! Here's some more kisses! It's okay. Oh, we're going now?
I'm sure this will cheer you up, I won't even pull. I'll stay right by your side. I'll be a good boy, that'll make you happy, right?
Oh we're going to the car!
Cool! You don't generally bring me in here! It must be that big park you took me to when I was a puppy! Remember how carefully your mom watched us? You even took me on that yellow weird hill! Oh gosh! I hope it's that one! You were so much smaller then!
Is it okay if I look out the window? You don't seem to mind. Look at all these trees! Wow! Wait. What's this strange thing against my face? Paul? Oh it's gone. Weird. Oh trees! Oh it's back! I'm gonna try and catch it! Yes! No nothing in there. Did I eat it? I don't think so. Hm. Is there more out there?
"Are you being silly, boy?"
I don't know, am I?
"You're such a silly dog, you silly boy. I love you so much."
I love you too, Paul. I'm going to lay down okay? I don't want to distract you. Why don't you tell me about your day? Here's some support. I'll put my paw on your leg, you'll be okay.
"I want you to know, you're the best dog ever. I've had the best time with you."
I'm sure we'll have tons more! Unless...Paul are you going away? Is that why you're so sad? Don't worry. I'll wait for you! I'll miss you but it's okay.
Oh? This isn't the park. Paul. This isn't the park. This is that no good place. Paul was I bad? Why am I here! Paul I don't want to be here! I'm not moving. Nope. Not going in there. Not at all. What? Put me down Paul! Don't make me go in there! I'm sorry! I'll be good!
"Hi...I have an appointment for Rufus." He looks sadly at me, so does the other lady.
Did I do something wrong? Why are they upset with me? I'm sorry Paul. Here I'll kiss your face! Then we can go home and be happy!
"The doctor will be right with you, Mr. Young. You too, Rufus. You're such a good boy, I can tell. Better than all the other dogs that come here. Do you want some scratches?" She said smiling sadly.
Okay. It'll probably cheer you up.
"Mr. Young. We're ready." Someone called from another room. Oh no, Paul is crying again. It's okay!
"I'm so sorry Rufus. The treatment costs too much, I just can't afford it. I don't want you to suffer, boy..." He whispered as he placed me on the table. "Lay down, Rufus...It's okay." He sniffed.
What is going on Paul? What does that mean? I'm scared. What is that thing? Ouch. Paul that hurt! What's going on? I'm scared Paul! Can you pet me please? Thank you...I'm just so scared but you're here... I'll be fine, right? Yeah...I just need a nap...You'll be here when I wake up...Right? Yeah...You...Will...Because we love each other.
Good night, Paul... | She wants me to get into the car. It's just so hard to walk to the garage. She picks me up. When did she get so much bigger than me? I remember seeing the top of her head when she sat in the backyard stacking twigs and leaves with her tiny hands. Ha ha, I wish I could know what she was doing then.
I bet we're going to the park. We don't go very many places in the car. I want to go to the park, but I'm worried. I can't run with her like before. My legs don't work. The back left one - it just won't move any more. I can't feel it. Does she know I can't move it? I hope she doesn't know. I shift around to try to seem excited. I don't want her to think I don't want to go to the park, even though that's true. I hurt too much to play - but I'll try my best.
She pets the top of my head and makes sweet noises. Is she upset? Not at me. I'm not in trouble. She's definitely sad though. I nuzzle my nose against her thigh. It's hard to reach over there. It's also hard to keep my mouth closed. It's hard to breath that way, but I focus on keeping my breathing deep so that I can keep her calm. Don't be sad.
The car has stopped. She makes more gentle noises and I sit up. I start panting again. I hurt all over from trying not to pant. She opens my door and scoops me up before I can try to leave on my own.
We aren't at the park, but I know this place. We keep coming here. After we go, I always have new things to eat. They aren't very good, but she wants me to eat them, so I do.
We see the same man as last time. He makes sad sounds and she makes sad sounds back. I sit on the cold table. I'm relieved no one is paying much attention to me. I can rest for a while. I'll just shut my eyes until she's done. |
Edit: thanks for all the prompts
Edit2: this prompt as a horrible idea brb hugging my dog | [WP] Write from the perspective of a dog who thinks he is going to the park but is actually going to be euthanized. | Dear fellas, I can't believe how fast things move on the outside. I saw a real firetruck once when I was a pup, but now they're everywhere. The world went and got itself in a big damn hurry. The humans got me going to this big green stretch where they run me around and there's other dogs I've gotta be nice to. It's hard work. I try to keep up, but my paws hurt most of the time. I don't think 'Lil Nippy likes me very much. Sometimes after my runnin' I leave some poops for the birds. I keep thinking Blacky might just show up and say hello. But he never does. I hope wherever he is, he's doing okay and making new friends.
I have trouble sleeping at night. I have bad dreams, like I'm falling. I wake up scared. Sometimes it takes me a while to remember where I am. Maybe I should get in the trash can and rip some shit up like old times, so they'd send me home. I could bite the mean lady who yells at us when we get near Lettuce while I was at it, sort of like a bonus. I guess I'm too old for that sort of nonsense anymore. I don't like it here.
Hey, this ain't the park! What the hell is that silver thing? Ow............ | -sigh-
I wonder what time he'll be back. He always seems to go away forever, especially with his new friend. I guess he likes to spend time with her. I remember when he used to play with me everyday, we would go for walks it was so great...I guess I'm too slow now. Oh? The door? It must be him home finally! I better get up. Ow. This takes a lot longer than it used to...Still I better go see him! He always smiles when I wag my tail!
Oh there he is! Hi Paul! Hi! I missed you! I know you've been busy but I'm so glad you're home! Wait...Why are you so sad? Was it a bad day at work? C'mon buddy, shake my paw. That always cheers you up!
"Hi Rufus, Buddy. Were you a good boy? Of course you were, You're always a good boy. Okay? Always. You're my best buddy..."
Oh Paul, I know that. Here, you can pet me. Maybe then you won't seem so sad. Maybe you and your friend got in a fight is that it? She'll come around, pal. She'll miss you way too much.
Ugh. Standing hurts too much, how about we go sit down? You can tell me all about your day, I promise I'll listen to all of it. No, you don't want to do that...Hmm. What are you doing? Oh! A leash? The leash!? OH BOY IT'S THE LEASH! I'M NOT TOO SLOW? ARE WE GOING FOR A WALK? Oh boy! Lets go, Paul! Lets go!
"Wanna go for a walk, Roof? How about the park? Yeah...That's where were going boy, the park. Come here, good boy. Lets get the leash on you..."
For sure! Here I'll sit pretty, oh you want a hug? Paul? What's wrong? Here's some kisses that'll cheer you up! No! Don't cry Paul! It's okay! Here's some more kisses! It's okay. Oh, we're going now?
I'm sure this will cheer you up, I won't even pull. I'll stay right by your side. I'll be a good boy, that'll make you happy, right?
Oh we're going to the car!
Cool! You don't generally bring me in here! It must be that big park you took me to when I was a puppy! Remember how carefully your mom watched us? You even took me on that yellow weird hill! Oh gosh! I hope it's that one! You were so much smaller then!
Is it okay if I look out the window? You don't seem to mind. Look at all these trees! Wow! Wait. What's this strange thing against my face? Paul? Oh it's gone. Weird. Oh trees! Oh it's back! I'm gonna try and catch it! Yes! No nothing in there. Did I eat it? I don't think so. Hm. Is there more out there?
"Are you being silly, boy?"
I don't know, am I?
"You're such a silly dog, you silly boy. I love you so much."
I love you too, Paul. I'm going to lay down okay? I don't want to distract you. Why don't you tell me about your day? Here's some support. I'll put my paw on your leg, you'll be okay.
"I want you to know, you're the best dog ever. I've had the best time with you."
I'm sure we'll have ln |
Edit: thanks for all the prompts
Edit2: this prompt as a horrible idea brb hugging my dog | [WP] Write from the perspective of a dog who thinks he is going to the park but is actually going to be euthanized. | We’re going to the park? Now?
Do we have to?
The couch looks so comfy, and I'm so tired that it feels like the energy is leaking out of my skin in a frightening way that I can’t explain, and why do I want to sleep all the time, can’t I just lie here and-
No.
Do it for her. We haven’t been in so long, not since the bad day when we went to that scary place where everything was shiny and it smelled of chemicals and fear (so much fear something terrible happens here and I don’t know what but I don’t like it at all let’s go home please)
The scary place where the big man poked and prodded me, and said something that made her sad (don’t be sad don’t be sad be happy at least we have each other)
Did he say I was bad? Is she mad at me? Is that why she is sad all the time? Is that why she keeps crying when I curl up with her in our favourite spot?
Will she forgive me if I go to the park with her? She always smiles when we go to the park. I’m so tired, but I want her to smile. I want her to play and be happy again.
Yes, I’ll do it. I’ll go to the park today.
For her.
| -sigh-
I wonder what time he'll be back. He always seems to go away forever, especially with his new friend. I guess he likes to spend time with her. I remember when he used to play with me everyday, we would go for walks it was so great...I guess I'm too slow now. Oh? The door? It must be him home finally! I better get up. Ow. This takes a lot longer than it used to...Still I better go see him! He always smiles when I wag my tail!
Oh there he is! Hi Paul! Hi! I missed you! I know you've been busy but I'm so glad you're home! Wait...Why are you so sad? Was it a bad day at work? C'mon buddy, shake my paw. That always cheers you up!
"Hi Rufus, Buddy. Were you a good boy? Of course you were, You're always a good boy. Okay? Always. You're my best buddy..."
Oh Paul, I know that. Here, you can pet me. Maybe then you won't seem so sad. Maybe you and your friend got in a fight is that it? She'll come around, pal. She'll miss you way too much.
Ugh. Standing hurts too much, how about we go sit down? You can tell me all about your day, I promise I'll listen to all of it. No, you don't want to do that...Hmm. What are you doing? Oh! A leash? The leash!? OH BOY IT'S THE LEASH! I'M NOT TOO SLOW? ARE WE GOING FOR A WALK? Oh boy! Lets go, Paul! Lets go!
"Wanna go for a walk, Roof? How about the park? Yeah...That's where were going boy, the park. Come here, good boy. Lets get the leash on you..."
For sure! Here I'll sit pretty, oh you want a hug? Paul? What's wrong? Here's some kisses that'll cheer you up! No! Don't cry Paul! It's okay! Here's some more kisses! It's okay. Oh, we're going now?
I'm sure this will cheer you up, I won't even pull. I'll stay right by your side. I'll be a good boy, that'll make you happy, right?
Oh we're going to the car!
Cool! You don't generally bring me in here! It must be that big park you took me to when I was a puppy! Remember how carefully your mom watched us? You even took me on that yellow weird hill! Oh gosh! I hope it's that one! You were so much smaller then!
Is it okay if I look out the window? You don't seem to mind. Look at all these trees! Wow! Wait. What's this strange thing against my face? Paul? Oh it's gone. Weird. Oh trees! Oh it's back! I'm gonna try and catch it! Yes! No nothing in there. Did I eat it? I don't think so. Hm. Is there more out there?
"Are you being silly, boy?"
I don't know, am I?
"You're such a silly dog, you silly boy. I love you so much."
I love you too, Paul. I'm going to lay down okay? I don't want to distract you. Why don't you tell me about your day? Here's some support. I'll put my paw on your leg, you'll be okay.
"I want you to know, you're the best dog ever. I've had the best time with you."
I'm sure we'll have ln |
[WP] A blind woman falls in love with a certain man and they marry. Years later an expensive treatment allows her to see again. Her husband is not what she expects. | She'd never told Peter about Delilah, and now she wonders why. Delilah with her doughy body and sparrow's chirp laugh. Delilah with her hair the colour of October sunlight (*how she had tried to memorize that shade*). Delilah, holding her as all the world went dark. Was it because she was ashamed, or had something inside known that this was an unbroachable topic? Peter, who was so open and understanding about other things had always turned... well... *queer* when discussion swayed to *those* people, and she had found it easier to turn away.
*Turned a blind eye.*
And she had felt shame, but whether it was the shame of denial, regret, or betrayal, she had never been able to say.
She had been lonely. After Delilah left. After she had, she admitted, pushed her away with her self loathing and self pity. She had given up on memorizing colours. Had committed herself to memorizing contours instead. Two years had passed before she'd felt willing to venture back into the dating world and four more before she'd found anyone with the patience and love to accept her new reality. Peter.
She had taken him at his word, of course. That he was from Oshawa, that he was a type 2 diabetic, that he'd had a vasectomy after learning he carried the gene for Cystic Fibrosis, and that his own eyes were the same blue-grey as a glacial lake.
None of it true, of course, but you'll have figured that out by now. The operation has restored more than just my sight. Hadn't it always been too easy about them? Hadn't she said a thousand time he seemed to know her intimacies from the beginning? He has green eyes, tinged with defiance; lips, feminine and full; and hair, the unforgettable colour of October sunlight. | Everyone gathered around as the bandages were taken off Susan's eyes. Even before the final layers were unwrapped she could see the dim forms of her friends and family silhouetted against the window in front of her.
'Welcome!' they shouted as the bandage was finally lifted away. The room was dimmed and she'd been warned that there might be a slight shock to her system, but nothing had prepared her for this. She looked around the room as the people came in to focus. Somehow she knew who everyone was from the way they smiled at her. She saw her father, and her mother, her older brothers. Granpda Jim was asleep in his wheelchair in the far corner. It was a lot to take in, but as she looked over to her husband Mike, she froze. This was too much.
'You...' she whispered. Mike grabbed her hand. Tears welled up in his eyes.
'It's me, Susan. It's Mike. How do I look?'
'You,' she said again, and looked up to her parents as if seeking confirmation. She looked back at Mike.
'You're Asian,' she said. Mike's tears flowed freely now as he and everyone in the room laughed. Except for Susan.
'He's Asian,' she repeated. The laughter in the room doubled.
'No, Mike, listen. I only date white guys.'
It was silent then, silent like the few seconds after a fart in an elevator at a graveyard. The colour had drained from every face in the room. Except Mike's, Susan noted with huge stabs of disgust, which was still decidedly yellow.
'I-' Mike began.
'Oh God,' said Susan, 'I had your kids. I had your freaky slanty eyed kids.'
'I thought you, well I thought it was,' Mike said, caught somewhere between an inability to cry and a desperate need to openly weep. 'I'm not even, I mean my grandparents are Chinese...'
'This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me. How could you lie to me like this?'
'My last name is Yan! Your last name has been Yan for four years!'
'Well that's changing soon, I can tell you that.'
'Look,' Susan's mother interjected, 'the nurse said there might be some grogginess as the drugs wear off, how about we discuss this later?'
'I've been sitting here for eighteen hours mother, the drugs have worn off. I know what i'm saying,' Susan said. The only sound in the room was everyone pointedly trying to avoid eye contact with each other at all costs. Mike broke the silence with a small whimper.
'You always said love was blind,' he managed. 'How can you be saying this now?'
'Well that was before... This. I'm sorry Mike, you understand.'
'Okay, you're clearly in shock or something so I am going to take the kids and leave and we'll talk when you're out of recovery. Come on kids, give mummy her gifts and let's go.'
Susan's children placed two small packages at the foot of her bed. For a moment their eyes met, Mary's and Zhang Ye's, and Susan's new eyes, who would not three hours later bear witness to their first small dog and fill Susan with an uncontrollable urge to kick it in the face in a cartoonish expression of evil, and Susan internally confirmed that she felt nothing for these foreign children, and continued to feel nothing as Mike led them to the door.
'Oh, Mike,' Susan said, now flicking through her iPhone to triumphantly turn off the diction settings. Mike and their children turned around from the doorway. Without looking up, she said,
'I want the TV. I have some catching up to do.' | |
[WP] A blind woman falls in love with a certain man and they marry. Years later an expensive treatment allows her to see again. Her husband is not what she expects. | Kirby H. Valentine was not himself lately. He stared at his muddled reflection in the sink’s lukewarm water, picking apart his features between the suds. ‘Who is that old bastard?’ he whispered to himself. His wrinkled, weathered hands stared back at him in disbelief; each swollen, agitated ridge in each soggy, pissed off finger was asking him why a man of his caliber was putting up with this shit. How, they begged, could a man who had led groups of men into combat possibly be stooping this low?
Kirby had systematically picked apart and destroyed rival gangs with his own blood, sweat and tears. He had personally executed the more infamous members of now dissolved mafias; entire families gone extinct at the bend and will of his hands.
Kirby leaned against the cool, granite counter and sighed out loud, “These hands do not work like they used to. These hands have retired.” He raised them before his face and glared at them. Goddamn traitors.
“Kirby? What are you doing down there? I’m freezing to death up here, please hurry!”
He could not help but wince at the sound of her voice.
It was not by any means an aggravating voice; in fact, it was a soft sound that hung free of any notes of expectation or annoyance and smoothly curled into one’s ears. Not unlike a mother. No, it was the very woman that caused his body to naturally react with slightly miffed twitching.
“Worry not, my dear. I just became a little sidetracked.” Kirby put down the blouse he had just been furiously scrubbing at, at war with the only real combatants he encountered these days; ugly stains on beautiful designer clothing. Red wine had replaced the rival gangs and fine Italian tomato sauce haunted his dreams in place of Mafia kingpins...tomato sauce.
Kirby climbed the stairs slowly, half because he wanted to slowly delay the monotony that had become his existence and half because lately his body ached more and more when he moved too quickly. This is what had become of the great Antonio Valentine’s son and he cringed to think that she had done this to him. As he reached the peak of the stairs and approached the lip of the bedroom door he could see her sitting on the bed, craning her neck towards the sound of his footfalls.
“What took so long? Is everything okay? Did someone call? What’s going on?” the tiny woman’s breath came in anxious gasps and dipped into poorly hidden despair.
“Veronica, everything is fine. Please do not worry about anything—“
Veronica exhaled slowly, “Kirby, please. Don’t treat me like a child. You know how I hate to be left in the dark.” She stared in his direction with a melancholic frown painted across her face.
Kirby was beginning to feel that nagging tinge of guilt in his side, she looked genuinely afraid.
“Sorry, Veronica. I know you do not like to be alone,” she squirmed in her seat, obviously feeling awkward about him having known the truth, “but, I was trying to wash your blouse so the stains do not set in, and they absolutely must be washed by hand or else they will be ruined.”
The frail-boned woman shifted her weight from side to side, her eyes not leaving Kirby. She seemed to consider what he said for a moment and then nodded approvingly, accepting this as a valid reason for what she perceived as abandonment.
“It is alright, Kirb. I’m not upset, I’m just a little cold.” She sat on the bed, crossed legged and arms crossed over her towel. When silence fell over the room for a brief stretch of time, you could hear Veronica’s pearly white teeth chattering against one another violently, as if they were trying to huddle together for warmth. Her wet hair clung to her shoulders in a very uncharacteristically sloppy fashion.
“Well alright then, darlin’, what do you want to wear today?”
“Oh! You know I can never chose!” She beamed now, any look of sadness evaporated off of her face and was replaced by childlike joy.
“Okay let’s see here. How about the red cashmere sweater, the one with the wooden buttons on the side of the neck?” Kirby offered hopefully.
“The red one?” she asked with a raised tone full of honest curiosity, outstretching her hands towards the sound of Valentine’s gruff voice.
He brought the fabric closer to her and let her fingers mingle with the soft fibers of the sweater. Her face lit up once more as she brushed her fingertips down the buttons on the neck. Kirby was always astonished by the way in which she understood everything through touch. It was as if she had resurrected old memories by caressing the cloth, as if remembering long lost stories of a previous life lived in that exact cashmere sweater.
However, as Kirby was acutely aware, some memories are fonder to us than others.
“Heavens, no Kirby!” she giggled with disbelief, “I love this sweater, it’s the most perfect shade of red but I wore this last month when Giovanni came for dinner. I don’t want him to think I have begun to let myself go. If he starts to think that, I bet you he might never ever come back!”
She grinned at Kirby mischievously now but he could hear it in her voice. This was one of her biggest fears, much more so then the idea of being alone; she especially did not want Giovanni to forget about her. She never said these things out loud, hell, Kirby wasn’t entirely sure she even knew how afraid she was. But she wore it on her face, plain as day for anyone to see. Well, anyone but herself.
Kirby intently looked at the set of milky eyes that followed him around the room, dancing with the sound of his voice as he spoke. When they had first met, her eyes had been a striking emerald green that cut through a man like a razor and she could set a person on fire, body and soul, with one look. And when she did, no one seemed to mind burning, as long as it meant burning under her steady gaze. Now, as time wrought on and circumstance had heavily presented itself upon her, that light had gone out. Kirby did not know when, but it was as if the life had been sucked from the yolks of her eyes, her emeralds stolen; replaced by smoking embers that couldn’t light a cigarette and jittering nerves that could not be calmed.
Veronica was blind and had been for the better part of 15 years. Kirby H. Valentine, her devout caretaker, did his best to make life easier for her at the wish and command of his boss.
They spent quite a bit of time together each day and Kirby knew there were certain things he had to do to help her get through the day.
“Kirby?” she whispered quizzically, interrupting his thoughts “is this skirt colorful and bright?”
“Yes” he replied softly as he could, knowing just exactly where this was headed.
“What colour is it?” she asked with a weak smile.
“It is such a marvelous shade of turquoise. My god, woman. You would not believe how bright it is. It’s almost a war crime.” He grinned at her, knowing that even though she couldn’t see him smiling, she could hear the wind catching in his lips as they spread across his face and changed shape.
She smiled widely in return, clapping her hands together excitedly, “How wonderful! Okay, let me get dressed and then you can help me pick my shoes!”
‘Bloody hell, what did I do in another life to deserve this shit?’ Kirby smiled to himself.
---
I'm writing the rest right now and will post it as a reply. :) (I was scared maybe it's getting too long for one post!) | Everyone gathered around as the bandages were taken off Susan's eyes. Even before the final layers were unwrapped she could see the dim forms of her friends and family silhouetted against the window in front of her.
'Welcome!' they shouted as the bandage was finally lifted away. The room was dimmed and she'd been warned that there might be a slight shock to her system, but nothing had prepared her for this. She looked around the room as the people came in to focus. Somehow she knew who everyone was from the way they smiled at her. She saw her father, and her mother, her older brothers. Granpda Jim was asleep in his wheelchair in the far corner. It was a lot to take in, but as she looked over to her husband Mike, she froze. This was too much.
'You...' she whispered. Mike grabbed her hand. Tears welled up in his eyes.
'It's me, Susan. It's Mike. How do I look?'
'You,' she said again, and looked up to her parents as if seeking confirmation. She looked back at Mike.
'You're Asian,' she said. Mike's tears flowed freely now as he and everyone in the room laughed. Except for Susan.
'He's Asian,' she repeated. The laughter in the room doubled.
'No, Mike, listen. I only date white guys.'
It was silent then, silent like the few seconds after a fart in an elevator at a graveyard. The colour had drained from every face in the room. Except Mike's, Susan noted with huge stabs of disgust, which was still decidedly yellow.
'I-' Mike began.
'Oh God,' said Susan, 'I had your kids. I had your freaky slanty eyed kids.'
'I thought you, well I thought it was,' Mike said, caught somewhere between an inability to cry and a desperate need to openly weep. 'I'm not even, I mean my grandparents are Chinese...'
'This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me. How could you lie to me like this?'
'My last name is Yan! Your last name has been Yan for four years!'
'Well that's changing soon, I can tell you that.'
'Look,' Susan's mother interjected, 'the nurse said there might be some grogginess as the drugs wear off, how about we discuss this later?'
'I've been sitting here for eighteen hours mother, the drugs have worn off. I know what i'm saying,' Susan said. The only sound in the room was everyone pointedly trying to avoid eye contact with each other at all costs. Mike broke the silence with a small whimper.
'You always said love was blind,' he managed. 'How can you be saying this now?'
'Well that was before... This. I'm sorry Mike, you understand.'
'Okay, you're clearly in shock or something so I am going to take the kids and leave and we'll talk when you're out of recovery. Come on kids, give mummy her gifts and let's go.'
Susan's children placed two small packages at the foot of her bed. For a moment their eyes met, Mary's and Zhang Ye's, and Susan's new eyes, who would not three hours later bear witness to their first small dog and fill Susan with an uncontrollable urge to kick it in the face in a cartoonish expression of evil, and Susan internally confirmed that she felt nothing for these foreign children, and continued to feel nothing as Mike led them to the door.
'Oh, Mike,' Susan said, now flicking through her iPhone to triumphantly turn off the diction settings. Mike and their children turned around from the doorway. Without looking up, she said,
'I want the TV. I have some catching up to do.' | |
[WP] A blind woman falls in love with a certain man and they marry. Years later an expensive treatment allows her to see again. Her husband is not what she expects. | She wept.
As a teenager, she had gotten into a fair bit of trouble by checking out guys by groping them. It was only fair, she decided, since the seeing could do the same thing with their eyes with impunity. Why was she the only one getting into trouble? Sense discrimination.
Her husband was special. Most guys drew the line at the sniffing and tasting. They didn't mind the groping but when she switched to her other senses it got too weird for them. Not her Jerry. She first met him in the college choir. As an experiment to achieve better blend, the director had interspersed all the voice parts and she ended up standing next to Jerry. He was hitting some low notes and it tickled her. At break time she turned to him and started groping him. "Fuck off!" she yelled at the cat calls from the other guys. "I ain't touching any of you losers." Jerry stood there with a smile. She touched his face. "You have a nice smile." That's when he realized she was blind. He seized up and barely squeaked out a "Thank you." What was he supposed to do? "You've tensed up. You realize that I can't see, right?" He regained his footing and gamely said, "You do what you gotta do." "Oh I will." At this point, the other girls, who had up to this point been whispering sharply to themselves about the "whore," realized what was going on and their gaze turned from one of disgust to approval, as they beheld the spectacle of a man being treated as merchandise.
The more she groped the more she wanted to know. She started pressing her nose to various parts of his body. She could tell that Jerry had showered that day, but sufficiently long time that his natural masculine unctuousness had redeveloped. She was glad that he chose not to use cologne. She took a deep breath, grunted an "Mmmph" of approval, stood up, felt for his face and gave his cheek one big lick. After that she stood back for a moment, then said, "Thanks for being a good sport. I like you."
So that's how it started. Jerry at first wondered if he persevered in the relationship out of pity. But then he realized how hot all the groping made him every time she greeted him. He was getting something out of it. He liked her "fuck everyone" attitude and how she used her strengths to overcome her deficiencies. She adapted. She thrived. That was sexy.
She wept. Here was the man she had touched, heard, tasted, and smelled for years. Now she beheld him with another sense. It was sensory overload. She had to shut her eyes a few times to let her mind digest it all. She ran to him, closing her eyes as she was not used to visual feedback of her movement. Once she got to him, she opened her eyes again. She sniffed. She shut her eyes. She moved to another area of his body and sniffed again. Then opened her eyes. She repeated this for some time.
She tore off his pants, and then backed away. "It's ... it's a different color than the rest of your body."
"The blood has rushed in, dear."
"Oh. Is that how it works? Not what I expected." | Everyone gathered around as the bandages were taken off Susan's eyes. Even before the final layers were unwrapped she could see the dim forms of her friends and family silhouetted against the window in front of her.
'Welcome!' they shouted as the bandage was finally lifted away. The room was dimmed and she'd been warned that there might be a slight shock to her system, but nothing had prepared her for this. She looked around the room as the people came in to focus. Somehow she knew who everyone was from the way they smiled at her. She saw her father, and her mother, her older brothers. Granpda Jim was asleep in his wheelchair in the far corner. It was a lot to take in, but as she looked over to her husband Mike, she froze. This was too much.
'You...' she whispered. Mike grabbed her hand. Tears welled up in his eyes.
'It's me, Susan. It's Mike. How do I look?'
'You,' she said again, and looked up to her parents as if seeking confirmation. She looked back at Mike.
'You're Asian,' she said. Mike's tears flowed freely now as he and everyone in the room laughed. Except for Susan.
'He's Asian,' she repeated. The laughter in the room doubled.
'No, Mike, listen. I only date white guys.'
It was silent then, silent like the few seconds after a fart in an elevator at a graveyard. The colour had drained from every face in the room. Except Mike's, Susan noted with huge stabs of disgust, which was still decidedly yellow.
'I-' Mike began.
'Oh God,' said Susan, 'I had your kids. I had your freaky slanty eyed kids.'
'I thought you, well I thought it was,' Mike said, caught somewhere between an inability to cry and a desperate need to openly weep. 'I'm not even, I mean my grandparents are Chinese...'
'This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me. How could you lie to me like this?'
'My last name is Yan! Your last name has been Yan for four years!'
'Well that's changing soon, I can tell you that.'
'Look,' Susan's mother interjected, 'the nurse said there might be some grogginess as the drugs wear off, how about we discuss this later?'
'I've been sitting here for eighteen hours mother, the drugs have worn off. I know what i'm saying,' Susan said. The only sound in the room was everyone pointedly trying to avoid eye contact with each other at all costs. Mike broke the silence with a small whimper.
'You always said love was blind,' he managed. 'How can you be saying this now?'
'Well that was before... This. I'm sorry Mike, you understand.'
'Okay, you're clearly in shock or something so I am going to take the kids and leave and we'll talk when you're out of recovery. Come on kids, give mummy her gifts and let's go.'
Susan's children placed two small packages at the foot of her bed. For a moment their eyes met, Mary's and Zhang Ye's, and Susan's new eyes, who would not three hours later bear witness to their first small dog and fill Susan with an uncontrollable urge to kick it in the face in a cartoonish expression of evil, and Susan internally confirmed that she felt nothing for these foreign children, and continued to feel nothing as Mike led them to the door.
'Oh, Mike,' Susan said, now flicking through her iPhone to triumphantly turn off the diction settings. Mike and their children turned around from the doorway. Without looking up, she said,
'I want the TV. I have some catching up to do.' | |
[WP] A blind woman falls in love with a certain man and they marry. Years later an expensive treatment allows her to see again. Her husband is not what she expects. | She'd never told Peter about Delilah, and now she wonders why. Delilah with her doughy body and sparrow's chirp laugh. Delilah with her hair the colour of October sunlight (*how she had tried to memorize that shade*). Delilah, holding her as all the world went dark. Was it because she was ashamed, or had something inside known that this was an unbroachable topic? Peter, who was so open and understanding about other things had always turned... well... *queer* when discussion swayed to *those* people, and she had found it easier to turn away.
*Turned a blind eye.*
And she had felt shame, but whether it was the shame of denial, regret, or betrayal, she had never been able to say.
She had been lonely. After Delilah left. After she had, she admitted, pushed her away with her self loathing and self pity. She had given up on memorizing colours. Had committed herself to memorizing contours instead. Two years had passed before she'd felt willing to venture back into the dating world and four more before she'd found anyone with the patience and love to accept her new reality. Peter.
She had taken him at his word, of course. That he was from Oshawa, that he was a type 2 diabetic, that he'd had a vasectomy after learning he carried the gene for Cystic Fibrosis, and that his own eyes were the same blue-grey as a glacial lake.
None of it true, of course, but you'll have figured that out by now. The operation has restored more than just my sight. Hadn't it always been too easy about them? Hadn't she said a thousand time he seemed to know her intimacies from the beginning? He has green eyes, tinged with defiance; lips, feminine and full; and hair, the unforgettable colour of October sunlight. | I knew I wouldn't be able to see immediately. I knew it would take a lot of work, and I was even warned that I might feel overwhelmed. I had vague memories of what sight was like. I had been injured in a car accident that had left me blind in both eyes at the age of three. I do think it helped, though; being able to process light and color for three years before going blind may have made it a bit easier for my brain to remember rather than to learn anew.
James helped me a lot. Sometimes I would close my eyes to get around like I had before. He would suddenly get in front of me and block my way, teasing me. It wasn't mean; if I protested, he'd raise his arms out and impede my movement until he closed them around me, hugging me tight.
"I won't let go until you open your eyes," he'd say. No one had ever loved me this much. I could hear it in his voice and feel it every time he hugged me.
I practiced often. Sometimes I'd get headaches from trying to look at everything. Blotches of dark smeared across the table as I tried to eat breakfast. James told me it was the shadows from the tree outside. That tree had never bothered me before. Now it was interrupting my breakfast, trying to make it even harder to simply eat a bowl of cereal. I still felt around to make sure I could trust what I was seeing. I can't tell you how strange it was to see my own hands before me, two misshapen blurs fumbling with everything I tried to touch. I used to love my hands.
After a while, the dark smears became shadows, and James's face became clear to me. I think that was the happiest moment in my life. I woke up one morning and he turned over, and I could see his eyes. They shone bright, as if they themselves held light inside them. He was beautiful. I never knew how beautiful he really was.
The blotches no longer confused his face and I was able to see him clearly. My problems began when I noticed that my own face wasn't clearing. The nasty blotches on my own face weren't tricks of the light. I had a slew of acne scars around my jawline. My skin felt smooth to me, but I didn't know the dark marks were there. I had a few wrinkles, which I had known about, but the sickly green circles under my eyes contrasted poorly with my dark irises. My eyes didn't shine like James's eyes. My eyes looked dead and sad.
I didn't want to ask James about it. I never knew I was so ugly. Even if I was ugly, I assumed James must be just as ugly. Why would a handsome man choose an ugly, blind girlfriend? I could finally see how women stared at him. Nobody ever looked at me that way. A trip to the grocery store used to be a fun time for both of us. Now, it was another opportunity to see every other bitch- who he could easily have if he wanted- stealing furtive glances at him, or smiling if he looked in their direction.
I have no idea what to think. Sometimes I think he smiles back at them. I caught him looking at two women walking by us at a restaurant. My stomach was in knots. I didn't say anything. I just stared down at my pasta and tried not to lose my appetite.
"Is something wrong?" James asked.
"No, why?" I said, forcing my pockmarked face into an expression of amusement.
"Just asking," he said. "I love you," he said, with a smile.
I wish I could believe it. | |
[WP] A blind woman falls in love with a certain man and they marry. Years later an expensive treatment allows her to see again. Her husband is not what she expects. | She wept.
As a teenager, she had gotten into a fair bit of trouble by checking out guys by groping them. It was only fair, she decided, since the seeing could do the same thing with their eyes with impunity. Why was she the only one getting into trouble? Sense discrimination.
Her husband was special. Most guys drew the line at the sniffing and tasting. They didn't mind the groping but when she switched to her other senses it got too weird for them. Not her Jerry. She first met him in the college choir. As an experiment to achieve better blend, the director had interspersed all the voice parts and she ended up standing next to Jerry. He was hitting some low notes and it tickled her. At break time she turned to him and started groping him. "Fuck off!" she yelled at the cat calls from the other guys. "I ain't touching any of you losers." Jerry stood there with a smile. She touched his face. "You have a nice smile." That's when he realized she was blind. He seized up and barely squeaked out a "Thank you." What was he supposed to do? "You've tensed up. You realize that I can't see, right?" He regained his footing and gamely said, "You do what you gotta do." "Oh I will." At this point, the other girls, who had up to this point been whispering sharply to themselves about the "whore," realized what was going on and their gaze turned from one of disgust to approval, as they beheld the spectacle of a man being treated as merchandise.
The more she groped the more she wanted to know. She started pressing her nose to various parts of his body. She could tell that Jerry had showered that day, but sufficiently long time that his natural masculine unctuousness had redeveloped. She was glad that he chose not to use cologne. She took a deep breath, grunted an "Mmmph" of approval, stood up, felt for his face and gave his cheek one big lick. After that she stood back for a moment, then said, "Thanks for being a good sport. I like you."
So that's how it started. Jerry at first wondered if he persevered in the relationship out of pity. But then he realized how hot all the groping made him every time she greeted him. He was getting something out of it. He liked her "fuck everyone" attitude and how she used her strengths to overcome her deficiencies. She adapted. She thrived. That was sexy.
She wept. Here was the man she had touched, heard, tasted, and smelled for years. Now she beheld him with another sense. It was sensory overload. She had to shut her eyes a few times to let her mind digest it all. She ran to him, closing her eyes as she was not used to visual feedback of her movement. Once she got to him, she opened her eyes again. She sniffed. She shut her eyes. She moved to another area of his body and sniffed again. Then opened her eyes. She repeated this for some time.
She tore off his pants, and then backed away. "It's ... it's a different color than the rest of your body."
"The blood has rushed in, dear."
"Oh. Is that how it works? Not what I expected." | The sound of squeaking brakes and the feeling of being gently pushed by some spectral force told Jennifer what she already knew. How many times had they been to this hospital together the last few years? The birth of children, the car accident, James' fall. Eight. Eight times they had driven through this parking lot together. When she was in labor with Carol, Lord. Anthony couldn't have driven fast enough. Now, though. . . Now, she sat here with wringing hands. Breath that caught in her throat. A heart that beat in her ears. If Dr. Russell was to be believed, this time tomorrow the veil would be lifted. She would see.
Anthony's hand, so broad and hard and strong, took hers and she squeezed. "I know you're scared, beautiful. I'll be with you nearly the whole time." His voice, smoke and whiskey they called it. *Oh, Anthony.* Her free hand slid up his arm and cupped his face when they came to a stop. His features hard and sharp. Everything about the man was hard, save for his touch. Her thumb slid over his lips and he kissed it. She took a deep breath and sighed, turning her face to the warmth of the sun. *God, don't let this change us.*
"I know, Anthony. Still, I just. . ." Her eyes stung, and throat squeezed. With a shaky breath and wipe of the eye she faced him with a smile. "I just don't know." She felt him lean in and kiss at the corner of her mouth. Unbuckling her seat belt, she sat and waited as always for him to open her door and offer his hand.
Jennifer's thoughts drifted as Anthony led her through the corridors. The smell of disinfectant and the snippets of conversation sat just behind her consciousness as her mind wandered through corridors of its own. She had always pictured herself as beautiful, and pictured herself with someone handsome as a girl. Now, so close to the precipice of discovery, her mind carried her away to shadowed memories.
When they had found their way to the room and she changed into her gown, and they finished the presurgical routine, Anthony sat beside her and she nuzzled into him. Her hand gripping at his shirt. He ran his fingers through long hair, and cradled her much as a child awakened by nightmares. As the doctor came in, preceded by the sound of rustling papers, she gripped his shirt all the tighter.
"Mrs. Peterson? It's time." With one last kiss she would say goodbye to the world she knew. To the hard giant with a gentle touch. When she awoke, and they had regenerated the nerves and restored her vision, the world of darkness she knew would be gone forever. Anthony gently pulled away, and for a moment she wouldn't let go. Then, with all she had, she set out to climb that sheer cliff.
"I'm ready."
Night had been the hardest. She had gotten quite used to Anthony lying next to her. The doctors and nurses had left her eyes covered, and told her that she wouldn't be fully healed until the morning. Tossing and turning, the physical embodiment of her mind. Starting with the first time she'd heard Anthony's voice, to the first time she had felt his face. So hard. To her hands it felt as if he were some granite carving. It wasn't the first time she'd known such a person, her father had been much the same. It still made her doubt he could be handsome, but then she had dismissed it since she was blind and thought she would always be. His heart and his touch is what had won her over. The first sweet taste of which she found on their very first date, when she had carelessly stepped off the curb and rolled her ankle. When he caught her with such grace and ease, her pride pulled her away. Trying to walk it off, she was soon a slave to his kindness and feared her ankle broke. When he carried her on his back like a child for over a mile to get back to the car, her face was at first hot with embarrassment. Then she was pulled in by a voice that was rough and soothing at the same time. Like some sweet liquor. Near the end the rhythm of his gait and the sound of his voice had nearly lulled her to sleep, her head on his shoulder. They were never long parted, thereafter.
Now, as the hours passed by, so did the years of their life together. After a seemingly endless journey, she at last called for a nurse and requested a sleeping aid. Before long she was breathing deep the sterile air, and drifting through her own Elysian Fields.
She was awakened by a nurse moving through the room, and she sharply inhaled and lifted herself. "Good morning, Mrs. Peterson!" Bright and chirpy, like a robin. "I hope you're hungry."
Before she had even finished, in came the doctor and she had scarcely noticed. When he spoke, she pushed away the tray and straightened herself. "Mrs. Peterson, whenever you're ready. We've arranged quite a surprise for you." The smell of roses kissed her nose. They had never been her favorite, with their thorns and all. They did smell sweet, though.
"Where's Anthony?"
"Out in the hall, he wanted me to give you this." Placing the stem of a carnation in her hand, she smiled and instantly knew what it was. Anthony would bring her carnations and she would rub them on her face. They were always her favorite. Bringing it up to her nose, she breathed deep, and slid it over her lips.
"I'm ready." As the nurse's cold fingers uncovered her eyes, she heard Carol's mischievous giggle and smiled wide. "I hear you, baby." Her eyes stinging again and welling with tears, when suddenly red light flooded into sight. She gasped and brought her fingers to closed eyes.
"Open your eyes, mommy." Near sobbing, she slowly cracked her eyes and was immediately overwhelmed, clenching them tight again.
"Slowly, Mrs. Peterson." She breathed deep the carnation in her hand again, and opened her eyes once more. The golden light of morning filling the room with a kind of warmth that was new to her. Carol leaned over the foot of her bed, all smiles. Yellow hair dancing as she bounced and giggled.
"Oh, baby! Come here!" Holding Carol tight to her breast, she wept. Kissing and clutching the child as if she hadn't been with her for years. The doctor wiped a tear and gestured toward the door. There Anthony stood leaning against the door frame, wiping away his own tears. *Oh, God. You're beautiful!*
| |
[WP] A blind woman falls in love with a certain man and they marry. Years later an expensive treatment allows her to see again. Her husband is not what she expects. | Wendy sat speechless as she stared into the big brown eyes of her beloved husband. Not a word had been spoken between them since he walked into the room. His nerves got the better of him and he decided to break the tension by offering a gentle smile. Wendy recoiled in horror and began to sob.
"Come on, Weeendy. What's the matter?"
Shocked, Wendy wiped away her tears and looked around the room to find the source of the familiar voice, a voice that she had grown to adore over the course of their marriage. Finding no one else in the room, she turned to him and covered her trembling mouth, eyes welling with tears once again. "How is this possible? How could you be... I just don't understand. Is that really you?"
"Yes, daaarling. It's me! Your husband, Ed!"
Certain now that the voice was coming from him, Wendy pinched her arm in an attempt to wake herself from this nightmare. She closed her eyes and shook her head, but when she opened them he was still standing before her.
"Ed," she whispered with hesitation, "is that really you?"
"Of course!" he snorted as he shook his head. "Who else were you expecting?"
"I was expecting a human!" she shouted. Ed's long face drooped in disappointment as he attempted to hide his shameful expression. "Is this why you never let me feel your face?"
"Weeendy..." Ed sighed. "I thought you knew. We've been together for years!"
Wendy thought back along the years of their blissful marriage. Suddenly, everything she found odd began to make sense: Their separate beds, the swarms of flies that always followed them, the piles of carrot stems that she swept up daily.
"I need some time to think."
"I understaaand, Wendy. I'll be waiting in the hall." Ed turned, his coarse tail whipping the sheets by her feet. He grabbed the door handle with his mouth and trotted out of the room, hooves clopping on the hospital tiles as he moved.
*So he wasn't wearing wooden clogs all these years,* she thought. She pondered over all of the other memories she held so dear, and finally understood why her family had disowned her when she insisted on marrying the celebrity they clearly objected to. She thought about their wedding, and that first night they spent together. The thought of his muscular hairy body as he...
*No! This has to be a joke! Please, someone tell me this isn't real!*
The nurse walked in carrying a shovel and plastic bag. She hated dealing with celebrity couples, and was frustrated that she had been assigned manure duty. But when she saw the turmoil on Wendy's face her anger turned to pity. "What's the matter, dear?"
"My husband. He's a horse!"
Confused, she explained, "Of course, of course! Didn't you know? You two are quite famous, after all."
Wendy's cheeks became red as she turned to face the window. "I had no idea. Who's ever heard of a talking horse?"
"Well, go straight to the source and ask your husband!" she cheered. A long, drawn out neigh echoed through the hall in front of the room. Wendy burst into tears once again as she tried to come to terms with her decisions in life and understand all of the strange memories that finally started to add up and make sense. | The night before the surgery, Esther dreamed of colors.
Ten years had passed since the accident. The ten year anniversary would be on Tuesday. She would visit the graveyard on Tuesday and decorate Sally’s monument with flowers.
She would be able to see the colors of the flowers by then. Violets. Lilies. Peonies. Roses.
Roses wouldn’t be appropriate, would they?
Esther didn’t care. They might not be right for anyone else, but they would be perfect for Sally.
Sally, whose last words had been “Find somebody to love.”
“Find somebody to guide you through the darkness,” Sally had said, “Find somebody to touch.”
And she had. Oh, how they had loved! How they had touched!
Nestor was the best partner a girl could ask for. Sensitive, kind, thoughtful. He wrote excellent poetry.
True, he had a little weight problem. And he’d only gotten heavier over the years.
But it didn’t bother Esther. More weight just meant that there was more of him to touch.
She loved touching him. The way his soft hair felt, running through her fingers. His tender kisses on her neck. His love.
Their love was so good that Esther didn’t even miss the sense of sight. Not until she heard about the new procedure. That was when the possibility of regaining her vision took over Esther’s life.
She researched the procedure exhaustively. She read about countless surgeons, and selected the one she wanted. But there was only one problem.
The procedure cost one hundred and ten thousand dollars.
That was when Nestor proved his undying love for her. He took a second job, working at the Smithsonian. He donated his plasma. He signed up for medical experiments on the weekends. He barely slept.
This carried on for years. Finally the day came. One hundred and ten bones in the bank. They scheduled the surgery. They had made fabulous love that night. Unforgettable.
And then everything happened so quickly. Fasting the night before. The ride to the hospital. The supportive touch of the nurse’s hand. The soft cotton sheet on the operating table. The last thing she remembered was being pushed down the hallway in her bed. Vibrations came up from the bed’s wobbly wheels. Her excitement had been magical.
And then she was somewhere else. Kayaking into an endless glittering sea of morphine.
When she came out the other side, she heard a television. Someone was watching the news.
She put her hands up to her face. There was a silk mask on her eyes. She stuck a finger under the mask, touching her eyelid. It felt fine.
“Nestor,” she whispered. She cleared her throat. “Nestor, are you there?”
“I’m here honey,” Nestor said. He kissed her on the forehead.
“Nestor,” she said, “I want to see you. I want you to be the first thing I see.”
She had imagined this moment over and over. This man whom she loved so dearly, but had never seen. What did he look like? She ached with longing, desperately wanting to look into the face of her happiness, her joy. Her Nestor.
She brought down the mask and sat up, looking around the room.
There was a Mastodon, standing on two legs. Its other two legs hung in the air like massive tree branches. It wore a tan trench coat, a monocle, and a boiler hat. It was carrying a briefcase.
The Mastodon looked down at her with love in his eyes.
“Did it work honey?” The Mastodon asked.
So this was her Nestor. This was the one she loved. The one she had chosen to spend the rest of her life with.
She cried a little, nodding at him.
“What’s wrong honey,” the Mastodon asked, “Why are you crying?”
“It’s just,” she choked, “I’m just so happy.”
So he was a Mastodon. That was okay. She could deal with that. He loved her.
She wracked her tiny frame with sobs.
“I love you Nestor,” she sobbed, “I love you so much.”
“I love you too, honey,” Nestor said, a giant salty tear forming in his eye. He caressed her with his trunk. “I love you too.”
| |
^ | [WP] You are the lone survivor of of some fatal event. You die immediately afterwards in the most pathetic and humiliating way possible. | "I not only survived the zombie apocalypse, I lived it! Seriously, I lived as a zombie, among the hordes awhile."
The other man gave him a odd sideways look,"Then how'd you die then..?" The man spoke to his friend in the after life,"Then a little pomerarian marched its ass up to me," and he described its shape with his hands,"And it ripped me apart. After my screams of pain, they ripped me apart, and the little thing wandered away with my leg intact." The other man shrugged,"I died from a coma.." The other man looked concerned for a moment,"What happened..?" The other man finally spoke,"You know those shows where you run into a pitchfork or something and the wooden end hits you?" | I sat on the table. Drinking some Dr. Pepper from a soda machine. I smiled, my antisocial tendencies became really noticeable toward the end of Earth. But now that there's no one, and I'm content. I looked around the McDonald's, the smell of french fries took over the smell of sweat. I walked out with some sodas and frozen fries. I was going to find an electrical station and get it powered.
I walked down the road casually. Not caring about anything in the world. I looked over at the big city, nothing. Noises gone, incessant people gone, rude drivers gone, and of course, my friends gone. The door to a grocery store was open. I walked in smelling the smell of assorted foods. I walked toward the Pop-Tart section. The floor was slippery. I thought I would never make it. I did eventually, and reached for some s'mores Pop-Tarts. I opened it and took a bite. It was delicious, as always. I turned and slipped on a banana peel. My head was crushed by the force. It was painful, yet embarrassing. I didn't know why, but my head really freaking hurt. I stumbled to a mirror. There was a huge gash on the back of my head. I laughed, knowing that I survived the apocalypse. But then died in the most cartoonish way ever. |
^ | [WP] You are the lone survivor of of some fatal event. You die immediately afterwards in the most pathetic and humiliating way possible. | A sharp, painful sneeze escapes me, condensing into most in the cold November morning air. Bent double and recovering from it, I barely realised that the guns had stopped firing. I barely noticed the Earth stand still. Looking up, I saw my comrades, clad in muddy khaki trench coats and tin helmets, all looking confused as they clutched their heavy rifles. The barrage had stopped, did this mean it was time? Time to go over the top and into no man's land?
"Commander!" A voice, laden with ecstasy, yells from some distance to my left, I turn to face it. A runner is sprinting through the trenches as if he'd never sprinted before. "Commander!" The young lad repeated, stood beside me.
"At ease private, what's your message?" My sore throat croaks.
"New orders from HQ," He panted for breath, smiling, "Orders are to withdraw, they say the war is over!"
My ears could barely believe it, four years. Four years of cold hard fighting. Four years of leaping from the trenches and running, blind, among the wastes of no man's land. Four years of being gunned down by machine guns and tanks and planes and other war machines. Four year without food to speak of, or lives to live. The Great War, the war to end all wars, was finally over.
I rubbed my aching head with my free hand, it had been aching for a week now, in addition to the incessant sneezes and soreness of the throat. The medic had brushed it off as a minor head cold that would be gone before long, but it sure didn't feel minor to me.
"Gentlemen!" My disappearing voice exclaims, loud as I can, "I bear news of an incredible nature. We are the survivors, the veterans of the Great War. The war is over..." I sniff heavily and feel increasingly more light headed as my troops stare at me dumbfounded, "The war is over. We have established a lasting world peace, we can go home now."
I barely hear the cheering, my world feels cloudier and darker by the second. I close my eyes, wanting this stupid pain to end. As my eyelids shut, I feel, for the first time in years, at peace...
(Meant to be about the flu outbreak shortly after WWI- I hope you enjoyed it!) | I sat on the table. Drinking some Dr. Pepper from a soda machine. I smiled, my antisocial tendencies became really noticeable toward the end of Earth. But now that there's no one, and I'm content. I looked around the McDonald's, the smell of french fries took over the smell of sweat. I walked out with some sodas and frozen fries. I was going to find an electrical station and get it powered.
I walked down the road casually. Not caring about anything in the world. I looked over at the big city, nothing. Noises gone, incessant people gone, rude drivers gone, and of course, my friends gone. The door to a grocery store was open. I walked in smelling the smell of assorted foods. I walked toward the Pop-Tart section. The floor was slippery. I thought I would never make it. I did eventually, and reached for some s'mores Pop-Tarts. I opened it and took a bite. It was delicious, as always. I turned and slipped on a banana peel. My head was crushed by the force. It was painful, yet embarrassing. I didn't know why, but my head really freaking hurt. I stumbled to a mirror. There was a huge gash on the back of my head. I laughed, knowing that I survived the apocalypse. But then died in the most cartoonish way ever. |
^ | [WP] You are the lone survivor of of some fatal event. You die immediately afterwards in the most pathetic and humiliating way possible. | *Of all the ways to go,* I thought, *John, you picked the worst.* I silently cursed the previous owners of the house I had "borrowed" as my strength left me and I began to lose consciousness from starvation.
There were a lot of things I was anticipating; a lot of problems that might kill me. I could get sick, and be unable to find a doctor. Any one of the hundreds of contraptions that require constant human maintenance could break, toppling a building on my head or blowing me up. I could get eaten by wild animals.
But of all the ways to die, after outliving everyone I've ever loved, to be trapped perpetually on the toilet because *some asshole didn't replace the roll when they used the last of the paper* is by far the worst. No way in hell I'm getting up with an unwiped butt. I may be dying, but I'd rather die with dignity than live knowing that I didn't wipe after using the toilet.
In retrospect, I probably should have checked that there was toilet paper before I sat down.
Edit: IT IS FUNNY BECAUSE HIS NAME IS JOHN. | I sat on the table. Drinking some Dr. Pepper from a soda machine. I smiled, my antisocial tendencies became really noticeable toward the end of Earth. But now that there's no one, and I'm content. I looked around the McDonald's, the smell of french fries took over the smell of sweat. I walked out with some sodas and frozen fries. I was going to find an electrical station and get it powered.
I walked down the road casually. Not caring about anything in the world. I looked over at the big city, nothing. Noises gone, incessant people gone, rude drivers gone, and of course, my friends gone. The door to a grocery store was open. I walked in smelling the smell of assorted foods. I walked toward the Pop-Tart section. The floor was slippery. I thought I would never make it. I did eventually, and reached for some s'mores Pop-Tarts. I opened it and took a bite. It was delicious, as always. I turned and slipped on a banana peel. My head was crushed by the force. It was painful, yet embarrassing. I didn't know why, but my head really freaking hurt. I stumbled to a mirror. There was a huge gash on the back of my head. I laughed, knowing that I survived the apocalypse. But then died in the most cartoonish way ever. |
^ | [WP] You are the lone survivor of of some fatal event. You die immediately afterwards in the most pathetic and humiliating way possible. | The dust settles as I wake up, disoriented and confused. Looking around, I see that I'm in a plane, broken and folded in unnatural ways that could have only come from a disastrous landing. There's bodies everywhere, cut into pieces or bludgeoned beyond recognition, and the smell is just overpowering.
Somehow I undo my seatbelt and stand, slowly regaining the rest of my senses. I stride through the aisle and aim for the door, trying my best to ignore the destruction all around me. Upon finally reaching the exit door, I hop outside and see a beautiful forest.
I start to feel my bladder grow heavy and realize that I need to pee really badly. Running over to a tree to relieve myself, I sigh in pleasure and look up, just in time to see a pine cone slam into my face with the force of a cinderblock.
Quick and painless, I guess. | I sat on the table. Drinking some Dr. Pepper from a soda machine. I smiled, my antisocial tendencies became really noticeable toward the end of Earth. But now that there's no one, and I'm content. I looked around the McDonald's, the smell of french fries took over the smell of sweat. I walked out with some sodas and frozen fries. I was going to find an electrical station and get it powered.
I walked down the road casually. Not caring about anything in the world. I looked over at the big city, nothing. Noises gone, incessant people gone, rude drivers gone, and of course, my friends gone. The door to a grocery store was open. I walked in smelling the smell of assorted foods. I walked toward the Pop-Tart section. The floor was slippery. I thought I would never make it. I did eventually, and reached for some s'mores Pop-Tarts. I opened it and took a bite. It was delicious, as always. I turned and slipped on a banana peel. My head was crushed by the force. It was painful, yet embarrassing. I didn't know why, but my head really freaking hurt. I stumbled to a mirror. There was a huge gash on the back of my head. I laughed, knowing that I survived the apocalypse. But then died in the most cartoonish way ever. |
^ | [WP] You are the lone survivor of of some fatal event. You die immediately afterwards in the most pathetic and humiliating way possible. | How did I survive? My God. I crawl up out of the rubble, bloodying the tips of my fingers and scraping the backs of my hands against loose rubble and rebar. I must have fallen into the basement when it happened. Whatever it was. A nuclear warhead perhaps.
I climb up into the ground floor lobby of the building, and my foot squishes into something. I look down. It's the torso of a man. Oh shit. I have to hold the bile down as I remove my foot from what was once the contents of his chest cavity.
"Hello?" I call. "Is anyone there?" No answer. Just the creaking of the building above me. "HELLO?" I call. "IS ANYONE THERE?" No answer. The creaking just gets louder. "**HELLO?**" I call. "**IS ANYONE THERE?**" I hear something that might be a voice, but it's just wind blowing through the cavity in the office's front. I look up, the building has taken some severe damage. Something huge slammed into it and just decapitated it. Like a shotgun to the head.
One last time. "***HELLO?***" I call. "***IS ANYONE THERE?***" and just then I hear a creak get louder and louder and louder, and then a low rumble. "What the fu-"
*KLOMP*.
I've been hit in the head with a piece of rubble and my head is bleeding quite a lot. I think I've probably suffered some brain damage and it's most probable I'll be dead in the next thirty minutes. I'm the last survivor in this office, let alone this bank, and I'm possibly the last one alive in the city. And now I'm going to die from being hit on the head. Classic Looney Toons shit. How humiliating. But hey, I think. Could be worse.
Just then, some sort of gas tank downstairs explodes, sending pieces of rubble, concrete and rebar flying upwards into the lobby. I find myself flung up into the air. I feel myself falling back down from what must be fifty, sixty feet.
*KRONCH.*
The string of syllables that leave my mouth is a mix of profanities, oaths to Gods as yet unknown by man, curses to my own mother for birthing me, one or two as-yet unknown words, and "OHGODOHGODOHGODOHGODOHGOD". I've landed scrotum-first on a piece of jagged rebar sticking up out of the ground, and severed some sort of artery. Now there's blood dripping down my forehead, and from my general taint-sort-of area, making me look like some kind of horrible raspberry swirl. Even if there were a woman around I certainly wouldn't be able to repopulate the Earth with her.
As the building gives another enormous creak I reflect on the events that have led me up to this point and the decision to come into work today. I think about my girlfriend, probably dead, my parents, probably dead, and ponder one or two philosophical questions about the nature of death before expiring.
Just before I die, though, I see out of the corner of fading tunnel vision, some horrible, non-human things standing in front of what must be my corpse. They're jabbering in their language in a way that almost sounds like laughter.
Then they take a selfie.
The fuckers. | I sat on the table. Drinking some Dr. Pepper from a soda machine. I smiled, my antisocial tendencies became really noticeable toward the end of Earth. But now that there's no one, and I'm content. I looked around the McDonald's, the smell of french fries took over the smell of sweat. I walked out with some sodas and frozen fries. I was going to find an electrical station and get it powered.
I walked down the road casually. Not caring about anything in the world. I looked over at the big city, nothing. Noises gone, incessant people gone, rude drivers gone, and of course, my friends gone. The door to a grocery store was open. I walked in smelling the smell of assorted foods. I walked toward the Pop-Tart section. The floor was slippery. I thought I would never make it. I did eventually, and reached for some s'mores Pop-Tarts. I opened it and took a bite. It was delicious, as always. I turned and slipped on a banana peel. My head was crushed by the force. It was painful, yet embarrassing. I didn't know why, but my head really freaking hurt. I stumbled to a mirror. There was a huge gash on the back of my head. I laughed, knowing that I survived the apocalypse. But then died in the most cartoonish way ever. |
^ | [WP] You are the lone survivor of of some fatal event. You die immediately afterwards in the most pathetic and humiliating way possible. | "I'm alive! Oh no, are all these other people dead?"
Jack looked around, his situation dawning on him. He was in the middle of an ice desert, surrounded by dead bodies.
Just as he was rumigating on eating said dead bodies a swarm of penguins approached from the back. He saw them, thought they looked cute and cuddly. Then the blood thirsty beasts overpowered him, tearing him to pieces, drinking his blood, eating the flesh off his bones, sucking the marrow. Nothing of the last survivor was left when they were done.
------
-234 | I sat on the table. Drinking some Dr. Pepper from a soda machine. I smiled, my antisocial tendencies became really noticeable toward the end of Earth. But now that there's no one, and I'm content. I looked around the McDonald's, the smell of french fries took over the smell of sweat. I walked out with some sodas and frozen fries. I was going to find an electrical station and get it powered.
I walked down the road casually. Not caring about anything in the world. I looked over at the big city, nothing. Noises gone, incessant people gone, rude drivers gone, and of course, my friends gone. The door to a grocery store was open. I walked in smelling the smell of assorted foods. I walked toward the Pop-Tart section. The floor was slippery. I thought I would never make it. I did eventually, and reached for some s'mores Pop-Tarts. I opened it and took a bite. It was delicious, as always. I turned and slipped on a banana peel. My head was crushed by the force. It was painful, yet embarrassing. I didn't know why, but my head really freaking hurt. I stumbled to a mirror. There was a huge gash on the back of my head. I laughed, knowing that I survived the apocalypse. But then died in the most cartoonish way ever. |
^ | [WP] You are the lone survivor of of some fatal event. You die immediately afterwards in the most pathetic and humiliating way possible. | A sharp, painful sneeze escapes me, condensing into most in the cold November morning air. Bent double and recovering from it, I barely realised that the guns had stopped firing. I barely noticed the Earth stand still. Looking up, I saw my comrades, clad in muddy khaki trench coats and tin helmets, all looking confused as they clutched their heavy rifles. The barrage had stopped, did this mean it was time? Time to go over the top and into no man's land?
"Commander!" A voice, laden with ecstasy, yells from some distance to my left, I turn to face it. A runner is sprinting through the trenches as if he'd never sprinted before. "Commander!" The young lad repeated, stood beside me.
"At ease private, what's your message?" My sore throat croaks.
"New orders from HQ," He panted for breath, smiling, "Orders are to withdraw, they say the war is over!"
My ears could barely believe it, four years. Four years of cold hard fighting. Four years of leaping from the trenches and running, blind, among the wastes of no man's land. Four years of being gunned down by machine guns and tanks and planes and other war machines. Four year without food to speak of, or lives to live. The Great War, the war to end all wars, was finally over.
I rubbed my aching head with my free hand, it had been aching for a week now, in addition to the incessant sneezes and soreness of the throat. The medic had brushed it off as a minor head cold that would be gone before long, but it sure didn't feel minor to me.
"Gentlemen!" My disappearing voice exclaims, loud as I can, "I bear news of an incredible nature. We are the survivors, the veterans of the Great War. The war is over..." I sniff heavily and feel increasingly more light headed as my troops stare at me dumbfounded, "The war is over. We have established a lasting world peace, we can go home now."
I barely hear the cheering, my world feels cloudier and darker by the second. I close my eyes, wanting this stupid pain to end. As my eyelids shut, I feel, for the first time in years, at peace...
(Meant to be about the flu outbreak shortly after WWI- I hope you enjoyed it!) | {NSFW}
John sat down in the jet's seat and gazed into the eyes of the woman sitting next to him. "So honey, where do you want to go?" he asked her.
The woman bit the bottom of her lip smearing bits of red lipstick along the bottom of her front teeth. "I dunno." she said in the most stereotypically blond voice John had ever heard. He found it EXTREMELY sexy.
"Well what about Paris? City of romance!" He said outlining an imaginary horizon above him and placing his arm around Sunny. "How great would it be if we could have sex there?"
"You know you're paying me for all of this by the hour, right?" She asked uncertainly.
"Of course." He answered.
Sunny was a hooker that he had hired after his brush with death on his last flight in which a terrorist had attempted to get a ransom from the airline by holding all the people in the cabin hostage and killing them one by one until he got what he wanted.
John was the last one left. He could still remember the piece of glass pressing against his throat and then slowly relaxing when a woman at the airline company agreed to the man's demands.
John gulped at the memory and shivered a bit. That had been a real low point for his life. One the upside of course the airline had given him a sizable amount of money and Renee him out a jet after a small court case.
John noticed Sunny staring at him and realized he must have been lost in thought. "Paris it is then!" he declared. "I'll go get a drink. While I do that why don't you get ready for me?" it was more of a request than a question.
Jessica smiled. On the inside she was glad that he wasn't one of the weird ones that wanted "companionship". She hated those.
As John walked out the door of the cabin Sunny be can pulling her clothes off and preparing for his return. Some clients refused to pay if she wasn't "satisfactory." "Assholes" she thought.
Soon after she had the final bits of her outfit removed she heard a click and looked up to see John walking through th cabin door with a scotch in hand and gazing at her with a glimmer of lust in his eyes.
He was thinking of all the things he was going to do to her. Especially during foreplay. John enjoyed the parts before the sex even more than the actual intercourse. He considered his motor boating skills legendary. Although his previous girlfriends would most likely dissagree.
With the thought of motor boating in his mind he moved in on her comically large breasts and planted his face firmly between the two and began blowing.
This surprised Sunny who had never had someone do this to her before. Thinking that he was into bondage and was just attempting to make himself short of breath in some incredibly weird way she decided to help him out and squeeze him closer.
He continued blowing for a couple seconds more. She actually enjoyed the sensation a bit. "I could get used to this." she thought. Then he went limp.
Sunny stopped holding him down since that was usually a bad sign with her bondage customers. He didn't move. Cautiously she over her hand to his back where underneath the skin and bone his lungs were located. No breathing.
Then she screamed.
Two weeks Later an article showed up on buzz feed with the title "Mqn smother to death on jet plane by hookers oversized tits!" and I read it. What a way to go.
Edit: You didn't say it had to be probable :P |
^ | [WP] You are the lone survivor of of some fatal event. You die immediately afterwards in the most pathetic and humiliating way possible. | How did I survive? My God. I crawl up out of the rubble, bloodying the tips of my fingers and scraping the backs of my hands against loose rubble and rebar. I must have fallen into the basement when it happened. Whatever it was. A nuclear warhead perhaps.
I climb up into the ground floor lobby of the building, and my foot squishes into something. I look down. It's the torso of a man. Oh shit. I have to hold the bile down as I remove my foot from what was once the contents of his chest cavity.
"Hello?" I call. "Is anyone there?" No answer. Just the creaking of the building above me. "HELLO?" I call. "IS ANYONE THERE?" No answer. The creaking just gets louder. "**HELLO?**" I call. "**IS ANYONE THERE?**" I hear something that might be a voice, but it's just wind blowing through the cavity in the office's front. I look up, the building has taken some severe damage. Something huge slammed into it and just decapitated it. Like a shotgun to the head.
One last time. "***HELLO?***" I call. "***IS ANYONE THERE?***" and just then I hear a creak get louder and louder and louder, and then a low rumble. "What the fu-"
*KLOMP*.
I've been hit in the head with a piece of rubble and my head is bleeding quite a lot. I think I've probably suffered some brain damage and it's most probable I'll be dead in the next thirty minutes. I'm the last survivor in this office, let alone this bank, and I'm possibly the last one alive in the city. And now I'm going to die from being hit on the head. Classic Looney Toons shit. How humiliating. But hey, I think. Could be worse.
Just then, some sort of gas tank downstairs explodes, sending pieces of rubble, concrete and rebar flying upwards into the lobby. I find myself flung up into the air. I feel myself falling back down from what must be fifty, sixty feet.
*KRONCH.*
The string of syllables that leave my mouth is a mix of profanities, oaths to Gods as yet unknown by man, curses to my own mother for birthing me, one or two as-yet unknown words, and "OHGODOHGODOHGODOHGODOHGOD". I've landed scrotum-first on a piece of jagged rebar sticking up out of the ground, and severed some sort of artery. Now there's blood dripping down my forehead, and from my general taint-sort-of area, making me look like some kind of horrible raspberry swirl. Even if there were a woman around I certainly wouldn't be able to repopulate the Earth with her.
As the building gives another enormous creak I reflect on the events that have led me up to this point and the decision to come into work today. I think about my girlfriend, probably dead, my parents, probably dead, and ponder one or two philosophical questions about the nature of death before expiring.
Just before I die, though, I see out of the corner of fading tunnel vision, some horrible, non-human things standing in front of what must be my corpse. They're jabbering in their language in a way that almost sounds like laughter.
Then they take a selfie.
The fuckers. | {NSFW}
John sat down in the jet's seat and gazed into the eyes of the woman sitting next to him. "So honey, where do you want to go?" he asked her.
The woman bit the bottom of her lip smearing bits of red lipstick along the bottom of her front teeth. "I dunno." she said in the most stereotypically blond voice John had ever heard. He found it EXTREMELY sexy.
"Well what about Paris? City of romance!" He said outlining an imaginary horizon above him and placing his arm around Sunny. "How great would it be if we could have sex there?"
"You know you're paying me for all of this by the hour, right?" She asked uncertainly.
"Of course." He answered.
Sunny was a hooker that he had hired after his brush with death on his last flight in which a terrorist had attempted to get a ransom from the airline by holding all the people in the cabin hostage and killing them one by one until he got what he wanted.
John was the last one left. He could still remember the piece of glass pressing against his throat and then slowly relaxing when a woman at the airline company agreed to the man's demands.
John gulped at the memory and shivered a bit. That had been a real low point for his life. One the upside of course the airline had given him a sizable amount of money and Renee him out a jet after a small court case.
John noticed Sunny staring at him and realized he must have been lost in thought. "Paris it is then!" he declared. "I'll go get a drink. While I do that why don't you get ready for me?" it was more of a request than a question.
Jessica smiled. On the inside she was glad that he wasn't one of the weird ones that wanted "companionship". She hated those.
As John walked out the door of the cabin Sunny be can pulling her clothes off and preparing for his return. Some clients refused to pay if she wasn't "satisfactory." "Assholes" she thought.
Soon after she had the final bits of her outfit removed she heard a click and looked up to see John walking through th cabin door with a scotch in hand and gazing at her with a glimmer of lust in his eyes.
He was thinking of all the things he was going to do to her. Especially during foreplay. John enjoyed the parts before the sex even more than the actual intercourse. He considered his motor boating skills legendary. Although his previous girlfriends would most likely dissagree.
With the thought of motor boating in his mind he moved in on her comically large breasts and planted his face firmly between the two and began blowing.
This surprised Sunny who had never had someone do this to her before. Thinking that he was into bondage and was just attempting to make himself short of breath in some incredibly weird way she decided to help him out and squeeze him closer.
He continued blowing for a couple seconds more. She actually enjoyed the sensation a bit. "I could get used to this." she thought. Then he went limp.
Sunny stopped holding him down since that was usually a bad sign with her bondage customers. He didn't move. Cautiously she over her hand to his back where underneath the skin and bone his lungs were located. No breathing.
Then she screamed.
Two weeks Later an article showed up on buzz feed with the title "Mqn smother to death on jet plane by hookers oversized tits!" and I read it. What a way to go.
Edit: You didn't say it had to be probable :P |
^ | [WP] You are the lone survivor of of some fatal event. You die immediately afterwards in the most pathetic and humiliating way possible. | *Of all the ways to go,* I thought, *John, you picked the worst.* I silently cursed the previous owners of the house I had "borrowed" as my strength left me and I began to lose consciousness from starvation.
There were a lot of things I was anticipating; a lot of problems that might kill me. I could get sick, and be unable to find a doctor. Any one of the hundreds of contraptions that require constant human maintenance could break, toppling a building on my head or blowing me up. I could get eaten by wild animals.
But of all the ways to die, after outliving everyone I've ever loved, to be trapped perpetually on the toilet because *some asshole didn't replace the roll when they used the last of the paper* is by far the worst. No way in hell I'm getting up with an unwiped butt. I may be dying, but I'd rather die with dignity than live knowing that I didn't wipe after using the toilet.
In retrospect, I probably should have checked that there was toilet paper before I sat down.
Edit: IT IS FUNNY BECAUSE HIS NAME IS JOHN. | you joyfully scream I survived! while inhaling a piece of gum that you some how manage to keep in your mouth, choking and soiling yourself knowing that you made it but now are done for, only after having survived so much.. |
^ | [WP] You are the lone survivor of of some fatal event. You die immediately afterwards in the most pathetic and humiliating way possible. | The dust settles as I wake up, disoriented and confused. Looking around, I see that I'm in a plane, broken and folded in unnatural ways that could have only come from a disastrous landing. There's bodies everywhere, cut into pieces or bludgeoned beyond recognition, and the smell is just overpowering.
Somehow I undo my seatbelt and stand, slowly regaining the rest of my senses. I stride through the aisle and aim for the door, trying my best to ignore the destruction all around me. Upon finally reaching the exit door, I hop outside and see a beautiful forest.
I start to feel my bladder grow heavy and realize that I need to pee really badly. Running over to a tree to relieve myself, I sigh in pleasure and look up, just in time to see a pine cone slam into my face with the force of a cinderblock.
Quick and painless, I guess. | you joyfully scream I survived! while inhaling a piece of gum that you some how manage to keep in your mouth, choking and soiling yourself knowing that you made it but now are done for, only after having survived so much.. |
^ | [WP] You are the lone survivor of of some fatal event. You die immediately afterwards in the most pathetic and humiliating way possible. | How did I survive? My God. I crawl up out of the rubble, bloodying the tips of my fingers and scraping the backs of my hands against loose rubble and rebar. I must have fallen into the basement when it happened. Whatever it was. A nuclear warhead perhaps.
I climb up into the ground floor lobby of the building, and my foot squishes into something. I look down. It's the torso of a man. Oh shit. I have to hold the bile down as I remove my foot from what was once the contents of his chest cavity.
"Hello?" I call. "Is anyone there?" No answer. Just the creaking of the building above me. "HELLO?" I call. "IS ANYONE THERE?" No answer. The creaking just gets louder. "**HELLO?**" I call. "**IS ANYONE THERE?**" I hear something that might be a voice, but it's just wind blowing through the cavity in the office's front. I look up, the building has taken some severe damage. Something huge slammed into it and just decapitated it. Like a shotgun to the head.
One last time. "***HELLO?***" I call. "***IS ANYONE THERE?***" and just then I hear a creak get louder and louder and louder, and then a low rumble. "What the fu-"
*KLOMP*.
I've been hit in the head with a piece of rubble and my head is bleeding quite a lot. I think I've probably suffered some brain damage and it's most probable I'll be dead in the next thirty minutes. I'm the last survivor in this office, let alone this bank, and I'm possibly the last one alive in the city. And now I'm going to die from being hit on the head. Classic Looney Toons shit. How humiliating. But hey, I think. Could be worse.
Just then, some sort of gas tank downstairs explodes, sending pieces of rubble, concrete and rebar flying upwards into the lobby. I find myself flung up into the air. I feel myself falling back down from what must be fifty, sixty feet.
*KRONCH.*
The string of syllables that leave my mouth is a mix of profanities, oaths to Gods as yet unknown by man, curses to my own mother for birthing me, one or two as-yet unknown words, and "OHGODOHGODOHGODOHGODOHGOD". I've landed scrotum-first on a piece of jagged rebar sticking up out of the ground, and severed some sort of artery. Now there's blood dripping down my forehead, and from my general taint-sort-of area, making me look like some kind of horrible raspberry swirl. Even if there were a woman around I certainly wouldn't be able to repopulate the Earth with her.
As the building gives another enormous creak I reflect on the events that have led me up to this point and the decision to come into work today. I think about my girlfriend, probably dead, my parents, probably dead, and ponder one or two philosophical questions about the nature of death before expiring.
Just before I die, though, I see out of the corner of fading tunnel vision, some horrible, non-human things standing in front of what must be my corpse. They're jabbering in their language in a way that almost sounds like laughter.
Then they take a selfie.
The fuckers. | you joyfully scream I survived! while inhaling a piece of gum that you some how manage to keep in your mouth, choking and soiling yourself knowing that you made it but now are done for, only after having survived so much.. |
^ | [WP] You are the lone survivor of of some fatal event. You die immediately afterwards in the most pathetic and humiliating way possible. | I was strong
Even when the terrorists released the toxic experimental nerve gas on the population.
I was strong
Even when the nerve gas turned people into raging psychopathic cannibals.
I resisted, I was strong
Even after watching as my family was wiped out in front of my eyes with horrific malice and cruelty.
I lived, I was strong.
Even as struggled to find food and shelter, even as I fought off uncivilized dogs and rabid people.
I prevailed, I was strong
And now as I stare the gangrene setting in due to an infected roach bite, I think.
I was strong but now I'm fucked.
| you joyfully scream I survived! while inhaling a piece of gum that you some how manage to keep in your mouth, choking and soiling yourself knowing that you made it but now are done for, only after having survived so much.. |
^ | [WP] You are the lone survivor of of some fatal event. You die immediately afterwards in the most pathetic and humiliating way possible. | "I'm alive! Oh no, are all these other people dead?"
Jack looked around, his situation dawning on him. He was in the middle of an ice desert, surrounded by dead bodies.
Just as he was rumigating on eating said dead bodies a swarm of penguins approached from the back. He saw them, thought they looked cute and cuddly. Then the blood thirsty beasts overpowered him, tearing him to pieces, drinking his blood, eating the flesh off his bones, sucking the marrow. Nothing of the last survivor was left when they were done.
------
-234 | you joyfully scream I survived! while inhaling a piece of gum that you some how manage to keep in your mouth, choking and soiling yourself knowing that you made it but now are done for, only after having survived so much.. |
^ | [WP] You are the lone survivor of of some fatal event. You die immediately afterwards in the most pathetic and humiliating way possible. | *Of all the ways to go,* I thought, *John, you picked the worst.* I silently cursed the previous owners of the house I had "borrowed" as my strength left me and I began to lose consciousness from starvation.
There were a lot of things I was anticipating; a lot of problems that might kill me. I could get sick, and be unable to find a doctor. Any one of the hundreds of contraptions that require constant human maintenance could break, toppling a building on my head or blowing me up. I could get eaten by wild animals.
But of all the ways to die, after outliving everyone I've ever loved, to be trapped perpetually on the toilet because *some asshole didn't replace the roll when they used the last of the paper* is by far the worst. No way in hell I'm getting up with an unwiped butt. I may be dying, but I'd rather die with dignity than live knowing that I didn't wipe after using the toilet.
In retrospect, I probably should have checked that there was toilet paper before I sat down.
Edit: IT IS FUNNY BECAUSE HIS NAME IS JOHN. | "I not only survived the zombie apocalypse, I lived it! Seriously, I lived as a zombie, among the hordes awhile."
The other man gave him a odd sideways look,"Then how'd you die then..?" The man spoke to his friend in the after life,"Then a little pomerarian marched its ass up to me," and he described its shape with his hands,"And it ripped me apart. After my screams of pain, they ripped me apart, and the little thing wandered away with my leg intact." The other man shrugged,"I died from a coma.." The other man looked concerned for a moment,"What happened..?" The other man finally spoke,"You know those shows where you run into a pitchfork or something and the wooden end hits you?" |
^ | [WP] You are the lone survivor of of some fatal event. You die immediately afterwards in the most pathetic and humiliating way possible. | How did I survive? My God. I crawl up out of the rubble, bloodying the tips of my fingers and scraping the backs of my hands against loose rubble and rebar. I must have fallen into the basement when it happened. Whatever it was. A nuclear warhead perhaps.
I climb up into the ground floor lobby of the building, and my foot squishes into something. I look down. It's the torso of a man. Oh shit. I have to hold the bile down as I remove my foot from what was once the contents of his chest cavity.
"Hello?" I call. "Is anyone there?" No answer. Just the creaking of the building above me. "HELLO?" I call. "IS ANYONE THERE?" No answer. The creaking just gets louder. "**HELLO?**" I call. "**IS ANYONE THERE?**" I hear something that might be a voice, but it's just wind blowing through the cavity in the office's front. I look up, the building has taken some severe damage. Something huge slammed into it and just decapitated it. Like a shotgun to the head.
One last time. "***HELLO?***" I call. "***IS ANYONE THERE?***" and just then I hear a creak get louder and louder and louder, and then a low rumble. "What the fu-"
*KLOMP*.
I've been hit in the head with a piece of rubble and my head is bleeding quite a lot. I think I've probably suffered some brain damage and it's most probable I'll be dead in the next thirty minutes. I'm the last survivor in this office, let alone this bank, and I'm possibly the last one alive in the city. And now I'm going to die from being hit on the head. Classic Looney Toons shit. How humiliating. But hey, I think. Could be worse.
Just then, some sort of gas tank downstairs explodes, sending pieces of rubble, concrete and rebar flying upwards into the lobby. I find myself flung up into the air. I feel myself falling back down from what must be fifty, sixty feet.
*KRONCH.*
The string of syllables that leave my mouth is a mix of profanities, oaths to Gods as yet unknown by man, curses to my own mother for birthing me, one or two as-yet unknown words, and "OHGODOHGODOHGODOHGODOHGOD". I've landed scrotum-first on a piece of jagged rebar sticking up out of the ground, and severed some sort of artery. Now there's blood dripping down my forehead, and from my general taint-sort-of area, making me look like some kind of horrible raspberry swirl. Even if there were a woman around I certainly wouldn't be able to repopulate the Earth with her.
As the building gives another enormous creak I reflect on the events that have led me up to this point and the decision to come into work today. I think about my girlfriend, probably dead, my parents, probably dead, and ponder one or two philosophical questions about the nature of death before expiring.
Just before I die, though, I see out of the corner of fading tunnel vision, some horrible, non-human things standing in front of what must be my corpse. They're jabbering in their language in a way that almost sounds like laughter.
Then they take a selfie.
The fuckers. | "I not only survived the zombie apocalypse, I lived it! Seriously, I lived as a zombie, among the hordes awhile."
The other man gave him a odd sideways look,"Then how'd you die then..?" The man spoke to his friend in the after life,"Then a little pomerarian marched its ass up to me," and he described its shape with his hands,"And it ripped me apart. After my screams of pain, they ripped me apart, and the little thing wandered away with my leg intact." The other man shrugged,"I died from a coma.." The other man looked concerned for a moment,"What happened..?" The other man finally spoke,"You know those shows where you run into a pitchfork or something and the wooden end hits you?" |
^ | [WP] You are the lone survivor of of some fatal event. You die immediately afterwards in the most pathetic and humiliating way possible. | How did I survive? My God. I crawl up out of the rubble, bloodying the tips of my fingers and scraping the backs of my hands against loose rubble and rebar. I must have fallen into the basement when it happened. Whatever it was. A nuclear warhead perhaps.
I climb up into the ground floor lobby of the building, and my foot squishes into something. I look down. It's the torso of a man. Oh shit. I have to hold the bile down as I remove my foot from what was once the contents of his chest cavity.
"Hello?" I call. "Is anyone there?" No answer. Just the creaking of the building above me. "HELLO?" I call. "IS ANYONE THERE?" No answer. The creaking just gets louder. "**HELLO?**" I call. "**IS ANYONE THERE?**" I hear something that might be a voice, but it's just wind blowing through the cavity in the office's front. I look up, the building has taken some severe damage. Something huge slammed into it and just decapitated it. Like a shotgun to the head.
One last time. "***HELLO?***" I call. "***IS ANYONE THERE?***" and just then I hear a creak get louder and louder and louder, and then a low rumble. "What the fu-"
*KLOMP*.
I've been hit in the head with a piece of rubble and my head is bleeding quite a lot. I think I've probably suffered some brain damage and it's most probable I'll be dead in the next thirty minutes. I'm the last survivor in this office, let alone this bank, and I'm possibly the last one alive in the city. And now I'm going to die from being hit on the head. Classic Looney Toons shit. How humiliating. But hey, I think. Could be worse.
Just then, some sort of gas tank downstairs explodes, sending pieces of rubble, concrete and rebar flying upwards into the lobby. I find myself flung up into the air. I feel myself falling back down from what must be fifty, sixty feet.
*KRONCH.*
The string of syllables that leave my mouth is a mix of profanities, oaths to Gods as yet unknown by man, curses to my own mother for birthing me, one or two as-yet unknown words, and "OHGODOHGODOHGODOHGODOHGOD". I've landed scrotum-first on a piece of jagged rebar sticking up out of the ground, and severed some sort of artery. Now there's blood dripping down my forehead, and from my general taint-sort-of area, making me look like some kind of horrible raspberry swirl. Even if there were a woman around I certainly wouldn't be able to repopulate the Earth with her.
As the building gives another enormous creak I reflect on the events that have led me up to this point and the decision to come into work today. I think about my girlfriend, probably dead, my parents, probably dead, and ponder one or two philosophical questions about the nature of death before expiring.
Just before I die, though, I see out of the corner of fading tunnel vision, some horrible, non-human things standing in front of what must be my corpse. They're jabbering in their language in a way that almost sounds like laughter.
Then they take a selfie.
The fuckers. | A sharp, painful sneeze escapes me, condensing into most in the cold November morning air. Bent double and recovering from it, I barely realised that the guns had stopped firing. I barely noticed the Earth stand still. Looking up, I saw my comrades, clad in muddy khaki trench coats and tin helmets, all looking confused as they clutched their heavy rifles. The barrage had stopped, did this mean it was time? Time to go over the top and into no man's land?
"Commander!" A voice, laden with ecstasy, yells from some distance to my left, I turn to face it. A runner is sprinting through the trenches as if he'd never sprinted before. "Commander!" The young lad repeated, stood beside me.
"At ease private, what's your message?" My sore throat croaks.
"New orders from HQ," He panted for breath, smiling, "Orders are to withdraw, they say the war is over!"
My ears could barely believe it, four years. Four years of cold hard fighting. Four years of leaping from the trenches and running, blind, among the wastes of no man's land. Four years of being gunned down by machine guns and tanks and planes and other war machines. Four year without food to speak of, or lives to live. The Great War, the war to end all wars, was finally over.
I rubbed my aching head with my free hand, it had been aching for a week now, in addition to the incessant sneezes and soreness of the throat. The medic had brushed it off as a minor head cold that would be gone before long, but it sure didn't feel minor to me.
"Gentlemen!" My disappearing voice exclaims, loud as I can, "I bear news of an incredible nature. We are the survivors, the veterans of the Great War. The war is over..." I sniff heavily and feel increasingly more light headed as my troops stare at me dumbfounded, "The war is over. We have established a lasting world peace, we can go home now."
I barely hear the cheering, my world feels cloudier and darker by the second. I close my eyes, wanting this stupid pain to end. As my eyelids shut, I feel, for the first time in years, at peace...
(Meant to be about the flu outbreak shortly after WWI- I hope you enjoyed it!) |
^ | [WP] You are the lone survivor of of some fatal event. You die immediately afterwards in the most pathetic and humiliating way possible. | How did I survive? My God. I crawl up out of the rubble, bloodying the tips of my fingers and scraping the backs of my hands against loose rubble and rebar. I must have fallen into the basement when it happened. Whatever it was. A nuclear warhead perhaps.
I climb up into the ground floor lobby of the building, and my foot squishes into something. I look down. It's the torso of a man. Oh shit. I have to hold the bile down as I remove my foot from what was once the contents of his chest cavity.
"Hello?" I call. "Is anyone there?" No answer. Just the creaking of the building above me. "HELLO?" I call. "IS ANYONE THERE?" No answer. The creaking just gets louder. "**HELLO?**" I call. "**IS ANYONE THERE?**" I hear something that might be a voice, but it's just wind blowing through the cavity in the office's front. I look up, the building has taken some severe damage. Something huge slammed into it and just decapitated it. Like a shotgun to the head.
One last time. "***HELLO?***" I call. "***IS ANYONE THERE?***" and just then I hear a creak get louder and louder and louder, and then a low rumble. "What the fu-"
*KLOMP*.
I've been hit in the head with a piece of rubble and my head is bleeding quite a lot. I think I've probably suffered some brain damage and it's most probable I'll be dead in the next thirty minutes. I'm the last survivor in this office, let alone this bank, and I'm possibly the last one alive in the city. And now I'm going to die from being hit on the head. Classic Looney Toons shit. How humiliating. But hey, I think. Could be worse.
Just then, some sort of gas tank downstairs explodes, sending pieces of rubble, concrete and rebar flying upwards into the lobby. I find myself flung up into the air. I feel myself falling back down from what must be fifty, sixty feet.
*KRONCH.*
The string of syllables that leave my mouth is a mix of profanities, oaths to Gods as yet unknown by man, curses to my own mother for birthing me, one or two as-yet unknown words, and "OHGODOHGODOHGODOHGODOHGOD". I've landed scrotum-first on a piece of jagged rebar sticking up out of the ground, and severed some sort of artery. Now there's blood dripping down my forehead, and from my general taint-sort-of area, making me look like some kind of horrible raspberry swirl. Even if there were a woman around I certainly wouldn't be able to repopulate the Earth with her.
As the building gives another enormous creak I reflect on the events that have led me up to this point and the decision to come into work today. I think about my girlfriend, probably dead, my parents, probably dead, and ponder one or two philosophical questions about the nature of death before expiring.
Just before I die, though, I see out of the corner of fading tunnel vision, some horrible, non-human things standing in front of what must be my corpse. They're jabbering in their language in a way that almost sounds like laughter.
Then they take a selfie.
The fuckers. | *Of all the ways to go,* I thought, *John, you picked the worst.* I silently cursed the previous owners of the house I had "borrowed" as my strength left me and I began to lose consciousness from starvation.
There were a lot of things I was anticipating; a lot of problems that might kill me. I could get sick, and be unable to find a doctor. Any one of the hundreds of contraptions that require constant human maintenance could break, toppling a building on my head or blowing me up. I could get eaten by wild animals.
But of all the ways to die, after outliving everyone I've ever loved, to be trapped perpetually on the toilet because *some asshole didn't replace the roll when they used the last of the paper* is by far the worst. No way in hell I'm getting up with an unwiped butt. I may be dying, but I'd rather die with dignity than live knowing that I didn't wipe after using the toilet.
In retrospect, I probably should have checked that there was toilet paper before I sat down.
Edit: IT IS FUNNY BECAUSE HIS NAME IS JOHN. |
^ | [WP] You are the lone survivor of of some fatal event. You die immediately afterwards in the most pathetic and humiliating way possible. | "I'm alive! Oh no, are all these other people dead?"
Jack looked around, his situation dawning on him. He was in the middle of an ice desert, surrounded by dead bodies.
Just as he was rumigating on eating said dead bodies a swarm of penguins approached from the back. He saw them, thought they looked cute and cuddly. Then the blood thirsty beasts overpowered him, tearing him to pieces, drinking his blood, eating the flesh off his bones, sucking the marrow. Nothing of the last survivor was left when they were done.
------
-234 | The dust settles as I wake up, disoriented and confused. Looking around, I see that I'm in a plane, broken and folded in unnatural ways that could have only come from a disastrous landing. There's bodies everywhere, cut into pieces or bludgeoned beyond recognition, and the smell is just overpowering.
Somehow I undo my seatbelt and stand, slowly regaining the rest of my senses. I stride through the aisle and aim for the door, trying my best to ignore the destruction all around me. Upon finally reaching the exit door, I hop outside and see a beautiful forest.
I start to feel my bladder grow heavy and realize that I need to pee really badly. Running over to a tree to relieve myself, I sigh in pleasure and look up, just in time to see a pine cone slam into my face with the force of a cinderblock.
Quick and painless, I guess. |
[WP] For an hour, everyone is completely honest | "I'm not sorry, I don't actually love you."
"Me neither. I'm not sorry, I meant to say 'what' in a shocked tone of voice, and then carry out my plot for your demise, but apparently I can't lie right now."
"Curious, I can only tell the truth as well. I'm a selfish bastard who only thought you might look good on my arm at various opportunities to flaunt my superiority to all the lesser people in the world. A trophy if you will. Also you're halfway decent in bed and you're not even the prettiest woman I've ever seen. Top 10 maybe. Your intelligence leaves much to be desired."
"This revelation is completely unsurprising. I've actually pretended this whole time to be a brainless ditz. You met me at Harvard, I thought you were an idiot because you never suspected it was an act."
"I knew. You're plenty smart, I said it left much to be desired. I am on an entire other intelligence level. It's how I became so rich. While we're letting all our secrets out, I'd just like to say I never committed any acts of infidelity. My libido is low and I have full confidence in my girthiness. Merely copulating with you was enough to satisfy my urges. It's surprising because I'm a violent sociopath who derives satisfaction from manipulating people, and am responsible for at least 15 deaths. I have a constant urge to kill that is only temporarily sated."
"Only 15? I lost count of all the men I've led on for money. Covering up their deaths was exciting and easy. The police took one look at the ditzy brunette and moved on. It's surprising how many men turn out to be masochists waiting to be dominated; the reason I sucked in bed was that I've never actually had sex. I have to also agree that in that area of expertise you are quite skilled. Enough that I never cheated either."
"Can we skip the formalities and attempt to kill each other before realizing we are equally matched, but not really because I am holding back my skills, and then begin copulating furiously?"
"Certainly, although I was holding back too. I've received combat training under numerous aliases in various countries."
"I am intrigued at the possibility this may actually be a challenge. I think I'm falling in love."
"I am simultaneously disgusted and aroused. This is my fetish."
"Shall we begin?" | The new guy, John, pushed off his desk and let is chair roll back a few feet. He exhaled in exasperation as it swivelled gently.
“What's wrong?” asked Colin.
“I'm just feeling out of my depth, that's all.” replied John.
“You're doing all right so far” said Colin in his best reassuring tone. “What are you having problems with?”
“It's not anything in particular. Thing is, I only got this job because I fucked the woman who interviewed me, and I've been sitting here for the past two weeks praying that no one finds out. It feels like it's only a matter of time until someone realises I'm not cut out for this job, then they'll start wondering how I got it. What if my wife finds out?”
The silence rippled out across the office. The background of office chatter, typing and paper rustling disappeared completely, leaving only the hum of computers and the quickly hushed whispers of people trying to work out what they just heard. After that seemed like an eternity the voice came from the other side of the desk.
“Who interviewed you?”
The silence stretched out once more, even more complete than the last silence.
“Jenny” came the eventual reply. A murmur went out across the office, a communal exhaling of breath mixed in with a muttering of “I knew it!” and “she is not going to live this one down...”
A grin spread across Coin's face “Aaaaaaa!” he shouted, “you really had me going for a minute!” | |
[WP] For an hour, everyone is completely honest | "I'm not sorry, I don't actually love you."
"Me neither. I'm not sorry, I meant to say 'what' in a shocked tone of voice, and then carry out my plot for your demise, but apparently I can't lie right now."
"Curious, I can only tell the truth as well. I'm a selfish bastard who only thought you might look good on my arm at various opportunities to flaunt my superiority to all the lesser people in the world. A trophy if you will. Also you're halfway decent in bed and you're not even the prettiest woman I've ever seen. Top 10 maybe. Your intelligence leaves much to be desired."
"This revelation is completely unsurprising. I've actually pretended this whole time to be a brainless ditz. You met me at Harvard, I thought you were an idiot because you never suspected it was an act."
"I knew. You're plenty smart, I said it left much to be desired. I am on an entire other intelligence level. It's how I became so rich. While we're letting all our secrets out, I'd just like to say I never committed any acts of infidelity. My libido is low and I have full confidence in my girthiness. Merely copulating with you was enough to satisfy my urges. It's surprising because I'm a violent sociopath who derives satisfaction from manipulating people, and am responsible for at least 15 deaths. I have a constant urge to kill that is only temporarily sated."
"Only 15? I lost count of all the men I've led on for money. Covering up their deaths was exciting and easy. The police took one look at the ditzy brunette and moved on. It's surprising how many men turn out to be masochists waiting to be dominated; the reason I sucked in bed was that I've never actually had sex. I have to also agree that in that area of expertise you are quite skilled. Enough that I never cheated either."
"Can we skip the formalities and attempt to kill each other before realizing we are equally matched, but not really because I am holding back my skills, and then begin copulating furiously?"
"Certainly, although I was holding back too. I've received combat training under numerous aliases in various countries."
"I am intrigued at the possibility this may actually be a challenge. I think I'm falling in love."
"I am simultaneously disgusted and aroused. This is my fetish."
"Shall we begin?" | Mushrooms sprouted from the chia-like earth. The two astronauts stared out the window of the ISS, aghast at what they were seeing.
"What the hell happened?" Joe asked his partner.
"I have no idea. We get beamed up the news don't we?" Nigel responded.
The two astronauts pushed themselves from the wall, floating towards console. They quickly pulled up the most recent news footage, 7m ago read the timestamp.
*Breaking news: US President admits to involvement in Ukraine insurgency to local journalist.*
The two men looked at each other in disbelief, there was nothing that prompted such a revelation. A flood of headlines read 59m ago or under.
*Breaking News: Koch brothers admit to owning 59% of American political system during Reddit AMA.*
*"I'm gay!" Justin Bieber finally comes out of the closet.*
His partner wrestled control of the keyboard from Joe, logging into his British newsfeed to see a slew of similarly shocking revelations. They stared at each other in disbelief.
"It's as if everyone forgot how to lie... Jim Carey, YOU MONSTER!!!" The two screamed, wailing for all they had just lost and are currently losing. Mushrooms kept popping up all over the world, each one bigger than the last. | |
I am actually stealing this from an old askreddit thread where this was an answer to something like 'what would you wish upon your worst enemy'. I liked the concept, but didn't find any such prompt in this sub's history. I love reading y'all, so here goes. | [WP] On the day of their death, every human gets to have a vision of meeting the man they could have become. | I didn't mean to take so many pills that I died.
Really, it wasn't even half the bottle. Just enough to make the pain stop and the thoughts go away. It's codeine, not heroin. I didn't want to die, but here I was, lying on the floor of my apartment on a desolate Tuesday night. My husband was off on business again. I knew that's all they were, business trips. Nothing scandalous. Nothing like I was trying to do.
My would-have-been lover broke up with me tonight, via a text message of all things. I knew from the very start it was wrong to feel for him what I did, especially when my husband had always been so supportive of me, of my depression and manic episodes and irrational behavior. I really did love my husband. He would give me the moon if he could. But he couldn't. And that's why I also loved another. I couldn't help it.
He had asked me to come and elope with him for the 50th time in a week. I had told him no, we have to wait. What we were waiting for I don't know. I couldn't ever bring myself to make a decision. Whether I chose to stay with my husband or leave with my lover, I would break someone's heart. And also my own. It sucks loving two people at once. He had texted me at 11:13 AM to say he was done waiting. It was over. I had sunk to my knees and howled like an animal. I had reached for a knife and lacerated my thighs. I had reached for the pills. And now here I am, almost dead.
As I stared into the ceiling light, glaring, blurring, shifting, I noticed someone in the corner of my vision. *Wonderful, the hallucinations are starting*, I thought. *I really am going to die alone in this damned apartment.* Alone among all the furniture and clothes my husband bought for me over the years. He would come home and find his beloved wife dead. He'd probably never get over it, the poor sod. He didn't deserve this.
The figure moved closer. She looked to be in her fifties. She had matted, dirty, thinning hair about 3 inches long, cropped shorter in some places. Her face was covered in scabs, and her limbs misshapen with the remnants of hundreds of deep gashes, those marks with which I could empathize too well. She walked with her feet turned inwards, limping painfully towards me. She was emaciated. and gaunt and her eyes were glazed over. I spoke weakly. This was the end.
"Are you death?" The woman shook her head, her face remaining emotionless.
"No, sweetheart, I ain't." Her voice had a distinct redneck-ish sort of twang, and was gravelly with what must have been decades of smoking. Her affect was completely flat, like someone had ironed out her soul.
"But I wish I was dead. Wish I was you."
I couldn't believe my fucking ears. Even drugged out of my mind I had enough energy left in me to be angry.
"I'm sorry, what? Lady, I don't know your story, but you shouldn't ask to be me. You don't know what I've been through."
Her washed-up, wrinkled old face *almost* curved into a smile, but in a flash it was gone again.
"Yes, I do. I know exactly who you is. and I'm here ter warn you about going to see Andrew today."
Andrew. Andrew?! The man who just broke up with me! Realization flooded my body and soul and somehow I could just *sense* that this woman was a part of me. Maybe she was a messenger from heaven. Or from hell.
She reached into her pocket and retrieved a lighter and a cigarette. She took a long drag, choking as she exhaled. As she struggled to catch her breath, she answered the questions forming in my mind.
"No, honey pie, I'm YOU."
My eyes went wide with shock. How in the world could this poor haggard creature be ME? She certainly wasn't half as well-spoken or well-looked-after as I was. She continued.
"I went to see Andrew, finally. I went to go live with him."
I didn't understand. Where was the diamond ring Andy had promised us? Where were the fancy clothes and the car and the whole taking-care-of-us-forever of which he so ardently spoke?
"Did he break up with us?"
The other me sighed, but her face betrayed no emotion. "No. he never left me, ever. When I got there he forced me into his car, he drugged me, and then he raped me, and he sold me to men. I got addicted to the heroin he gave me. I couldn't leave. I been raped thousands of times, I been shot, I been beaten, I been choked..." she trailed off.
We stared at each other for a long and empty moment. She continued when I wouldn't. "This is my life. I'm just another junkie, just another whore. I was supposed to come here to warn you. You still have a husband who loves you. You still have medicine for your bipolar. You still have a fucking *bed*!" At last her tough exterior broke and she began to openly sob and wail, making no effort to hide it in front of me.
"We both had it all!" she groaned. "And now we don't, neither of us don't have nothin'." she sunk to the floor in tears beside me. A woman more miserable than I slumped beside me on a desolate Wednesday morning, my only companion in death. A few silent tears rolled out of my own eyes as I drew my last breath. Maybe the next life would be better for both of us. | This was it.
I lived an average life. A wife, two kids, working as a lowly toy assembly liner, making just enough to live. I **Did** go to harvard though. hmm. That worked well for me.
But that does not matter now. Death is upon me. Maybe there is a heaven. Maybe there is nothing. I suppose im about to find out. My family surrounds me, crying, sadness, anger. My wife, my kids, my brothers and sisters. I feel my energy fleeing my body. My vision fades, and i see a white light. Then i see clouds, the sun, and.... and...... a man?
I approach the man, confused. "hello? who are you?"
"i am the spirit you have strived for. i am the man you truly thought was perfect. I, am you. the best version of you that you could have possibly attained."
"i...wha-... what do you mean?"
"before everyone goes to an afterlife, they get to see what they could have become. there best possible self. lets go down the list of flaws."
now just wai-"
"born 1942, april 16th. diagnosed with A.D.D. and A.D.H.D at age 6. barely made it to high school before finally getting help from the school administrators in grade 10. passed all classes at a B+ or higher with help. graduated in 1960."
"While wanting to go to an acting college to pursue his love of acting discovered in 3rd grade. but you were forced to go to harvard by your family when you got the opportunity. you went after a career in law to please your parents. however, without help from the school, you passed almost every class you entered. you dropped out, and searched the world for a job to keep yourself fed. you were homeless for 10 years until the age of 31. "
"Then, a concerned woman approached you, asking you if you wanted help. you gladly accepted, looking for help. for a few years, she took care of you, inviting you into her house. she got you a job working at a toy factory. a few years later, you married, agreeing it wasn't coincidence that she helped you off those streets."
"the highlight of your life was spending time with your family, out in the suburbs, in a small house. but, you spent most of your life, wasting away."
"Now where do you get away with judging my life!?"
"now there is me. i married the same woman, had the same kids, but i am an actor. i wasnt homeless, and i wasnt piss poor. im sorry you lived imperfect."
and with that, everything went black. |
I am actually stealing this from an old askreddit thread where this was an answer to something like 'what would you wish upon your worst enemy'. I liked the concept, but didn't find any such prompt in this sub's history. I love reading y'all, so here goes. | [WP] On the day of their death, every human gets to have a vision of meeting the man they could have become. | They say that what you think about in your last moment is the most important thing in your life. I hope that’s not true because as I lay here dying, my insides intermingled with the machinery that has kept me alive for weeks, I’m not thinking about my kids, my ex-wife, or my legacy but only about her. Even though it was years and years ago, I can still conjure up a crystal clear image of her face but slowly it begins to slip away. Her features began to dim and seem to melt into one senseless blob and then I blink and she’s no longer there.
I blink again.
My hospital bed is gone and I can only see blank whiteness stretching as far as I can see. I wondered if this was heaven, hell or something in between. Then, emerging from the whiteness, I see a man walking towards me. He’s dressed in a crisp black suit with slicked back hair the way I used to wear it back in the day...
It takes a few minutes for the realization to sink in that I’m walking towards myself. Whatever that means. It feels almost as if your mirror image was suddenly no longer bound by certain physical laws of his dimension but just started to get up and walk straight out of the mirror and towards you.
I approach him warily and hear myself speak.
“Well, it doesn’t seem appropriate to ask 'who are you?' so I’ll start with 'what are you?' “
“I’m what would have happened if you stayed with her.”
“And…what is that supposed to be?”
“Happy.”
~~~~I actually wrote a lot more but decided just to post this intro just to gauge interest and/or see if anyone cares and/or so I don't feel like a loser writing a huge post no one cares about :(
| This was it.
I lived an average life. A wife, two kids, working as a lowly toy assembly liner, making just enough to live. I **Did** go to harvard though. hmm. That worked well for me.
But that does not matter now. Death is upon me. Maybe there is a heaven. Maybe there is nothing. I suppose im about to find out. My family surrounds me, crying, sadness, anger. My wife, my kids, my brothers and sisters. I feel my energy fleeing my body. My vision fades, and i see a white light. Then i see clouds, the sun, and.... and...... a man?
I approach the man, confused. "hello? who are you?"
"i am the spirit you have strived for. i am the man you truly thought was perfect. I, am you. the best version of you that you could have possibly attained."
"i...wha-... what do you mean?"
"before everyone goes to an afterlife, they get to see what they could have become. there best possible self. lets go down the list of flaws."
now just wai-"
"born 1942, april 16th. diagnosed with A.D.D. and A.D.H.D at age 6. barely made it to high school before finally getting help from the school administrators in grade 10. passed all classes at a B+ or higher with help. graduated in 1960."
"While wanting to go to an acting college to pursue his love of acting discovered in 3rd grade. but you were forced to go to harvard by your family when you got the opportunity. you went after a career in law to please your parents. however, without help from the school, you passed almost every class you entered. you dropped out, and searched the world for a job to keep yourself fed. you were homeless for 10 years until the age of 31. "
"Then, a concerned woman approached you, asking you if you wanted help. you gladly accepted, looking for help. for a few years, she took care of you, inviting you into her house. she got you a job working at a toy factory. a few years later, you married, agreeing it wasn't coincidence that she helped you off those streets."
"the highlight of your life was spending time with your family, out in the suburbs, in a small house. but, you spent most of your life, wasting away."
"Now where do you get away with judging my life!?"
"now there is me. i married the same woman, had the same kids, but i am an actor. i wasnt homeless, and i wasnt piss poor. im sorry you lived imperfect."
and with that, everything went black. |
I am actually stealing this from an old askreddit thread where this was an answer to something like 'what would you wish upon your worst enemy'. I liked the concept, but didn't find any such prompt in this sub's history. I love reading y'all, so here goes. | [WP] On the day of their death, every human gets to have a vision of meeting the man they could have become. | "Hello Sam" the mirror said to me.
"What the fuck! A talking mirror with me wearing a suit" i yelled!
At this point i passed the fuck out. | This was it.
I lived an average life. A wife, two kids, working as a lowly toy assembly liner, making just enough to live. I **Did** go to harvard though. hmm. That worked well for me.
But that does not matter now. Death is upon me. Maybe there is a heaven. Maybe there is nothing. I suppose im about to find out. My family surrounds me, crying, sadness, anger. My wife, my kids, my brothers and sisters. I feel my energy fleeing my body. My vision fades, and i see a white light. Then i see clouds, the sun, and.... and...... a man?
I approach the man, confused. "hello? who are you?"
"i am the spirit you have strived for. i am the man you truly thought was perfect. I, am you. the best version of you that you could have possibly attained."
"i...wha-... what do you mean?"
"before everyone goes to an afterlife, they get to see what they could have become. there best possible self. lets go down the list of flaws."
now just wai-"
"born 1942, april 16th. diagnosed with A.D.D. and A.D.H.D at age 6. barely made it to high school before finally getting help from the school administrators in grade 10. passed all classes at a B+ or higher with help. graduated in 1960."
"While wanting to go to an acting college to pursue his love of acting discovered in 3rd grade. but you were forced to go to harvard by your family when you got the opportunity. you went after a career in law to please your parents. however, without help from the school, you passed almost every class you entered. you dropped out, and searched the world for a job to keep yourself fed. you were homeless for 10 years until the age of 31. "
"Then, a concerned woman approached you, asking you if you wanted help. you gladly accepted, looking for help. for a few years, she took care of you, inviting you into her house. she got you a job working at a toy factory. a few years later, you married, agreeing it wasn't coincidence that she helped you off those streets."
"the highlight of your life was spending time with your family, out in the suburbs, in a small house. but, you spent most of your life, wasting away."
"Now where do you get away with judging my life!?"
"now there is me. i married the same woman, had the same kids, but i am an actor. i wasnt homeless, and i wasnt piss poor. im sorry you lived imperfect."
and with that, everything went black. |
I am actually stealing this from an old askreddit thread where this was an answer to something like 'what would you wish upon your worst enemy'. I liked the concept, but didn't find any such prompt in this sub's history. I love reading y'all, so here goes. | [WP] On the day of their death, every human gets to have a vision of meeting the man they could have become. | It was 3 AM when the Man-Who-He-Should-Have-Been entered the room. Maita was asleep on the couch, so Alfredo was alone to meet him.
"Hi," Alfredo-Who-Should-Have-Been said.
"Hi, yourself. I guess it's time."
"Yes it is."
Alfredo-Who-Was looked at Alfredo-Who-Should-Have-Been from head to toe. He was about fifty, the same age he was. He had a slight paunch and his shoulders a bit rounded. He had on a dark suit and his hair was combed neatly. Alfredo-Who-Should-Have-Been looked back. For a long time, they said nothing.
"Well, go on, you son-of-a-bitch," Alfredo-Who-Was said.
"Go on what?" Alfredo-Who-Should-Have-Been replied.
"Go on and tell me what a great life you had, how much money you made, all the mistakes you didn't make, all the right things you did...." Alfredo-Who-Was couldn't believe how angry he was, or why, but he was angry.
Alfredo-Who-Should-Have-Been raised a finger to his lips. "Shhhh..." he said gently. Then he began:
"Well, if you must know. Just the highlights: I took with a degree in Science Education from Xavier University, after I decided Engineering wasn't for me. I taught in Mayor Elias Lopez Public High School right after I graduated. My students have gone on to become doctors, lawyers, entrepreneurs, artists, teachers, and engineers. I have a small house in Belisario Village and I drive a 2003 Honda Civic. I pull in about P600,000 a year...."
Alfredo-Who-Was stared goggle-eyed at his double. "What?" he sputtered. "But...that's my life!"
"...and as to all the right things I did, there was only one that really mattered." Alfredo-Who-Should-Have-Been pointed to the sleeping Maita.
Alfredo-Who-Was could find nothing to say.
"Well done, good and faithful Alfredo. You've lived your life the way you should have lived it. Now come, you have a few moments to say goodbye." | This was it.
I lived an average life. A wife, two kids, working as a lowly toy assembly liner, making just enough to live. I **Did** go to harvard though. hmm. That worked well for me.
But that does not matter now. Death is upon me. Maybe there is a heaven. Maybe there is nothing. I suppose im about to find out. My family surrounds me, crying, sadness, anger. My wife, my kids, my brothers and sisters. I feel my energy fleeing my body. My vision fades, and i see a white light. Then i see clouds, the sun, and.... and...... a man?
I approach the man, confused. "hello? who are you?"
"i am the spirit you have strived for. i am the man you truly thought was perfect. I, am you. the best version of you that you could have possibly attained."
"i...wha-... what do you mean?"
"before everyone goes to an afterlife, they get to see what they could have become. there best possible self. lets go down the list of flaws."
now just wai-"
"born 1942, april 16th. diagnosed with A.D.D. and A.D.H.D at age 6. barely made it to high school before finally getting help from the school administrators in grade 10. passed all classes at a B+ or higher with help. graduated in 1960."
"While wanting to go to an acting college to pursue his love of acting discovered in 3rd grade. but you were forced to go to harvard by your family when you got the opportunity. you went after a career in law to please your parents. however, without help from the school, you passed almost every class you entered. you dropped out, and searched the world for a job to keep yourself fed. you were homeless for 10 years until the age of 31. "
"Then, a concerned woman approached you, asking you if you wanted help. you gladly accepted, looking for help. for a few years, she took care of you, inviting you into her house. she got you a job working at a toy factory. a few years later, you married, agreeing it wasn't coincidence that she helped you off those streets."
"the highlight of your life was spending time with your family, out in the suburbs, in a small house. but, you spent most of your life, wasting away."
"Now where do you get away with judging my life!?"
"now there is me. i married the same woman, had the same kids, but i am an actor. i wasnt homeless, and i wasnt piss poor. im sorry you lived imperfect."
and with that, everything went black. |
I am actually stealing this from an old askreddit thread where this was an answer to something like 'what would you wish upon your worst enemy'. I liked the concept, but didn't find any such prompt in this sub's history. I love reading y'all, so here goes. | [WP] On the day of their death, every human gets to have a vision of meeting the man they could have become. | My breath came to be in short bursts; machine-gun fire, staccato, whatever. It was dark in my hospital room, and my roommate was sleeping peacefully. I tried not to struggle too much, or cough too loudly- I was ready to die. The chemotherapy had only been prolonging the inevitable- the sooner I bit the big one, the better. My daughter was here with her family in a hotel, but I didn't want them to be here. It had been an agonizing week. The sooner they could cry their eyes out, hold a nice funeral, sing some songs, the sooner everyone could go back to their normal lives. My Evangeline had already been dead for 16 years- what the fuck did I have to live for, anyway? Green Forest Retirement Home? Please.
A light switch flicked on in the hallway. *Fuck*, I thought to myself, and immediately tried to start dying at quarter-volume. The doorknob turned. I gritted my teeth and prepared for the intubation and the hullaballoo. *Sorry, Jeff,* I thought, for my roommate. *You won't be getting much sleep tonight.*
In walked me.
Now, I knew it was me- I was wearing the same shit-eating grin that my parents, teachers, girlfriends, and wife had always teased me about. I was wearing my favorite cap, and my favorite shirt that I left in Florence in 1987, and a nice pair of New Balances that were last made when Judas Priest was still a cool band.
"Hey, sport," he said, and sat down on the end of my bed.
I said nothing; dying really took it out of you. I desperately wanted to say something clever, but my lungs were filling with fluid. *Fuck,* I thought again.
I looked at myself- and then I *really* looked at myself. I was about 30. I had huge biceps, the kind I was trying to get in high school when I lifted all those weights. Full head of hair, my teeth were whiter, and I had had surgery to get rid of my mole.
"Let me tell you what you could have been," started this perfect vision of me, but I wasn't having it. I hacked up a tremendous amount of blood and took a rattling breath.
"Listen here, you sack of shit," I coughed out, and felt my left lung collapse. "I know what you're gonna say, and I ain't having it." I lost vision in my left eye. At the end of the bed, pseudo-me looked rather bemused. "You're gonna tell me that I should have stopped drinking and taken that oil job, aren't you? I would have gotten rich and muscly and had a hotter wife, right?" I couldn't feel my legs. The end was near. "You could have been great-" pseudo-me said, and I angrily interrupted him again, this time with a lot of vomit, and quite a bit more blood. "As far as I'm concerned," I groaned, "whatever I could have become, it would have been a person that would have visited himself on his own deathbed to tell him how great he would have been. Well, fuck you!" Now I was completely blind. I think I was also having a stroke, because my speech became rather slurred.
"I had a lloooonngg lliffe, and it wash rrreeallly greeat." I was quite ready for death, but psuedo-me was stubborn, too, and I heard him lean in. " You could have been powerful. You could have held millions of people's lives in your hand..."
"Oh, give it a fucking rest," I said, and died. | This was it.
I lived an average life. A wife, two kids, working as a lowly toy assembly liner, making just enough to live. I **Did** go to harvard though. hmm. That worked well for me.
But that does not matter now. Death is upon me. Maybe there is a heaven. Maybe there is nothing. I suppose im about to find out. My family surrounds me, crying, sadness, anger. My wife, my kids, my brothers and sisters. I feel my energy fleeing my body. My vision fades, and i see a white light. Then i see clouds, the sun, and.... and...... a man?
I approach the man, confused. "hello? who are you?"
"i am the spirit you have strived for. i am the man you truly thought was perfect. I, am you. the best version of you that you could have possibly attained."
"i...wha-... what do you mean?"
"before everyone goes to an afterlife, they get to see what they could have become. there best possible self. lets go down the list of flaws."
now just wai-"
"born 1942, april 16th. diagnosed with A.D.D. and A.D.H.D at age 6. barely made it to high school before finally getting help from the school administrators in grade 10. passed all classes at a B+ or higher with help. graduated in 1960."
"While wanting to go to an acting college to pursue his love of acting discovered in 3rd grade. but you were forced to go to harvard by your family when you got the opportunity. you went after a career in law to please your parents. however, without help from the school, you passed almost every class you entered. you dropped out, and searched the world for a job to keep yourself fed. you were homeless for 10 years until the age of 31. "
"Then, a concerned woman approached you, asking you if you wanted help. you gladly accepted, looking for help. for a few years, she took care of you, inviting you into her house. she got you a job working at a toy factory. a few years later, you married, agreeing it wasn't coincidence that she helped you off those streets."
"the highlight of your life was spending time with your family, out in the suburbs, in a small house. but, you spent most of your life, wasting away."
"Now where do you get away with judging my life!?"
"now there is me. i married the same woman, had the same kids, but i am an actor. i wasnt homeless, and i wasnt piss poor. im sorry you lived imperfect."
and with that, everything went black. |
I am actually stealing this from an old askreddit thread where this was an answer to something like 'what would you wish upon your worst enemy'. I liked the concept, but didn't find any such prompt in this sub's history. I love reading y'all, so here goes. | [WP] On the day of their death, every human gets to have a vision of meeting the man they could have become. | I didn't mean to take so many pills that I died.
Really, it wasn't even half the bottle. Just enough to make the pain stop and the thoughts go away. It's codeine, not heroin. I didn't want to die, but here I was, lying on the floor of my apartment on a desolate Tuesday night. My husband was off on business again. I knew that's all they were, business trips. Nothing scandalous. Nothing like I was trying to do.
My would-have-been lover broke up with me tonight, via a text message of all things. I knew from the very start it was wrong to feel for him what I did, especially when my husband had always been so supportive of me, of my depression and manic episodes and irrational behavior. I really did love my husband. He would give me the moon if he could. But he couldn't. And that's why I also loved another. I couldn't help it.
He had asked me to come and elope with him for the 50th time in a week. I had told him no, we have to wait. What we were waiting for I don't know. I couldn't ever bring myself to make a decision. Whether I chose to stay with my husband or leave with my lover, I would break someone's heart. And also my own. It sucks loving two people at once. He had texted me at 11:13 AM to say he was done waiting. It was over. I had sunk to my knees and howled like an animal. I had reached for a knife and lacerated my thighs. I had reached for the pills. And now here I am, almost dead.
As I stared into the ceiling light, glaring, blurring, shifting, I noticed someone in the corner of my vision. *Wonderful, the hallucinations are starting*, I thought. *I really am going to die alone in this damned apartment.* Alone among all the furniture and clothes my husband bought for me over the years. He would come home and find his beloved wife dead. He'd probably never get over it, the poor sod. He didn't deserve this.
The figure moved closer. She looked to be in her fifties. She had matted, dirty, thinning hair about 3 inches long, cropped shorter in some places. Her face was covered in scabs, and her limbs misshapen with the remnants of hundreds of deep gashes, those marks with which I could empathize too well. She walked with her feet turned inwards, limping painfully towards me. She was emaciated. and gaunt and her eyes were glazed over. I spoke weakly. This was the end.
"Are you death?" The woman shook her head, her face remaining emotionless.
"No, sweetheart, I ain't." Her voice had a distinct redneck-ish sort of twang, and was gravelly with what must have been decades of smoking. Her affect was completely flat, like someone had ironed out her soul.
"But I wish I was dead. Wish I was you."
I couldn't believe my fucking ears. Even drugged out of my mind I had enough energy left in me to be angry.
"I'm sorry, what? Lady, I don't know your story, but you shouldn't ask to be me. You don't know what I've been through."
Her washed-up, wrinkled old face *almost* curved into a smile, but in a flash it was gone again.
"Yes, I do. I know exactly who you is. and I'm here ter warn you about going to see Andrew today."
Andrew. Andrew?! The man who just broke up with me! Realization flooded my body and soul and somehow I could just *sense* that this woman was a part of me. Maybe she was a messenger from heaven. Or from hell.
She reached into her pocket and retrieved a lighter and a cigarette. She took a long drag, choking as she exhaled. As she struggled to catch her breath, she answered the questions forming in my mind.
"No, honey pie, I'm YOU."
My eyes went wide with shock. How in the world could this poor haggard creature be ME? She certainly wasn't half as well-spoken or well-looked-after as I was. She continued.
"I went to see Andrew, finally. I went to go live with him."
I didn't understand. Where was the diamond ring Andy had promised us? Where were the fancy clothes and the car and the whole taking-care-of-us-forever of which he so ardently spoke?
"Did he break up with us?"
The other me sighed, but her face betrayed no emotion. "No. he never left me, ever. When I got there he forced me into his car, he drugged me, and then he raped me, and he sold me to men. I got addicted to the heroin he gave me. I couldn't leave. I been raped thousands of times, I been shot, I been beaten, I been choked..." she trailed off.
We stared at each other for a long and empty moment. She continued when I wouldn't. "This is my life. I'm just another junkie, just another whore. I was supposed to come here to warn you. You still have a husband who loves you. You still have medicine for your bipolar. You still have a fucking *bed*!" At last her tough exterior broke and she began to openly sob and wail, making no effort to hide it in front of me.
"We both had it all!" she groaned. "And now we don't, neither of us don't have nothin'." she sunk to the floor in tears beside me. A woman more miserable than I slumped beside me on a desolate Wednesday morning, my only companion in death. A few silent tears rolled out of my own eyes as I drew my last breath. Maybe the next life would be better for both of us. | I wasn't afraid—I never was—until they put the rope around my neck.
I guess when a man is about to die, his spirit braces itself. Their mind slows down and all of your emotions sort of swirl, not quite knowin' what to do with themselves. So I stood there, sweating more than I would like to admit, as my spirit was clawing around trying to get out.
And then it did.
I saw it leave my body like a snake sheds it's skin. It whirled around in a cloud of luminescent blue until resting in front of me as a person. I looked around me to see if anyone else was seein' what I was seein', but they was all standing around frozen.
The fog had finally come to a rest, and it was me! it had my nose and everything, although less broken...
"Dammit, Joel!" I flinched as it suddenly came alive and yelled into my face.
"Wha—but—" I stammered, tryin' to make sense of the situation.
"You had to go and get yourself lynched huh? Just had to kill the guy..."
"Are you...me?"
"Yes. Well, no. I'm the *you* you should've been."
"I should've been?"
"Yes, should've been, but didn't become."
"Well..." I just stood there wide-eyed and silent. I guess that's how most men are at the gallows, but I suppose meetin' myself wasn't quite what I had expected.
"Well I guess I could've done things a bit differently..."
"Of course you could've. But that doesn't matter now."
I looked down at the ground and thought about it. I guess my life sort of, well, flashed before my eyes.
Dropping out of school was probably my worst mistake. But my parents sure didn't help. When I got Mary pregnant, that wasn't good. I got a job though. One that kept me busy too. But I lost it soon enough, never held a job for more'n a couple years after that.
I didn't mean to kill him. He was just in the way, and the boys told me to deal with him. I guess I just punched him too hard. Maybe it was meant to happen. Maybe it's better that I died.
"Yeah, doesn't matter anyways," I said.
"Damn..." My spirit was staring off into nowhere now. "Coulda really been somethin'."
"'scuse me?"
"A few more years and you would have found her. You were going to come around, ya know. We can sense things like that, spirits."
"Wait...find who?"
"Who do you think? Your daughter. She's been lookin' for you. She'll find you now, a bit late though."
I was wide-eyed again. She was looking for me? No one was ever lookin' for me...
Suddenly I could hear the people moving around me again. My spirit just stood in front of me without a word. I heard them pull the lever and I my stomach lurched as I fell, but that was it. Didn't feel nothin'—like fallin' asleep, really.
All I could think of was my daughter, probably more beautiful than her mom even. Out there looking for me...isn't that somethin'?
|
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