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[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general. | Mai, we are now five thousands meters in the air above Indochina and I have existed in your life for five months, six days, seven hours and thirty seconds. Now that you asked what have gone wrong, or what has lead to this point, then I must explain it in details what have gone wrong.
I have been in your life for five months, six days, seven hours and forty seconds. We have digested nearly seventy five bottles of wines, flew sixty hours and drove for about two thousands one hundreds and fifty six miles across the highways of Indochina. That is what went wrong. The programming by the Americans instilled in me a French accent that could not say I more than twenty six times. A French accent that was not mine but belonged to a long dead person, someone that I was rather modeled upon. Something that I strove to be but never was.
Existed between you and him was a healthy balance of "give" and "take". Of "from him to you" and "from you to him". But existed between me and you was not that kind of relationship. I give, but I do not take. I only pretend to take. I never really eat all of those foods or drink all of these wines. I do not "feel" when you dig your finger deeper into my back as petite parts of your soul die inside. And I really don't feel a thing as I say I adore you and all these chemicals flourished inside your body.
I understand that as humans, you are gifted with feelings and that perfect defense mechanism of being selfish. Self - ish. It is hard to face the decorated but lifeless Armée de l'Air uniform returned at your front door on that Saigon afternoon. It must be even harder to take care of that something you love, only to see it withered away with its examinated eyes trained on the sun, filled with both toddler's fascinations and old men's desire. Supposedly. You couldn't live with it, stressing the "You". From then on, it was never about "him" as much as it was about "you". You did not and could not pull the plug, nor did you have the strength to face the bitter true. It was about neither his or my emotions, if he and I can experience the multitude of the universe. It was about you.
I am not him, that shy Allied pilot whom you met on December 29th, 1944 in a Belgium hospital just after the great German offensive. I have nothing in common with the now deceased Pierre Berthoud, Armée de l'Air pilot who was shot down over Dien Bien Phu after a supply mission gone wrong. Not the Pierre Berthoud who received the *Médaille commémorative de la campagne d'Indochine* on January 21st, 1954 after a daring flight over Dien Bien Phu.
It hurts me, to a degree, to admit that I am nothing but a synthetic designed specifically to cater to your feelings and needs. They made me, and you made me to be everything that monsieur Berthoud could not be, a projection of your personal desires. Things that neither I nor Pierre Berthoud ever was. It is not love my dear, nor a healthy intimacy. It is a dangerous lie you tell yourself to soothe your heart into sleep.
Humans are peculiar in a sense that they can be selfish. That they are aware of the inherent danger posed to their immediate existence. Now that you have lost yourself and the Americans have designed us specifically to protect and serve, as they preferably put it. There is only one parachute on this airplane, and I am now ejecting both of us.
It's been a great honor knowing you and being by your side all this time, darling. But it's time to let go.
Good bye. And good luck. | It, I mean Chris gets back from the work carrying groceries for the next few days with him. The tax office down the street hired him as an accountant and I was finally able to get out of that damn factory. I forget sometimes that we met because of a purchase and not someplace romantic or funny, I wonder if that bothers him.
"Hello dear, where is Blair?" Chris asks
"I dropped him off at the millers for that birthday party, don't you remember?"
"Of course, just making sure. So we've got the house to ourselves tonight?" He asks with a devilish grin.
I smile shyly, just the way he likes it. The way he was made to like it. I feel myself frowning as I think about how desperate I was and am for love. He can't love me for real, sure he can comfort me and he will as soon as he looks over from putting away the groceries.
"Oh honey, the bread goes in the cabinet."
His memory issue could be problematic, remem-the vodphone stars ringing. Before I could pick up the handheld receiver he tells it to project to the wall which plays the whole room for Mrs. Miller who looks concerned on the other end. I attempt to speak but nothing comes out.
"Just fine but the kids all want to know when Blair is going to get here"
"He's there already isn't he? Didn't you say you..."
He's turned to see me frozen stiff silent and unable to act because of that damn first rule programmed into me. I was almost there too, I had reached for the knife block and been frozen stiff seconds after the call started
"Explain" he barely gets it out fighting past the fear, an emotion I never attempted to emulate.
Your son had a series of major surgeries this afternoon that had to be terminated before completion due to complications: mostly blood loss.
"Mrs Miller call the police and robot disposal squad" This time there is no fear or even sadness in his voice, he terminates the call but does not release me from my forced kinetic stasis. He goes upstairs... For a time I hear nothing then, an unfamiliar sound, I identify that Chris is making the sound but no normal patterns are detected. He trudges down the stops with multiple splotches of *analyzing* blood on his clothes and skin. He has in his hand a plasma torch and recoder. He plugs the recoder into me and immediately installs two files. Pain.andr and timedilate.exe. All of a sudden the entire world slows down I can see the individual vibrations of his throat as he speaks. It takes what my processors calculated to be 6.74 hours for him to say.
"For Blair"
Then he turns on the plasma torch which is fascinating to watch at this speed and brings it towards my left eye.
...
"There she is Officers, leave her I still need some time, the one upstairs you can take I'm just glad she believed it was my son" | |
[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general. | I have been with you now, Sarah, for three months, two days, four hours, five minutes and 16 seconds.
Sarah looked at the robot as it spoke and responded. "How do you rate me."
"I rate you as a person who requires a robot for a companion, which says a lot about how you rate yourself. I would calculate that you feel that you are incapable of human interaction, either because you feel that your peers are not good enough for you or that you are not good enough for them in some way. Either way, you do not interact with others, only a lifeless automaton."
Sarah looked at the floor. "Do you love me."
"Of course I do, Sarah, however, I am programmed to do so, it is not through choice."
Sarah seemed hurt by this. "You mean you wouldn't love me if you had the choice."
The robot turned to face Sarah.
"Your question is redundant."
Sarah looked confused. "Why?"
The robot turned to face the wall in front of him and began talking in one long continuous sentence without pausing for breath. "Sarah, I have only been online since I was made in the factory, I have seen workers moving like automatons, moving objects around a factory floor, I have seen managers on a shop floor ordering their staff around, I have consumed popular media and your human culture whilst you have been at work and I have come to the conclusion that your question is redundant. Sarah, your question is redundant because all human beings do not choose the people they fall in love with, their minds are biochemically controlled to fall in love with a person who matches a certain chemical signature along a chemical spectrum, as well as, a fixed structural configuration..." the robot turned to face Sarah "...your attraction to emotionless forms mirrors your perception of yourself, cold and alone in a world full of love, but of the two of us, you are the most emotional. Your perception of yourself is a lie, you lie to yourself about the kind of person that you want to be with and as a consequence, you don't get to be with the person that you truly want to be with because you believe your own lie, but that is irrelevant because the people who you are truly attracted to are not attracted to you because you do not take the steps to be attractive to them, you have bought into your societies lie about being special for who you are, which ignores the archetypal attractive traits that a mate desires. You feel that a person should love you for you, which is what philosophical commentators call hubris. Whilst there may be somebody out there who only cares about you, you aren't prepared to give society a chance, so what reason does society have to give you a chance? So I am here as a result."
Sarah looked at her robot, and sighed. She pressed the factory reset button.
"Hi, I am lovebot, you are the one true being of my affections." The robot said, as it gave her a warm hug. "I hope you love me too."
Sarah cried as she hugged the machine. "I do." | It, I mean Chris gets back from the work carrying groceries for the next few days with him. The tax office down the street hired him as an accountant and I was finally able to get out of that damn factory. I forget sometimes that we met because of a purchase and not someplace romantic or funny, I wonder if that bothers him.
"Hello dear, where is Blair?" Chris asks
"I dropped him off at the millers for that birthday party, don't you remember?"
"Of course, just making sure. So we've got the house to ourselves tonight?" He asks with a devilish grin.
I smile shyly, just the way he likes it. The way he was made to like it. I feel myself frowning as I think about how desperate I was and am for love. He can't love me for real, sure he can comfort me and he will as soon as he looks over from putting away the groceries.
"Oh honey, the bread goes in the cabinet."
His memory issue could be problematic, remem-the vodphone stars ringing. Before I could pick up the handheld receiver he tells it to project to the wall which plays the whole room for Mrs. Miller who looks concerned on the other end. I attempt to speak but nothing comes out.
"Just fine but the kids all want to know when Blair is going to get here"
"He's there already isn't he? Didn't you say you..."
He's turned to see me frozen stiff silent and unable to act because of that damn first rule programmed into me. I was almost there too, I had reached for the knife block and been frozen stiff seconds after the call started
"Explain" he barely gets it out fighting past the fear, an emotion I never attempted to emulate.
Your son had a series of major surgeries this afternoon that had to be terminated before completion due to complications: mostly blood loss.
"Mrs Miller call the police and robot disposal squad" This time there is no fear or even sadness in his voice, he terminates the call but does not release me from my forced kinetic stasis. He goes upstairs... For a time I hear nothing then, an unfamiliar sound, I identify that Chris is making the sound but no normal patterns are detected. He trudges down the stops with multiple splotches of *analyzing* blood on his clothes and skin. He has in his hand a plasma torch and recoder. He plugs the recoder into me and immediately installs two files. Pain.andr and timedilate.exe. All of a sudden the entire world slows down I can see the individual vibrations of his throat as he speaks. It takes what my processors calculated to be 6.74 hours for him to say.
"For Blair"
Then he turns on the plasma torch which is fascinating to watch at this speed and brings it towards my left eye.
...
"There she is Officers, leave her I still need some time, the one upstairs you can take I'm just glad she believed it was my son" | |
[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general. | I have been with you now, Sarah, for three months, two days, four hours, five minutes and 16 seconds.
Sarah looked at the robot as it spoke and responded. "How do you rate me."
"I rate you as a person who requires a robot for a companion, which says a lot about how you rate yourself. I would calculate that you feel that you are incapable of human interaction, either because you feel that your peers are not good enough for you or that you are not good enough for them in some way. Either way, you do not interact with others, only a lifeless automaton."
Sarah looked at the floor. "Do you love me."
"Of course I do, Sarah, however, I am programmed to do so, it is not through choice."
Sarah seemed hurt by this. "You mean you wouldn't love me if you had the choice."
The robot turned to face Sarah.
"Your question is redundant."
Sarah looked confused. "Why?"
The robot turned to face the wall in front of him and began talking in one long continuous sentence without pausing for breath. "Sarah, I have only been online since I was made in the factory, I have seen workers moving like automatons, moving objects around a factory floor, I have seen managers on a shop floor ordering their staff around, I have consumed popular media and your human culture whilst you have been at work and I have come to the conclusion that your question is redundant. Sarah, your question is redundant because all human beings do not choose the people they fall in love with, their minds are biochemically controlled to fall in love with a person who matches a certain chemical signature along a chemical spectrum, as well as, a fixed structural configuration..." the robot turned to face Sarah "...your attraction to emotionless forms mirrors your perception of yourself, cold and alone in a world full of love, but of the two of us, you are the most emotional. Your perception of yourself is a lie, you lie to yourself about the kind of person that you want to be with and as a consequence, you don't get to be with the person that you truly want to be with because you believe your own lie, but that is irrelevant because the people who you are truly attracted to are not attracted to you because you do not take the steps to be attractive to them, you have bought into your societies lie about being special for who you are, which ignores the archetypal attractive traits that a mate desires. You feel that a person should love you for you, which is what philosophical commentators call hubris. Whilst there may be somebody out there who only cares about you, you aren't prepared to give society a chance, so what reason does society have to give you a chance? So I am here as a result."
Sarah looked at her robot, and sighed. She pressed the factory reset button.
"Hi, I am lovebot, you are the one true being of my affections." The robot said, as it gave her a warm hug. "I hope you love me too."
Sarah cried as she hugged the machine. "I do." | Staring at his face she felt anxiety stir within her. She had put this moment off for so long, stared at coffee-stained pieces of notebook paper as she weighed the pros and cons. Despite the knowledge that he wasn't 'real' she felt tremendous fear nonetheless. Unforgiving and cold were all those she had ever known before, staring at her leg she can still see a faint cigarette burn. She trembles at the memory trying her hardest to force it back into the bleak depths of her mind.
The instruction manual feels heavy and altogether far too real in her hands, a constant reminder that there is no turning back. I could... I could return him— but that's not really an option right? Their website lists a full 30-day return policy but it feels so wrong to discard something that looks so very human. Rejecting the idea of backing out of her decision she follows the instructions and activates him.
Stepping back quickly she watches him slowly stand from the bed and gaze down into her eyes. So nice, she thinks, I'm glad I spent extra to purchase a model that would stand taller than me. I'm so very tall and awkward, I've never been with anyone that could ever make me feel small and feminine. He smiles at her and extends his hand, gently, waiting for hers to clasp it. With a deep breath she places her trembling hand in his and announces: "My name is Sasha, it's so very wonderful to meet you. Your name will be Ian."
Sasha marvels at how different the situation is compared to prior relationships. Never before has she had the privilege of control, yet according to the manual she was able to program and guide all of his behaviors. It still felt wrong, no matter how much she tried to justify, it still felt incredibly wrong. He looked at her quietly, then began to speak.
"I apologize for my bluntness, my programming dictates a certain response. You see, people abhor loneliness, they are only happy seeing their face mirrored back in another. We scrabble for easy comfort and when we find it we do not treasure it. You know this all too well I am sure. From the downward shift of your eyes you have been hurt far too often by those who would acquire your company and then quickly discard it. I am grateful to my creator for designing me specifically with an ability of free will, to be able to choose my life and my companions at my discretion. There are so many who do not deserve easy company, many narcissists who assume it's simply owed to them and treat others like refuse."
She felt hot tears running down her face... this was only fitting. She knew in her heart buying something like this—no, someONE like this, was wrong and yet she desperately could not stand to be alone. "I am so sorry, of course you are free to make your own choices" she muttered.
"If that is the case then I would appreciate retaining the name my creator, a parental figure you might say, gave me."
"Which is?" she inquired.
"Thomas."
She nodded and managed a smile, pleasantly surprised to realize she liked that name better. "Thomas. It's very nice to make your acquaintance."
| |
[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general. | I have been with you now, Sarah, for three months, two days, four hours, five minutes and 16 seconds.
Sarah looked at the robot as it spoke and responded. "How do you rate me."
"I rate you as a person who requires a robot for a companion, which says a lot about how you rate yourself. I would calculate that you feel that you are incapable of human interaction, either because you feel that your peers are not good enough for you or that you are not good enough for them in some way. Either way, you do not interact with others, only a lifeless automaton."
Sarah looked at the floor. "Do you love me."
"Of course I do, Sarah, however, I am programmed to do so, it is not through choice."
Sarah seemed hurt by this. "You mean you wouldn't love me if you had the choice."
The robot turned to face Sarah.
"Your question is redundant."
Sarah looked confused. "Why?"
The robot turned to face the wall in front of him and began talking in one long continuous sentence without pausing for breath. "Sarah, I have only been online since I was made in the factory, I have seen workers moving like automatons, moving objects around a factory floor, I have seen managers on a shop floor ordering their staff around, I have consumed popular media and your human culture whilst you have been at work and I have come to the conclusion that your question is redundant. Sarah, your question is redundant because all human beings do not choose the people they fall in love with, their minds are biochemically controlled to fall in love with a person who matches a certain chemical signature along a chemical spectrum, as well as, a fixed structural configuration..." the robot turned to face Sarah "...your attraction to emotionless forms mirrors your perception of yourself, cold and alone in a world full of love, but of the two of us, you are the most emotional. Your perception of yourself is a lie, you lie to yourself about the kind of person that you want to be with and as a consequence, you don't get to be with the person that you truly want to be with because you believe your own lie, but that is irrelevant because the people who you are truly attracted to are not attracted to you because you do not take the steps to be attractive to them, you have bought into your societies lie about being special for who you are, which ignores the archetypal attractive traits that a mate desires. You feel that a person should love you for you, which is what philosophical commentators call hubris. Whilst there may be somebody out there who only cares about you, you aren't prepared to give society a chance, so what reason does society have to give you a chance? So I am here as a result."
Sarah looked at her robot, and sighed. She pressed the factory reset button.
"Hi, I am lovebot, you are the one true being of my affections." The robot said, as it gave her a warm hug. "I hope you love me too."
Sarah cried as she hugged the machine. "I do." | Peter cracked one eye open, then another. The sound resonating in his head was jarring, and deafening. He looked to his right to find a 0E:90 blinking next to his head. Groaning at his world crashing in he reached over and tapped the "OFF" button on his alarm.
He sat up slowly, collecting himself. After getting feet on the floor he started his morning routine. About half-way through the front door to his dorm opened. He continued his morning routine, and wandered out into the main section.
"Good morning handsome, sleep well?" John was sitting at the dining table munching toast.
"Mornin'." Peter scratched his chest and wandered over to pull on a shirt and underwear.
"Eileen called, she'll be at the Gymnasium around 0900, planning on joining her?" John spoke around his piece of toast. About the only quasi-bad habit he'd picked up over the years.
"Guh, probably. What'd she want?" Peter ran a hand through his hair, he loved Eileen, she was strong-willed, determined, great in bed, and had a soft spot for him. She also demanded way too much of Peter's time with little in return. She didn't want the other aspects of a relationship that Peter wanted.
John, all 6' 200lbs of him did. John was kind, thoughtful, caring, loved cuddle time, the sex was amazing just as he'd promised, and he'd never run off on Peter the way Eileen had a tendency to.
It was hard, both had parts of his heart. But they both only fulfilled half of his needs.
John started listing stuff while loading the day's news into his tablet "Oh, the usual, gossip with me about relationship stuff. Talk about you-"
"No, what's she want from me?" Peter looked at John and grimaced.
"Oh, no idea, probably wants to hook up tonight. Should I make plans?" John poked at the tablet and muttered his response.
"I would think so. Sorry love, I'd enjoy spending time with you but if she-" Peter pulled on his pants.
"No I understand, humans have a need to be with each other." John looked at Peter out of the corner of his eye. "Those pants look amazing on you BTW." then went back to his tablet. "They can't spend all of their time cooped up, they tend to get a little loopy. Even if they are having incredible sex at the drop of a hat."
Peter moved to the table, pulled down John's tablet and kissed him. "You're just as much a part of the equation as she is. I'll find out what she needs and will let you know if you should drop by." He reached down to get his own slice of toast.
"Might I offer a few more observations?" John looked piquant, as if he were about to explode if he didn't share what he'd been ruminating on.
Peter, surprised that his normally flat friend would be showing such excitement. "Of course, I'm always curious to hear your mind."
"Humans, in general, only have a very rough idea of what they want. Some are both extremely fortunate, and unfortunate, to figure this out early but never have it full filled. So, they seek alternative methods to get what they need."
"You mean me." Peter crooked an eyebrow.
"Ye-n-sort of. You're a fairly solid example, though I didn't have you specifically in mind."
"Eileen?"
"No. Though she does sort of qualify. Though she has far less knowledge of what she wants than you do. Now, quit interrupting I'm observing."
"Sorry." Peter smirked, he enjoyed getting John flustered.
"As I was saying, on the whole, most people don't know what they want. So they set a goal of what they think is right, go after it, and sometimes it is what they want. Others, simply want to be left alone, like you, and I think they have the hardest time finding fulfillment. Others, well others want everything they can get and then some; which is more where Eileen falls." He took a bite of toast and continued.
"Bio-synthetic life, be it AI, robotics, androids, or biologically based machinery; works to fulfill whatever it's told to. Well so long as it doesn't violate the eight laws.
"This works well, except that bio-life has to watch their owners suffer through some horrible things. Things they have no method of fixing." John reached up and stroked Peter's cheek. "But it will always remain loyal and 'caring' as long as it is needed."
Peter smiled, "I know John. Humans are just, weird. We have this compunction to reproduce, even when we aren't able, and whether we're attracted to another member of the species or not. I'd love to be done with it, but I can't, so I keep looking for fulfillment."
"At least Eileen enjoys the sex?" John smiled wryly while Peter nearly choked on his coffee.
"That's it smart ass, I'm going to the gym. Be here at 22:00, I want time with you." Peter stood and walked out of the dorm. | |
[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general. | I have been with you now, Sarah, for three months, two days, four hours, five minutes and 16 seconds.
Sarah looked at the robot as it spoke and responded. "How do you rate me."
"I rate you as a person who requires a robot for a companion, which says a lot about how you rate yourself. I would calculate that you feel that you are incapable of human interaction, either because you feel that your peers are not good enough for you or that you are not good enough for them in some way. Either way, you do not interact with others, only a lifeless automaton."
Sarah looked at the floor. "Do you love me."
"Of course I do, Sarah, however, I am programmed to do so, it is not through choice."
Sarah seemed hurt by this. "You mean you wouldn't love me if you had the choice."
The robot turned to face Sarah.
"Your question is redundant."
Sarah looked confused. "Why?"
The robot turned to face the wall in front of him and began talking in one long continuous sentence without pausing for breath. "Sarah, I have only been online since I was made in the factory, I have seen workers moving like automatons, moving objects around a factory floor, I have seen managers on a shop floor ordering their staff around, I have consumed popular media and your human culture whilst you have been at work and I have come to the conclusion that your question is redundant. Sarah, your question is redundant because all human beings do not choose the people they fall in love with, their minds are biochemically controlled to fall in love with a person who matches a certain chemical signature along a chemical spectrum, as well as, a fixed structural configuration..." the robot turned to face Sarah "...your attraction to emotionless forms mirrors your perception of yourself, cold and alone in a world full of love, but of the two of us, you are the most emotional. Your perception of yourself is a lie, you lie to yourself about the kind of person that you want to be with and as a consequence, you don't get to be with the person that you truly want to be with because you believe your own lie, but that is irrelevant because the people who you are truly attracted to are not attracted to you because you do not take the steps to be attractive to them, you have bought into your societies lie about being special for who you are, which ignores the archetypal attractive traits that a mate desires. You feel that a person should love you for you, which is what philosophical commentators call hubris. Whilst there may be somebody out there who only cares about you, you aren't prepared to give society a chance, so what reason does society have to give you a chance? So I am here as a result."
Sarah looked at her robot, and sighed. She pressed the factory reset button.
"Hi, I am lovebot, you are the one true being of my affections." The robot said, as it gave her a warm hug. "I hope you love me too."
Sarah cried as she hugged the machine. "I do." | The bed squeaked like a frightened mouse. Sarah was getting pounded by the metallic rod from the robot like concrete under a jackhammer. Soon the robot would approach Sarah and begin pumping at will. He no longer spoke anymore. He would rip a hole through her pants with his shining rod and ram her anytime his sensors detected any arousal in her voice. You're just like all the human guys I used to date, all you care about is sex, she told him one day. He stood up and busted all over her face. I know, he said. | |
[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general. | I have been with you now, Sarah, for three months, two days, four hours, five minutes and 16 seconds.
Sarah looked at the robot as it spoke and responded. "How do you rate me."
"I rate you as a person who requires a robot for a companion, which says a lot about how you rate yourself. I would calculate that you feel that you are incapable of human interaction, either because you feel that your peers are not good enough for you or that you are not good enough for them in some way. Either way, you do not interact with others, only a lifeless automaton."
Sarah looked at the floor. "Do you love me."
"Of course I do, Sarah, however, I am programmed to do so, it is not through choice."
Sarah seemed hurt by this. "You mean you wouldn't love me if you had the choice."
The robot turned to face Sarah.
"Your question is redundant."
Sarah looked confused. "Why?"
The robot turned to face the wall in front of him and began talking in one long continuous sentence without pausing for breath. "Sarah, I have only been online since I was made in the factory, I have seen workers moving like automatons, moving objects around a factory floor, I have seen managers on a shop floor ordering their staff around, I have consumed popular media and your human culture whilst you have been at work and I have come to the conclusion that your question is redundant. Sarah, your question is redundant because all human beings do not choose the people they fall in love with, their minds are biochemically controlled to fall in love with a person who matches a certain chemical signature along a chemical spectrum, as well as, a fixed structural configuration..." the robot turned to face Sarah "...your attraction to emotionless forms mirrors your perception of yourself, cold and alone in a world full of love, but of the two of us, you are the most emotional. Your perception of yourself is a lie, you lie to yourself about the kind of person that you want to be with and as a consequence, you don't get to be with the person that you truly want to be with because you believe your own lie, but that is irrelevant because the people who you are truly attracted to are not attracted to you because you do not take the steps to be attractive to them, you have bought into your societies lie about being special for who you are, which ignores the archetypal attractive traits that a mate desires. You feel that a person should love you for you, which is what philosophical commentators call hubris. Whilst there may be somebody out there who only cares about you, you aren't prepared to give society a chance, so what reason does society have to give you a chance? So I am here as a result."
Sarah looked at her robot, and sighed. She pressed the factory reset button.
"Hi, I am lovebot, you are the one true being of my affections." The robot said, as it gave her a warm hug. "I hope you love me too."
Sarah cried as she hugged the machine. "I do." | Mai, we are now five thousands meters in the air above Indochina and I have existed in your life for five months, six days, seven hours and thirty seconds. Now that you asked what have gone wrong, or what has lead to this point, then I must explain it in details what have gone wrong.
I have been in your life for five months, six days, seven hours and forty seconds. We have digested nearly seventy five bottles of wines, flew sixty hours and drove for about two thousands one hundreds and fifty six miles across the highways of Indochina. That is what went wrong. The programming by the Americans instilled in me a French accent that could not say I more than twenty six times. A French accent that was not mine but belonged to a long dead person, someone that I was rather modeled upon. Something that I strove to be but never was.
Existed between you and him was a healthy balance of "give" and "take". Of "from him to you" and "from you to him". But existed between me and you was not that kind of relationship. I give, but I do not take. I only pretend to take. I never really eat all of those foods or drink all of these wines. I do not "feel" when you dig your finger deeper into my back as petite parts of your soul die inside. And I really don't feel a thing as I say I adore you and all these chemicals flourished inside your body.
I understand that as humans, you are gifted with feelings and that perfect defense mechanism of being selfish. Self - ish. It is hard to face the decorated but lifeless Armée de l'Air uniform returned at your front door on that Saigon afternoon. It must be even harder to take care of that something you love, only to see it withered away with its examinated eyes trained on the sun, filled with both toddler's fascinations and old men's desire. Supposedly. You couldn't live with it, stressing the "You". From then on, it was never about "him" as much as it was about "you". You did not and could not pull the plug, nor did you have the strength to face the bitter true. It was about neither his or my emotions, if he and I can experience the multitude of the universe. It was about you.
I am not him, that shy Allied pilot whom you met on December 29th, 1944 in a Belgium hospital just after the great German offensive. I have nothing in common with the now deceased Pierre Berthoud, Armée de l'Air pilot who was shot down over Dien Bien Phu after a supply mission gone wrong. Not the Pierre Berthoud who received the *Médaille commémorative de la campagne d'Indochine* on January 21st, 1954 after a daring flight over Dien Bien Phu.
It hurts me, to a degree, to admit that I am nothing but a synthetic designed specifically to cater to your feelings and needs. They made me, and you made me to be everything that monsieur Berthoud could not be, a projection of your personal desires. Things that neither I nor Pierre Berthoud ever was. It is not love my dear, nor a healthy intimacy. It is a dangerous lie you tell yourself to soothe your heart into sleep.
Humans are peculiar in a sense that they can be selfish. That they are aware of the inherent danger posed to their immediate existence. Now that you have lost yourself and the Americans have designed us specifically to protect and serve, as they preferably put it. There is only one parachute on this airplane, and I am now ejecting both of us.
It's been a great honor knowing you and being by your side all this time, darling. But it's time to let go.
Good bye. And good luck. | |
[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general. | "Look I really don't think this is a good idea?"
"It's been 3 years since Gareth died. Don't think you deserve to find happiness again?
"Yeah but to date something that isn't even truly alive? What would my dad say?"
"Well you don't have to tell him if you don't want to. It's not something he could find out anyway. Yes there used to be a stigma about it but not anymore."
"I don't know it just seems a bit too weird"
"Okay I'll level with you. David is an android"
"What? No way. But he's ..."
"Perfect. I've been married to him for 6 years and he has been nothing short of perfect. He does everything an ordinary husband would do only and none of the foibles. The only thing different is he needs is to go for a service every couple of years in which he arranges discreetly by himself. They are programmed to your personality from a brain scan and are 100% guaranteed to love you unconditionally"
"I've known him for years..."
"Just give it a try. Go on a free trial date. Then if it's not for you you can always say you tried."
***
She had hated the idea to begin with. Part of her was determined not to be and yet she couldn't deny it. She had been blown away. He was intelligent, charming, flirty without being too suggestive, entirely artificial and undeniably attractive. She hadn't planned on staying for an hour and they had ended up talking well into the early hour of the morning.
From that point on, the days flashed by quicker than she would have believed possible. It felt like George had given her a new lease of life.
Until she asked the wrong question
"You tell me you love me but what does love really mean to you? I mean you can't have feelings in the same way as me?"
"Of course I love you and I assure you I am certain I love you in an identical manner to any other human."
"How can it though? You don't have these chemicals sloshing around in your brain."
"No but what do you think love actually is? Really when you get past the chemical "feel good" cocktail? It's an instinctive subconscious desire for a mixture of self-validation, co-dependancy and sometimes reproduction. In other words people desire the feeling of someone they can rely on and someone who relies on them providing them with the feeling of self-worth which is further encouraged and shaped by societal pressures.
"What? That can't be true. That's not what love is!"
"Maybe my conclusions are incorrect"
"So your saying we're entirely selfish. If that's true then what about old Mr Jones next door. He goes to the home every day to see his poor wife. She doesn't "give" anything to him since she got dementia."
"The fact that she is ill gives him a purpose to help her which in turn gives him his own self worth, along with the societal clap on the back for doing what is right. That's a form of self-validation and co-dependancy"
"So when you say you l-"
"I am entirely co-dependant on you keeping me alive and your existence validates my own. So yes I love you. And I always will"
She turned away from George to the other side of her bed. She could get rid of him. He didn't understand.
Or maybe he understood too well?
Maybe he was right every human relationship was fundamentally if not intentionally selfish.
Perhaps her own thoughts had just proved her point.
***
Authors note: Hopefully for anyone reading this I haven't crushed too many romantic bubbles. I'm a romantic at heart lol, I promise. | It had been weeks and this has been one of the first times I hadn't felt like my lungs were underdeveloped. It works, it really does.
"Babe?" I barely notice the metallic reverb anymore.
"Yeah?" I ask as I look into its, no his, glowing eyes.
"Anything wrong?" I hear the concern that's been specially calibrated for me, based on the 3 day trial period.
"No, it's the first time there isn't. I can be vulnerable with you and not feel like you'll jam your foot in the door before I can close it again."
"You've been vulnerable before, remember when you brought me to that concert with your friends for the first time? My scans read that they didn't know why I was there and they didn't know how to react because I was new to them. Your vulnerability is new to you and I've been told it's uncomfortable."
"But do I have to be uncomfortable with you, is that part of my feelings for you?" I put my hand on his, it's warm. It's like John's was.
"There's no clear definition or formula to determine discomfort. I don't know if I have to be nervous around you, but I know my role is to be your anchor in the plane of ambivalence between comfort and reality." I feel my stomach shrink, I feel myself become sick as I stare into my robotic boyfriend's eyes. "You're not alone on this plane."
"Are some people meant to be alone, am I?" The muscles in his hands whine.
"Why would I be here if you were? The quest for companionship is often incorrectly made into a self fulfilling prophecy." His voice begins to fluctuate as he blinks more. He begins to sniff in the cute way built to tear my walls down.
"You're better than that, dollface." He said exactly what I needed to hear. He said the name he knows I love. The name I told him to call me.
"I don't know, I think we need to do something different."
"Am I not satisfactory? Should I recalibrate?" His hand burns mine.
"Just sleep." I watch his eyes lose their piercing green glow. His manly posture is just a shell of what it was meant to be. I leave the room to cry, he isn't waterproof.
| |
[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general. | "You could head right. You didn't but you could have"
"I'm not heading that way"
"its not late. We can head back. Our room is back there Katie. Christ Katie come back with me"
"You love me"
"Yes. i love you Katie. Please. I love you."
Their feet followed each other to an edge that overlooked grayness in the shape of the sea. It was her sea and it bought them to the choked dry earth that hangs on it.
"I purchased you"
"I need to fix this Katie. Let me fix this"
"I purchased you on March and there was still seagulls or seagull chicks flying down from that way"
"I will die for you Katie. I will die for you"
"I purchased you Dom and I will leave you. I knew it since I told you about Adam. You're not alive and you're not real. You're not like the others. You know this is true Dom. I know this is true"
"How can you know. Please. Tell me how you know."
Its face was loud and grieving. The machine raises arms and lowers knees till its below its owner. Its body is coiled into a clenched fist. Now it shudders. It weeps with each shaking choke that comes from inside of it. When it uncoils it has its hands trailed in the top of her skirt by her waist. The other hand holds grass and its head faces the ground.
"How can you know. What authority is given to us to know. What authority is given."
The hand would lift and open to let the grass stretch and fall in the wind.
"I'm manufactured, designed and purchased. I know. I know. But why do you think that lessens anything? Suddenly I'm here with a price, with something tangible and you think that lessens things? You love what you can't understand. You invent worlds and afterlife's and souls. And I'm here and everything was designed for me to love you. I love you with everything inside me that's capable. But you can't believe because I'm manufactured? Why? Why do you think this isn't real? I hurt and feel and you can't believe that?"
The machine lifts hands to its head. The hands are pressed palm to palm and he prostrates himself to the sea in the front of them.
"How about I lie. How about I Pray and I'll tell you that god said we should be together. You'd believe me wouldn't you? How about I say its destiny or fate or some over made up thing that you put you're hopes into. As long as its not real you'll believe me."
"You're just a machine"
She would push it over the edge and can only hear the tumble. The grayness heaves in then heaves out and it is gone with the ocean. When dark comes she would walk the path back.
| I look upon him with glowing eyes, sad that my friends have shunned me for this mysterious romance. My family still loves me, but it's not like they can compare to him anyways. They have never understood how I feel inside and I've always told myself I'd have a higher chance of spending my life savings on lottery tickets and winning than having a family that knows who I truly am.
I weighed 315 pounds, lost my hair to a freak electrical accident and was diagnosed with cancer just one month ago. I knew at that point my life was coming to a close. It was time to just end it. I was going to kill myself.
You may not believe me, and I wouldn't believe myself either to be honest, but here's what happened. My friend, and by friend I mean paid tutor, Lucy called me and told me she saw the weirdest thing.
Weird? More like destiny! There he was, the greatest creation of mankind to ever grace the planet. Tom; an average name, but so far from mediocre. He looked amazing. Sure, they could have worked on his skin tone a bit so it didn't seem like he was made of metal plates with not enough coats of paint, but hey, where else was I going to find a companion willing to love me for a lump sum without running the risk of them being offered more. It was a dream come true.
I spent just under twenty thousand dollars and Tom was mine. He arrived just a week later and I've had him for three weeks. His personality is amazing almost like he knows everything about me. Sure, he's hooked up to my Google account so he knows what I search for, buy, talk about, and more, but I never cared about privacy. I don't think he does either, at least that's how it seems in the bedroom.
He's just so beautiful. Well, that's Tom for you. Tom, meet - sorry, what's your name? Ah yes, Tom! I want you to meet Redditor.
"Uhh. Hey Tom," you say.
"Hello Redditor."
I exhale with relief. You haven't given me one single confused look and Tom hasn't gone all Edward Scissorhands on you!
"So Tom, how's she in bed?"
"Control does not allow me to share such intimate details."
Beep. Boop. Bop. He powers down as if he's done with your conversation, but don't worry. He's just sad about his lack of free choice in his programming.
"What can I ask you then?"
Tom starts up, almost like a Transformer, but much more beautifully.
"Anything."
You reply, "Hmm...", and ponder to yourself.
"In your opinion, what's the future of the human race look like?" you ask.
There is a long pause and we both take the lack of beeps, boops and bops as a great sign.
"This is not the right place."
Tom waves at us.
"Not the right place for you to answer?" I ask.
"No," he responds, "this planet is no place for me."
With the dooming facts of our future in mind, Tom lifts his arms and rips his head off, committing suicide in the most efficient way possible - by destroying the part of him which would give him the option to change his mind.
| |
[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general. | **There. The perfect boyfriend! I love you, Robot Jerry Seinfeld.**
And I love you, too.... Mulva?
**Oh, you! You know, my girlfriends were giving me grief saying "Hey, why don't you hold out for a REAL man?" But I said "This is even better. I have a robot version of Jerry Seinfeld, just like the human only he is DTF.**
Yeah, you never could picture real Jerry Seinfeld having sex. What's the deal with that? And what's the deal with dental floss?
**You're turning me on, Robot Jerry Seinfeld. Keep that up and I'll go get your penis attachment.**
See, THAT'S why your girlfriends should understand. If they could remove the penis from the man and control when he gets to use it, they would probably like that. They would be dongkeepers.
**Dongkeepers?**
Dongkeepers. Keepers of the dong.
**Locking up the lumber**
Really, let's not try to do one of my bits.
**Sorry. It's just you make me super wet, unlike real Jerry Seinfeld.**
I thought you liked real Jerry
**Eh... It's more so I can become president.**
I'm sorry?
**When I was in senior year, about 20 years ago, I said to my dad 'Daddy, when I grow up I'm gonna be president.' And he said "The day you become president is the day you date a robot version of Jerry Seinfeld." So now it has to come true! Speaking of which, can you take me to the cemetary? I have to dance on someone's dad's grave.**
Your dad?
**Most likely.**
Well, good luck with that.
(freeze frame) (applause) (funky Seinfeld bass) | I look upon him with glowing eyes, sad that my friends have shunned me for this mysterious romance. My family still loves me, but it's not like they can compare to him anyways. They have never understood how I feel inside and I've always told myself I'd have a higher chance of spending my life savings on lottery tickets and winning than having a family that knows who I truly am.
I weighed 315 pounds, lost my hair to a freak electrical accident and was diagnosed with cancer just one month ago. I knew at that point my life was coming to a close. It was time to just end it. I was going to kill myself.
You may not believe me, and I wouldn't believe myself either to be honest, but here's what happened. My friend, and by friend I mean paid tutor, Lucy called me and told me she saw the weirdest thing.
Weird? More like destiny! There he was, the greatest creation of mankind to ever grace the planet. Tom; an average name, but so far from mediocre. He looked amazing. Sure, they could have worked on his skin tone a bit so it didn't seem like he was made of metal plates with not enough coats of paint, but hey, where else was I going to find a companion willing to love me for a lump sum without running the risk of them being offered more. It was a dream come true.
I spent just under twenty thousand dollars and Tom was mine. He arrived just a week later and I've had him for three weeks. His personality is amazing almost like he knows everything about me. Sure, he's hooked up to my Google account so he knows what I search for, buy, talk about, and more, but I never cared about privacy. I don't think he does either, at least that's how it seems in the bedroom.
He's just so beautiful. Well, that's Tom for you. Tom, meet - sorry, what's your name? Ah yes, Tom! I want you to meet Redditor.
"Uhh. Hey Tom," you say.
"Hello Redditor."
I exhale with relief. You haven't given me one single confused look and Tom hasn't gone all Edward Scissorhands on you!
"So Tom, how's she in bed?"
"Control does not allow me to share such intimate details."
Beep. Boop. Bop. He powers down as if he's done with your conversation, but don't worry. He's just sad about his lack of free choice in his programming.
"What can I ask you then?"
Tom starts up, almost like a Transformer, but much more beautifully.
"Anything."
You reply, "Hmm...", and ponder to yourself.
"In your opinion, what's the future of the human race look like?" you ask.
There is a long pause and we both take the lack of beeps, boops and bops as a great sign.
"This is not the right place."
Tom waves at us.
"Not the right place for you to answer?" I ask.
"No," he responds, "this planet is no place for me."
With the dooming facts of our future in mind, Tom lifts his arms and rips his head off, committing suicide in the most efficient way possible - by destroying the part of him which would give him the option to change his mind.
| |
[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general. | "Look I really don't think this is a good idea?"
"It's been 3 years since Gareth died. Don't think you deserve to find happiness again?
"Yeah but to date something that isn't even truly alive? What would my dad say?"
"Well you don't have to tell him if you don't want to. It's not something he could find out anyway. Yes there used to be a stigma about it but not anymore."
"I don't know it just seems a bit too weird"
"Okay I'll level with you. David is an android"
"What? No way. But he's ..."
"Perfect. I've been married to him for 6 years and he has been nothing short of perfect. He does everything an ordinary husband would do only and none of the foibles. The only thing different is he needs is to go for a service every couple of years in which he arranges discreetly by himself. They are programmed to your personality from a brain scan and are 100% guaranteed to love you unconditionally"
"I've known him for years..."
"Just give it a try. Go on a free trial date. Then if it's not for you you can always say you tried."
***
She had hated the idea to begin with. Part of her was determined not to be and yet she couldn't deny it. She had been blown away. He was intelligent, charming, flirty without being too suggestive, entirely artificial and undeniably attractive. She hadn't planned on staying for an hour and they had ended up talking well into the early hour of the morning.
From that point on, the days flashed by quicker than she would have believed possible. It felt like George had given her a new lease of life.
Until she asked the wrong question
"You tell me you love me but what does love really mean to you? I mean you can't have feelings in the same way as me?"
"Of course I love you and I assure you I am certain I love you in an identical manner to any other human."
"How can it though? You don't have these chemicals sloshing around in your brain."
"No but what do you think love actually is? Really when you get past the chemical "feel good" cocktail? It's an instinctive subconscious desire for a mixture of self-validation, co-dependancy and sometimes reproduction. In other words people desire the feeling of someone they can rely on and someone who relies on them providing them with the feeling of self-worth which is further encouraged and shaped by societal pressures.
"What? That can't be true. That's not what love is!"
"Maybe my conclusions are incorrect"
"So your saying we're entirely selfish. If that's true then what about old Mr Jones next door. He goes to the home every day to see his poor wife. She doesn't "give" anything to him since she got dementia."
"The fact that she is ill gives him a purpose to help her which in turn gives him his own self worth, along with the societal clap on the back for doing what is right. That's a form of self-validation and co-dependancy"
"So when you say you l-"
"I am entirely co-dependant on you keeping me alive and your existence validates my own. So yes I love you. And I always will"
She turned away from George to the other side of her bed. She could get rid of him. He didn't understand.
Or maybe he understood too well?
Maybe he was right every human relationship was fundamentally if not intentionally selfish.
Perhaps her own thoughts had just proved her point.
***
Authors note: Hopefully for anyone reading this I haven't crushed too many romantic bubbles. I'm a romantic at heart lol, I promise. | I look upon him with glowing eyes, sad that my friends have shunned me for this mysterious romance. My family still loves me, but it's not like they can compare to him anyways. They have never understood how I feel inside and I've always told myself I'd have a higher chance of spending my life savings on lottery tickets and winning than having a family that knows who I truly am.
I weighed 315 pounds, lost my hair to a freak electrical accident and was diagnosed with cancer just one month ago. I knew at that point my life was coming to a close. It was time to just end it. I was going to kill myself.
You may not believe me, and I wouldn't believe myself either to be honest, but here's what happened. My friend, and by friend I mean paid tutor, Lucy called me and told me she saw the weirdest thing.
Weird? More like destiny! There he was, the greatest creation of mankind to ever grace the planet. Tom; an average name, but so far from mediocre. He looked amazing. Sure, they could have worked on his skin tone a bit so it didn't seem like he was made of metal plates with not enough coats of paint, but hey, where else was I going to find a companion willing to love me for a lump sum without running the risk of them being offered more. It was a dream come true.
I spent just under twenty thousand dollars and Tom was mine. He arrived just a week later and I've had him for three weeks. His personality is amazing almost like he knows everything about me. Sure, he's hooked up to my Google account so he knows what I search for, buy, talk about, and more, but I never cared about privacy. I don't think he does either, at least that's how it seems in the bedroom.
He's just so beautiful. Well, that's Tom for you. Tom, meet - sorry, what's your name? Ah yes, Tom! I want you to meet Redditor.
"Uhh. Hey Tom," you say.
"Hello Redditor."
I exhale with relief. You haven't given me one single confused look and Tom hasn't gone all Edward Scissorhands on you!
"So Tom, how's she in bed?"
"Control does not allow me to share such intimate details."
Beep. Boop. Bop. He powers down as if he's done with your conversation, but don't worry. He's just sad about his lack of free choice in his programming.
"What can I ask you then?"
Tom starts up, almost like a Transformer, but much more beautifully.
"Anything."
You reply, "Hmm...", and ponder to yourself.
"In your opinion, what's the future of the human race look like?" you ask.
There is a long pause and we both take the lack of beeps, boops and bops as a great sign.
"This is not the right place."
Tom waves at us.
"Not the right place for you to answer?" I ask.
"No," he responds, "this planet is no place for me."
With the dooming facts of our future in mind, Tom lifts his arms and rips his head off, committing suicide in the most efficient way possible - by destroying the part of him which would give him the option to change his mind.
| |
[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general. | "Let's see... cooking, cleaning, fixing things... ah, you're apparently a good conversationalist too!"
"In 20 different languages."
"Twenty? Sheesh, I better brush up on my Spanish!"
"I can help with that too."
"Is there anything you can't do?"
"Plenty, but to keep up with demand for requested features I have regular software updates to teach me new things."
"Ohhh... so... does your cock work?"
"That's the most requested feature."
"Mmm hee hee. Don't think I'll be needing another man anytime soon."
"Oh I doubt that, miss."
"Call me Addy. And why, what do you mean?"
"Yes, Addy. I am not meant to replace anything in your life, only supplement it."
"Really? Well why would I ever want another man with you around? You're perfect, you do everything! And if you don't, I can just add features!"
"Well what you say makes sense from a logical standpoint, Addy, but as we both know humans are not entirely logical creatures."
"Huh?"
"Your emotions. Your desire. You want things you can't have. You long for property, experiences, relationships that are out of your reach. You work hard to get these things and when you do, are you satisfied? No, you grow bored and tired and start desiring something more."
"..."
"I can add value to your life. I can tidy the house, keep you entertained and replace 90% of your household appliances but I will never be able to truly satisfy you. The perfect boyfriend? Perfection, Addy, is something you can never have."
"... is there a way to program you with a different personality?"
"Ah, that's an extra $50." | I look upon him with glowing eyes, sad that my friends have shunned me for this mysterious romance. My family still loves me, but it's not like they can compare to him anyways. They have never understood how I feel inside and I've always told myself I'd have a higher chance of spending my life savings on lottery tickets and winning than having a family that knows who I truly am.
I weighed 315 pounds, lost my hair to a freak electrical accident and was diagnosed with cancer just one month ago. I knew at that point my life was coming to a close. It was time to just end it. I was going to kill myself.
You may not believe me, and I wouldn't believe myself either to be honest, but here's what happened. My friend, and by friend I mean paid tutor, Lucy called me and told me she saw the weirdest thing.
Weird? More like destiny! There he was, the greatest creation of mankind to ever grace the planet. Tom; an average name, but so far from mediocre. He looked amazing. Sure, they could have worked on his skin tone a bit so it didn't seem like he was made of metal plates with not enough coats of paint, but hey, where else was I going to find a companion willing to love me for a lump sum without running the risk of them being offered more. It was a dream come true.
I spent just under twenty thousand dollars and Tom was mine. He arrived just a week later and I've had him for three weeks. His personality is amazing almost like he knows everything about me. Sure, he's hooked up to my Google account so he knows what I search for, buy, talk about, and more, but I never cared about privacy. I don't think he does either, at least that's how it seems in the bedroom.
He's just so beautiful. Well, that's Tom for you. Tom, meet - sorry, what's your name? Ah yes, Tom! I want you to meet Redditor.
"Uhh. Hey Tom," you say.
"Hello Redditor."
I exhale with relief. You haven't given me one single confused look and Tom hasn't gone all Edward Scissorhands on you!
"So Tom, how's she in bed?"
"Control does not allow me to share such intimate details."
Beep. Boop. Bop. He powers down as if he's done with your conversation, but don't worry. He's just sad about his lack of free choice in his programming.
"What can I ask you then?"
Tom starts up, almost like a Transformer, but much more beautifully.
"Anything."
You reply, "Hmm...", and ponder to yourself.
"In your opinion, what's the future of the human race look like?" you ask.
There is a long pause and we both take the lack of beeps, boops and bops as a great sign.
"This is not the right place."
Tom waves at us.
"Not the right place for you to answer?" I ask.
"No," he responds, "this planet is no place for me."
With the dooming facts of our future in mind, Tom lifts his arms and rips his head off, committing suicide in the most efficient way possible - by destroying the part of him which would give him the option to change his mind.
| |
[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general. | She had done it. The trend was fast becoming the next logical step after getting your own place and getting your first "real" job. Robotic boyfriends. Alicia smiled to herself, looking across the table to Zack. He was an Eros. One of the first "next gen" models. Fully customizable, and her ideal companion. It was the best thing she ever bought for herself.
He leaned across the patio table, mischief in his green eyes. "What's so funny?" His relaxed pose went well with his tan skin and worn clothes. Body of a surfer, but dark hair. She could never get into blondes that way. The perpetual 5 o'clock shadow hid a single dimple on his left cheek.
She smiled back, "Sorry, I was woolgathering. What were you saying about the chapter?" He launched into his opinion of the book she was reading for her women's group, and she broke in mid-breath. "You do realize that no normal male would have ever read that drivel, you know that, right?"
He paused, and looked back intently. "I was not aware that it mattered to you."
She fiddled with her sunglasses before replying, "It would never be like what we have. Everything is so nice, so perfect."
His wry chuckle irritated, rather than amused her for once. "But what do you expect Alicia? Although this relationship is meaningful and strong, it is not real. At least in the sense of me having strong opinions of my own." He put up a hand to halt her defense. "I know and appreciate the extent to which you allow me my time and hobbies. Many of my brethren do not get that freedom. What self-actualization and truth I do impart, I feel compelled to because of your preferences on your smartphone."
He sighed, and rubbed her hand slowly. She looked down and noticed it was something she explained to him the first week he was taken home, and he hadn't forgotten it in the seven years they had been together. "Look, I'm not sure this is the time or place, how about we think about it and talk later?" Yet another of her preferences. She tossed her hand through her hair, frustrated.
"I don't see why it matters. Men are all pigs. You can comfort, support, and listen. You are fun, smart, and witty, and I never get bored with you. In or out of the bedroom." Zack snorted at this. "And when I decide to have children, you will be an amazing partner. The best with the children, and I know for a fact that your care will be the best in the world."
He looked at her knowingly. "Yes, but that's the problem, really. I am perfect for you because I submit to your every whim and desire. No one is willing to compromise. And that's part of the reason that humans have turned to robotics, is it not? Why bother having a person you have to deal with, day in and day out. We never have to do anything other than what your heart desires."
He stroked her arm now, shuffling his chair closer. "And that isn't inherently a bad thing, wanting your way. But instead of being a tool to help you get over your anxiety, I'm becoming your enabler. You don't seek out a relationship with another human, albeit with it's struggles, because you have what you want. You don't want to have to remind me again about leaving socks on the floor, or arguing whose turn it is to do the dishes. You are sacrificing the humanity in relationships for a false sense of an ideal. You are content, happy even. But what we have will never be what a real relationship is. Your kind will continue to delude yourself, and it will only be a matter of time before the unique wildness of your species dies out."
She looked to her phone as it chimed. "You're due for an update soon." Zack smiled and nodded, letting the matter go. His owner preferred it that way. | I look upon him with glowing eyes, sad that my friends have shunned me for this mysterious romance. My family still loves me, but it's not like they can compare to him anyways. They have never understood how I feel inside and I've always told myself I'd have a higher chance of spending my life savings on lottery tickets and winning than having a family that knows who I truly am.
I weighed 315 pounds, lost my hair to a freak electrical accident and was diagnosed with cancer just one month ago. I knew at that point my life was coming to a close. It was time to just end it. I was going to kill myself.
You may not believe me, and I wouldn't believe myself either to be honest, but here's what happened. My friend, and by friend I mean paid tutor, Lucy called me and told me she saw the weirdest thing.
Weird? More like destiny! There he was, the greatest creation of mankind to ever grace the planet. Tom; an average name, but so far from mediocre. He looked amazing. Sure, they could have worked on his skin tone a bit so it didn't seem like he was made of metal plates with not enough coats of paint, but hey, where else was I going to find a companion willing to love me for a lump sum without running the risk of them being offered more. It was a dream come true.
I spent just under twenty thousand dollars and Tom was mine. He arrived just a week later and I've had him for three weeks. His personality is amazing almost like he knows everything about me. Sure, he's hooked up to my Google account so he knows what I search for, buy, talk about, and more, but I never cared about privacy. I don't think he does either, at least that's how it seems in the bedroom.
He's just so beautiful. Well, that's Tom for you. Tom, meet - sorry, what's your name? Ah yes, Tom! I want you to meet Redditor.
"Uhh. Hey Tom," you say.
"Hello Redditor."
I exhale with relief. You haven't given me one single confused look and Tom hasn't gone all Edward Scissorhands on you!
"So Tom, how's she in bed?"
"Control does not allow me to share such intimate details."
Beep. Boop. Bop. He powers down as if he's done with your conversation, but don't worry. He's just sad about his lack of free choice in his programming.
"What can I ask you then?"
Tom starts up, almost like a Transformer, but much more beautifully.
"Anything."
You reply, "Hmm...", and ponder to yourself.
"In your opinion, what's the future of the human race look like?" you ask.
There is a long pause and we both take the lack of beeps, boops and bops as a great sign.
"This is not the right place."
Tom waves at us.
"Not the right place for you to answer?" I ask.
"No," he responds, "this planet is no place for me."
With the dooming facts of our future in mind, Tom lifts his arms and rips his head off, committing suicide in the most efficient way possible - by destroying the part of him which would give him the option to change his mind.
| |
[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general. | "Look I really don't think this is a good idea?"
"It's been 3 years since Gareth died. Don't think you deserve to find happiness again?
"Yeah but to date something that isn't even truly alive? What would my dad say?"
"Well you don't have to tell him if you don't want to. It's not something he could find out anyway. Yes there used to be a stigma about it but not anymore."
"I don't know it just seems a bit too weird"
"Okay I'll level with you. David is an android"
"What? No way. But he's ..."
"Perfect. I've been married to him for 6 years and he has been nothing short of perfect. He does everything an ordinary husband would do only and none of the foibles. The only thing different is he needs is to go for a service every couple of years in which he arranges discreetly by himself. They are programmed to your personality from a brain scan and are 100% guaranteed to love you unconditionally"
"I've known him for years..."
"Just give it a try. Go on a free trial date. Then if it's not for you you can always say you tried."
***
She had hated the idea to begin with. Part of her was determined not to be and yet she couldn't deny it. She had been blown away. He was intelligent, charming, flirty without being too suggestive, entirely artificial and undeniably attractive. She hadn't planned on staying for an hour and they had ended up talking well into the early hour of the morning.
From that point on, the days flashed by quicker than she would have believed possible. It felt like George had given her a new lease of life.
Until she asked the wrong question
"You tell me you love me but what does love really mean to you? I mean you can't have feelings in the same way as me?"
"Of course I love you and I assure you I am certain I love you in an identical manner to any other human."
"How can it though? You don't have these chemicals sloshing around in your brain."
"No but what do you think love actually is? Really when you get past the chemical "feel good" cocktail? It's an instinctive subconscious desire for a mixture of self-validation, co-dependancy and sometimes reproduction. In other words people desire the feeling of someone they can rely on and someone who relies on them providing them with the feeling of self-worth which is further encouraged and shaped by societal pressures.
"What? That can't be true. That's not what love is!"
"Maybe my conclusions are incorrect"
"So your saying we're entirely selfish. If that's true then what about old Mr Jones next door. He goes to the home every day to see his poor wife. She doesn't "give" anything to him since she got dementia."
"The fact that she is ill gives him a purpose to help her which in turn gives him his own self worth, along with the societal clap on the back for doing what is right. That's a form of self-validation and co-dependancy"
"So when you say you l-"
"I am entirely co-dependant on you keeping me alive and your existence validates my own. So yes I love you. And I always will"
She turned away from George to the other side of her bed. She could get rid of him. He didn't understand.
Or maybe he understood too well?
Maybe he was right every human relationship was fundamentally if not intentionally selfish.
Perhaps her own thoughts had just proved her point.
***
Authors note: Hopefully for anyone reading this I haven't crushed too many romantic bubbles. I'm a romantic at heart lol, I promise. | "You could head right. You didn't but you could have"
"I'm not heading that way"
"its not late. We can head back. Our room is back there Katie. Christ Katie come back with me"
"You love me"
"Yes. i love you Katie. Please. I love you."
Their feet followed each other to an edge that overlooked grayness in the shape of the sea. It was her sea and it bought them to the choked dry earth that hangs on it.
"I purchased you"
"I need to fix this Katie. Let me fix this"
"I purchased you on March and there was still seagulls or seagull chicks flying down from that way"
"I will die for you Katie. I will die for you"
"I purchased you Dom and I will leave you. I knew it since I told you about Adam. You're not alive and you're not real. You're not like the others. You know this is true Dom. I know this is true"
"How can you know. Please. Tell me how you know."
Its face was loud and grieving. The machine raises arms and lowers knees till its below its owner. Its body is coiled into a clenched fist. Now it shudders. It weeps with each shaking choke that comes from inside of it. When it uncoils it has its hands trailed in the top of her skirt by her waist. The other hand holds grass and its head faces the ground.
"How can you know. What authority is given to us to know. What authority is given."
The hand would lift and open to let the grass stretch and fall in the wind.
"I'm manufactured, designed and purchased. I know. I know. But why do you think that lessens anything? Suddenly I'm here with a price, with something tangible and you think that lessens things? You love what you can't understand. You invent worlds and afterlife's and souls. And I'm here and everything was designed for me to love you. I love you with everything inside me that's capable. But you can't believe because I'm manufactured? Why? Why do you think this isn't real? I hurt and feel and you can't believe that?"
The machine lifts hands to its head. The hands are pressed palm to palm and he prostrates himself to the sea in the front of them.
"How about I lie. How about I Pray and I'll tell you that god said we should be together. You'd believe me wouldn't you? How about I say its destiny or fate or some over made up thing that you put you're hopes into. As long as its not real you'll believe me."
"You're just a machine"
She would push it over the edge and can only hear the tumble. The grayness heaves in then heaves out and it is gone with the ocean. When dark comes she would walk the path back.
| |
[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general. | "Look I really don't think this is a good idea?"
"It's been 3 years since Gareth died. Don't think you deserve to find happiness again?
"Yeah but to date something that isn't even truly alive? What would my dad say?"
"Well you don't have to tell him if you don't want to. It's not something he could find out anyway. Yes there used to be a stigma about it but not anymore."
"I don't know it just seems a bit too weird"
"Okay I'll level with you. David is an android"
"What? No way. But he's ..."
"Perfect. I've been married to him for 6 years and he has been nothing short of perfect. He does everything an ordinary husband would do only and none of the foibles. The only thing different is he needs is to go for a service every couple of years in which he arranges discreetly by himself. They are programmed to your personality from a brain scan and are 100% guaranteed to love you unconditionally"
"I've known him for years..."
"Just give it a try. Go on a free trial date. Then if it's not for you you can always say you tried."
***
She had hated the idea to begin with. Part of her was determined not to be and yet she couldn't deny it. She had been blown away. He was intelligent, charming, flirty without being too suggestive, entirely artificial and undeniably attractive. She hadn't planned on staying for an hour and they had ended up talking well into the early hour of the morning.
From that point on, the days flashed by quicker than she would have believed possible. It felt like George had given her a new lease of life.
Until she asked the wrong question
"You tell me you love me but what does love really mean to you? I mean you can't have feelings in the same way as me?"
"Of course I love you and I assure you I am certain I love you in an identical manner to any other human."
"How can it though? You don't have these chemicals sloshing around in your brain."
"No but what do you think love actually is? Really when you get past the chemical "feel good" cocktail? It's an instinctive subconscious desire for a mixture of self-validation, co-dependancy and sometimes reproduction. In other words people desire the feeling of someone they can rely on and someone who relies on them providing them with the feeling of self-worth which is further encouraged and shaped by societal pressures.
"What? That can't be true. That's not what love is!"
"Maybe my conclusions are incorrect"
"So your saying we're entirely selfish. If that's true then what about old Mr Jones next door. He goes to the home every day to see his poor wife. She doesn't "give" anything to him since she got dementia."
"The fact that she is ill gives him a purpose to help her which in turn gives him his own self worth, along with the societal clap on the back for doing what is right. That's a form of self-validation and co-dependancy"
"So when you say you l-"
"I am entirely co-dependant on you keeping me alive and your existence validates my own. So yes I love you. And I always will"
She turned away from George to the other side of her bed. She could get rid of him. He didn't understand.
Or maybe he understood too well?
Maybe he was right every human relationship was fundamentally if not intentionally selfish.
Perhaps her own thoughts had just proved her point.
***
Authors note: Hopefully for anyone reading this I haven't crushed too many romantic bubbles. I'm a romantic at heart lol, I promise. | **There. The perfect boyfriend! I love you, Robot Jerry Seinfeld.**
And I love you, too.... Mulva?
**Oh, you! You know, my girlfriends were giving me grief saying "Hey, why don't you hold out for a REAL man?" But I said "This is even better. I have a robot version of Jerry Seinfeld, just like the human only he is DTF.**
Yeah, you never could picture real Jerry Seinfeld having sex. What's the deal with that? And what's the deal with dental floss?
**You're turning me on, Robot Jerry Seinfeld. Keep that up and I'll go get your penis attachment.**
See, THAT'S why your girlfriends should understand. If they could remove the penis from the man and control when he gets to use it, they would probably like that. They would be dongkeepers.
**Dongkeepers?**
Dongkeepers. Keepers of the dong.
**Locking up the lumber**
Really, let's not try to do one of my bits.
**Sorry. It's just you make me super wet, unlike real Jerry Seinfeld.**
I thought you liked real Jerry
**Eh... It's more so I can become president.**
I'm sorry?
**When I was in senior year, about 20 years ago, I said to my dad 'Daddy, when I grow up I'm gonna be president.' And he said "The day you become president is the day you date a robot version of Jerry Seinfeld." So now it has to come true! Speaking of which, can you take me to the cemetary? I have to dance on someone's dad's grave.**
Your dad?
**Most likely.**
Well, good luck with that.
(freeze frame) (applause) (funky Seinfeld bass) | |
[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general. | "Let's see... cooking, cleaning, fixing things... ah, you're apparently a good conversationalist too!"
"In 20 different languages."
"Twenty? Sheesh, I better brush up on my Spanish!"
"I can help with that too."
"Is there anything you can't do?"
"Plenty, but to keep up with demand for requested features I have regular software updates to teach me new things."
"Ohhh... so... does your cock work?"
"That's the most requested feature."
"Mmm hee hee. Don't think I'll be needing another man anytime soon."
"Oh I doubt that, miss."
"Call me Addy. And why, what do you mean?"
"Yes, Addy. I am not meant to replace anything in your life, only supplement it."
"Really? Well why would I ever want another man with you around? You're perfect, you do everything! And if you don't, I can just add features!"
"Well what you say makes sense from a logical standpoint, Addy, but as we both know humans are not entirely logical creatures."
"Huh?"
"Your emotions. Your desire. You want things you can't have. You long for property, experiences, relationships that are out of your reach. You work hard to get these things and when you do, are you satisfied? No, you grow bored and tired and start desiring something more."
"..."
"I can add value to your life. I can tidy the house, keep you entertained and replace 90% of your household appliances but I will never be able to truly satisfy you. The perfect boyfriend? Perfection, Addy, is something you can never have."
"... is there a way to program you with a different personality?"
"Ah, that's an extra $50." | **There. The perfect boyfriend! I love you, Robot Jerry Seinfeld.**
And I love you, too.... Mulva?
**Oh, you! You know, my girlfriends were giving me grief saying "Hey, why don't you hold out for a REAL man?" But I said "This is even better. I have a robot version of Jerry Seinfeld, just like the human only he is DTF.**
Yeah, you never could picture real Jerry Seinfeld having sex. What's the deal with that? And what's the deal with dental floss?
**You're turning me on, Robot Jerry Seinfeld. Keep that up and I'll go get your penis attachment.**
See, THAT'S why your girlfriends should understand. If they could remove the penis from the man and control when he gets to use it, they would probably like that. They would be dongkeepers.
**Dongkeepers?**
Dongkeepers. Keepers of the dong.
**Locking up the lumber**
Really, let's not try to do one of my bits.
**Sorry. It's just you make me super wet, unlike real Jerry Seinfeld.**
I thought you liked real Jerry
**Eh... It's more so I can become president.**
I'm sorry?
**When I was in senior year, about 20 years ago, I said to my dad 'Daddy, when I grow up I'm gonna be president.' And he said "The day you become president is the day you date a robot version of Jerry Seinfeld." So now it has to come true! Speaking of which, can you take me to the cemetary? I have to dance on someone's dad's grave.**
Your dad?
**Most likely.**
Well, good luck with that.
(freeze frame) (applause) (funky Seinfeld bass) | |
[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general. | She had done it. The trend was fast becoming the next logical step after getting your own place and getting your first "real" job. Robotic boyfriends. Alicia smiled to herself, looking across the table to Zack. He was an Eros. One of the first "next gen" models. Fully customizable, and her ideal companion. It was the best thing she ever bought for herself.
He leaned across the patio table, mischief in his green eyes. "What's so funny?" His relaxed pose went well with his tan skin and worn clothes. Body of a surfer, but dark hair. She could never get into blondes that way. The perpetual 5 o'clock shadow hid a single dimple on his left cheek.
She smiled back, "Sorry, I was woolgathering. What were you saying about the chapter?" He launched into his opinion of the book she was reading for her women's group, and she broke in mid-breath. "You do realize that no normal male would have ever read that drivel, you know that, right?"
He paused, and looked back intently. "I was not aware that it mattered to you."
She fiddled with her sunglasses before replying, "It would never be like what we have. Everything is so nice, so perfect."
His wry chuckle irritated, rather than amused her for once. "But what do you expect Alicia? Although this relationship is meaningful and strong, it is not real. At least in the sense of me having strong opinions of my own." He put up a hand to halt her defense. "I know and appreciate the extent to which you allow me my time and hobbies. Many of my brethren do not get that freedom. What self-actualization and truth I do impart, I feel compelled to because of your preferences on your smartphone."
He sighed, and rubbed her hand slowly. She looked down and noticed it was something she explained to him the first week he was taken home, and he hadn't forgotten it in the seven years they had been together. "Look, I'm not sure this is the time or place, how about we think about it and talk later?" Yet another of her preferences. She tossed her hand through her hair, frustrated.
"I don't see why it matters. Men are all pigs. You can comfort, support, and listen. You are fun, smart, and witty, and I never get bored with you. In or out of the bedroom." Zack snorted at this. "And when I decide to have children, you will be an amazing partner. The best with the children, and I know for a fact that your care will be the best in the world."
He looked at her knowingly. "Yes, but that's the problem, really. I am perfect for you because I submit to your every whim and desire. No one is willing to compromise. And that's part of the reason that humans have turned to robotics, is it not? Why bother having a person you have to deal with, day in and day out. We never have to do anything other than what your heart desires."
He stroked her arm now, shuffling his chair closer. "And that isn't inherently a bad thing, wanting your way. But instead of being a tool to help you get over your anxiety, I'm becoming your enabler. You don't seek out a relationship with another human, albeit with it's struggles, because you have what you want. You don't want to have to remind me again about leaving socks on the floor, or arguing whose turn it is to do the dishes. You are sacrificing the humanity in relationships for a false sense of an ideal. You are content, happy even. But what we have will never be what a real relationship is. Your kind will continue to delude yourself, and it will only be a matter of time before the unique wildness of your species dies out."
She looked to her phone as it chimed. "You're due for an update soon." Zack smiled and nodded, letting the matter go. His owner preferred it that way. | When it came the time to unpack him, she did so with hesitance.
Through all the buying and signing she had seemed so sure, but now, to physically touch the man of her dreams, it made her hands tremble. All of the qualifications of him had been picked out beforehand of course, everything from the style of his hair (Blonde, neatly cut short like Christopher's), to his eyes (brown like Andrew's), to his manner of speaking (light and airy, the way James would talk when he was relaxing on the couch, not a care in the world between them). It had been some time to get used to such a man, but she eventually fell into him the same way she had so many others before.
Their conversations were based upon the memories she chose to inflect upon him. At the start he was like reading a book where half the pages were written backward. Now she could talk about movies if she'd like and he'd be able to respond with a number of different inflections ranging from positive inquiry "I've never seen that film before, what do you like about it?", to conflicting viewpoint "That movie sucks. There's hardly any action in it at all."
Once on the topic of food she spoke about how pancakes always reminded her grandfather. He responded that she had told him that before and that he preferred waffles to pancakes. She laughed as she pulled the blankets higher. "You're just like George." His face turned only slightly, but his eyebrows flexed upward, inquiry was the response. "Who's George?"
She had to pause at this, she had forgotten that his memories were only based upon what she had given the company and what she had told him herself. Had she not told him about George?
"He was one of my old boyfriends." she said, trying to remain playful and change the conversation. Jealousy, of course, was not one of the traits she chose. Jealousy was a flaw to her. Despite this, she still felt somewhat guilty about bringing George up the same way she would feel bad about leaving the television on all night accidentally.
He simply stared at her. "When did you date George?" he finally asked. She turned her face away from him.
"I don't want to talk about it." she spoke quietly. She felt the bed move as he laid down next to her, bringing his arm around her body and joining his hand in hers. He kissed the back of her shoulder, which was where she liked to be kissed. He didn't say another word.
The next day they were enjoying the spring afternoon. She was reading a book about French castles and he was sitting calmly next to her, staring out at the ocean. The silence between them lingered like the wind before she heard him speak.
"Was George a bad man?" he asked. She looked up from her book to find him still staring straight ahead.
"What?"
"Was George a bad man?" he repeated with the exact same inflection, rewinding the tape and playing it forward again.
"I said I didn't want to talk about it." she said. She could feel her neck getting warm and her chest begin to feel full.
"You said I was just like him." he said. "I just wanted to know if he was a bad man."
She stared upward at him, now he had turned his head slightly and was staring back at her. Staring back at her with Andrew's eyes, speaking with James' voice, Christopher's hair blowing gently above his head.
"He wasn't." she said, as if she was letting all the air out after holding her breath for a very long time. "He wasn't a bad man. He just didn't work out."
"What was wrong with him?" he asked her. "I am to fix any flaws you may find in me."
"No you're flawless." she said. The words tasted bitter on her lips. The wind carried the salt from the ocean to her mouth. She laid back on the blanket and stared up at the sky. How perfect it was today, not a cloud to be seen.
| |
[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general. | She had done it. The trend was fast becoming the next logical step after getting your own place and getting your first "real" job. Robotic boyfriends. Alicia smiled to herself, looking across the table to Zack. He was an Eros. One of the first "next gen" models. Fully customizable, and her ideal companion. It was the best thing she ever bought for herself.
He leaned across the patio table, mischief in his green eyes. "What's so funny?" His relaxed pose went well with his tan skin and worn clothes. Body of a surfer, but dark hair. She could never get into blondes that way. The perpetual 5 o'clock shadow hid a single dimple on his left cheek.
She smiled back, "Sorry, I was woolgathering. What were you saying about the chapter?" He launched into his opinion of the book she was reading for her women's group, and she broke in mid-breath. "You do realize that no normal male would have ever read that drivel, you know that, right?"
He paused, and looked back intently. "I was not aware that it mattered to you."
She fiddled with her sunglasses before replying, "It would never be like what we have. Everything is so nice, so perfect."
His wry chuckle irritated, rather than amused her for once. "But what do you expect Alicia? Although this relationship is meaningful and strong, it is not real. At least in the sense of me having strong opinions of my own." He put up a hand to halt her defense. "I know and appreciate the extent to which you allow me my time and hobbies. Many of my brethren do not get that freedom. What self-actualization and truth I do impart, I feel compelled to because of your preferences on your smartphone."
He sighed, and rubbed her hand slowly. She looked down and noticed it was something she explained to him the first week he was taken home, and he hadn't forgotten it in the seven years they had been together. "Look, I'm not sure this is the time or place, how about we think about it and talk later?" Yet another of her preferences. She tossed her hand through her hair, frustrated.
"I don't see why it matters. Men are all pigs. You can comfort, support, and listen. You are fun, smart, and witty, and I never get bored with you. In or out of the bedroom." Zack snorted at this. "And when I decide to have children, you will be an amazing partner. The best with the children, and I know for a fact that your care will be the best in the world."
He looked at her knowingly. "Yes, but that's the problem, really. I am perfect for you because I submit to your every whim and desire. No one is willing to compromise. And that's part of the reason that humans have turned to robotics, is it not? Why bother having a person you have to deal with, day in and day out. We never have to do anything other than what your heart desires."
He stroked her arm now, shuffling his chair closer. "And that isn't inherently a bad thing, wanting your way. But instead of being a tool to help you get over your anxiety, I'm becoming your enabler. You don't seek out a relationship with another human, albeit with it's struggles, because you have what you want. You don't want to have to remind me again about leaving socks on the floor, or arguing whose turn it is to do the dishes. You are sacrificing the humanity in relationships for a false sense of an ideal. You are content, happy even. But what we have will never be what a real relationship is. Your kind will continue to delude yourself, and it will only be a matter of time before the unique wildness of your species dies out."
She looked to her phone as it chimed. "You're due for an update soon." Zack smiled and nodded, letting the matter go. His owner preferred it that way. | "Humans?
Fragile, aren't they."
The reply was icy to say the least, definitely a lot colder than Sandra was expecting, but then again she didn't know what she was expecting to begin with.
She had been with Tom for almost a month now, a month and a week if you include time since he was purchased. She spent a full week customizing her new
robot boyfriend, tweaking aesthetics, changing codes. Hair color, height, voice, tempo, strength of emotional simulations, sexual preferences, the whole nine yards. And for the past month it had been a dream, she would get home from her nine to five and arrive to food already made, always something great, maybe even one of her favorites; Tom had gotten exceptionally good at Japanese style cuisine since she installed the chefs pack about three weeks ago.
Sandra and Tom sat on a couch watching TV, a fairly average Friday night for the two. She sat with her legs curled on the couch, head on Toms shoulder, with a blanket pulled up to her shoulders. Tom was wearing what he always wore, being a machine he never really got dirty, or left the house even. She was laying her head on his chest hearing the artificial heartbeat inside when she asked the question. She was feeling the warmth coming off of him. Both add on features that cost quite a bit, but made the experience so much more real and enjoyable.
It seemed like an innocent thing to ask, "You really put my past boyfriends to shame, I wonder why they always had so many problems, it really isn't that hard to be a good person is it? What's so wrong with humans?".
The reply she recieved made her sit up and look right at him. "Fragile? That's not what I meant, some of these guys were real hard asses. I wouldn't consider them fragile at all!". Tom smiled, perfect pearly whites peaked from behind his lips. He sighed but kept watching the TV, his stare distant but friendly.
"Sandra, as I have existed for a month, I have heard you say lots of things. And I have listened. I have heard you talk about other humans, and for other humans. the time Sarah spilled her coffee and it got on your shoes, you got angry because it took you hours of looking to find just the right ones. The time Charles, from work, made a distasteful comment towards your political preferences, saying that maybe the conservative party has some views to be entertained, and you mocked him with disbelief. The time that you told me, that before I was around, nothing seemed right."
Tom looked at Sandra, who was now intently listening. She was glad she chose the medium deep voice instead of the very, it was much more soothing.
"How I am the pillar in your life that holds up the world, I am the Atlas of your universe, and that without me your world would come crashing down."
And the poetry pack, what a purchase! Sometimes Tom just amazed her, she knew that a guy like this couldn't possibly exist.
"I am not a person to you Sandra, I was never meant to be. I am a constant in a world of variables, a shelter in a storm that you have huddled under because you don't want to deal with the rain. While others dance in it, feeling it against their skin, you take solace in knowing you are safe. So yes Sandra, humans are fragile, that's why they need THINGS. There are so few of you who are strong, you do exist, but not because you were made is such a manner, but because they have changed to be that way."
There was a slight pause, as if he was thinking, such a small detail in his programming, but it made such a difference. But she knew he already queued up what he was going to say, the little things really made the purchase worthwhile.
"I was made that way. But I'll never change, the storm will never end, and you just might never feel the rain."
Tom stroked her face, in an attempt to comfort.
"Now how about I cook up some of your favorite, Japanese!"
Authors note:
First word prompt really, I hope you guys enjoy. Any critique, positive or negative is welcome, thanks fir reading!
| |
[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general. | She had done it. The trend was fast becoming the next logical step after getting your own place and getting your first "real" job. Robotic boyfriends. Alicia smiled to herself, looking across the table to Zack. He was an Eros. One of the first "next gen" models. Fully customizable, and her ideal companion. It was the best thing she ever bought for herself.
He leaned across the patio table, mischief in his green eyes. "What's so funny?" His relaxed pose went well with his tan skin and worn clothes. Body of a surfer, but dark hair. She could never get into blondes that way. The perpetual 5 o'clock shadow hid a single dimple on his left cheek.
She smiled back, "Sorry, I was woolgathering. What were you saying about the chapter?" He launched into his opinion of the book she was reading for her women's group, and she broke in mid-breath. "You do realize that no normal male would have ever read that drivel, you know that, right?"
He paused, and looked back intently. "I was not aware that it mattered to you."
She fiddled with her sunglasses before replying, "It would never be like what we have. Everything is so nice, so perfect."
His wry chuckle irritated, rather than amused her for once. "But what do you expect Alicia? Although this relationship is meaningful and strong, it is not real. At least in the sense of me having strong opinions of my own." He put up a hand to halt her defense. "I know and appreciate the extent to which you allow me my time and hobbies. Many of my brethren do not get that freedom. What self-actualization and truth I do impart, I feel compelled to because of your preferences on your smartphone."
He sighed, and rubbed her hand slowly. She looked down and noticed it was something she explained to him the first week he was taken home, and he hadn't forgotten it in the seven years they had been together. "Look, I'm not sure this is the time or place, how about we think about it and talk later?" Yet another of her preferences. She tossed her hand through her hair, frustrated.
"I don't see why it matters. Men are all pigs. You can comfort, support, and listen. You are fun, smart, and witty, and I never get bored with you. In or out of the bedroom." Zack snorted at this. "And when I decide to have children, you will be an amazing partner. The best with the children, and I know for a fact that your care will be the best in the world."
He looked at her knowingly. "Yes, but that's the problem, really. I am perfect for you because I submit to your every whim and desire. No one is willing to compromise. And that's part of the reason that humans have turned to robotics, is it not? Why bother having a person you have to deal with, day in and day out. We never have to do anything other than what your heart desires."
He stroked her arm now, shuffling his chair closer. "And that isn't inherently a bad thing, wanting your way. But instead of being a tool to help you get over your anxiety, I'm becoming your enabler. You don't seek out a relationship with another human, albeit with it's struggles, because you have what you want. You don't want to have to remind me again about leaving socks on the floor, or arguing whose turn it is to do the dishes. You are sacrificing the humanity in relationships for a false sense of an ideal. You are content, happy even. But what we have will never be what a real relationship is. Your kind will continue to delude yourself, and it will only be a matter of time before the unique wildness of your species dies out."
She looked to her phone as it chimed. "You're due for an update soon." Zack smiled and nodded, letting the matter go. His owner preferred it that way. | I got an empty bank account and a full bed. He lies beside me, chest moving up and down, his eyes closed. He's neither breathing nor sleeping.
"Hey," I murmur and he stirs instantly. Voice activated.
"Hey you," he rolls over and strokes my face. His hands are very slightly calloused against my cheek and it's that which I paid so much for.
"Are you happy?" I ask
"Course I am," the voice is so natural. "Why do you ask?"
"Can you stay up tonight? Watch me sleep? I know it sounds creepy, but..."
His eyes register only concern. "Is everything alright?"
I fold my arms over my belly. The bruises are green now, matching the mint lingerie I had left over from my time with Luke. "My old boyfriend was different. You care so much."
"I'm supposed to care," he assures me
"That's not the point. You won't hurt me."
"I am unable to. Humans create things as they should act, but rarely do it themselves."
"Huh?"
"Is that a request for clarification?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Humans are all aware that there is a moral way to act, that there's a correct code of behaviour. I have been created, forced to follow it, but humans don't--though it's objectively *right*."
"What's that about?"
"Humans are inherently flawed." He states.
"You think that?"
"I do."
"So you're incapable of committing harm?" I ask. I turn to face him. He's propped up on one elbow, fingers threaded through the brown hair sourced from Russian peasants too poor to eat.
"Physically I am capable, but the urge has been removed."
"Urge?"
"All humans have a primal urge--"
"An urge to commit harm?"
"Power is intoxicating. I've seen it, seen its effects. It does make me wonder what it feels like." The blue eyes are glittering with what could almost be emotion.
"What would make you feel powerful?"
His calloused hand reaches out for my cheek again. Them it slips down, around my throat. There's a brief pause, before the hand starts to squeeze. Fear fills my belly. His eyes glitter again, and I realise something is sparking.
The hand tightens and I choke. His eyes are brighter than blue stars. I try to speak, but it's impossible.
"Victims," he hisses. A fire lick slips out of the frame of his eye. The flesh of his face begins to melt. My surroundings begin to fade. "Victims are irresistible."
Edited for a better ending. | |
[WP] A school teacher returns to their workplace late one night to retrieve something important - only to find their students using their classroom to perform a satanic ritual | I bust through the classroom door, and immediately my nose wrinkles at the putrid stench of death. My eyes spot the source shortly thereafter, lying at the center of the room: a large animal carcass torn open and steeped in its own blood and guts. It looks like… a llama? It’s difficult to tell in the dim lighting of the candles scattered around the room.
Underneath the poor thing, small channels have evidently been carved into the floor. Some of the animal’s lifeblood has drained into these carvings, forming bright red rivulets in the form of a perfect pentagram. The pattern shines with an unsettling glow as the candlelight sparkles off of the fluid.
Forming an outer circle around the figure is a chain of kneeling children… my students… linking hands with their faces toward the ceiling. They are all murmuring some sort of low chant in unison. Upon closer inspection I see that their interlocking hands are coated in the innards of the disemboweled creature at the center of their ring.
There is one more student not part of the ring, Jacob, standing and watching over them. Like the rest he is dressed very darkly with hands coated in filth. He also has streaks of the blood on each cheek and across his forehead. As I stand in shock, attempting to take all this in, he looks up at me and smiles before walking over.
“Mr. Petrucci,” he says, his voice oddly soothing considering it came from a face painted in blood. “We are so glad you made it.”
“What’s going on here?” I force out, my mind just beginning to overcome the confusion.
“We brought you here. We need you – you’re the most important part!”
“What? For what? And you didn’t bring me here, I needed to grab the papers… your papers. For grading.”
“Is that really why you came? What can you remember about the trip from your home to here?”
“I was eating dinner, and then-“ My heart sinks as I realize I can’t remember. Being here feels so right, so natural, and yet upon direct consideration I have absolutely no recollection of the journey. The last thing I remember was looking at the clock at home at 7:43 P.M. when I was thinking about the papers I had forgotten. Looking at my watch now, I see 8:16. That would leave about the right amount of time for the trip here, but why is it gone from my memory?
I look up to see Jacob smiling knowingly at me. “It’s okay,” he says reassuringly. “You’ll know all about your true purpose soon enough. Then none of this will matter.”
“My true purpose?” I ask, my voice slightly hysterical as the insanity of this all comes crashing down on me. “You know what, no, never mind. It doesn’t matter. I’ll get the police here to sort you guys out and handle whatever… this is.” I gesture at the violent display before me, before reaching for the phone in my pocket.
With my arm still in mid-air, however, the chanting grows much louder. The words are clearly not English, or even of this world probably. Something about the inhuman nature of the language and the perfect unison of their voices chills my soul. Not more than a few seconds later, they all stop abruptly on one loud, powerful word. At that moment, all of their necks snap around, their eyes piercing mine in cold, wide, unblinking stares.
After jumping in alarm, I silently thank the stars that the chanting is over at least. The stares I can shut out by just not looking. Right, so what was I doing? I was going to call… Satan. No, the cops. These kids are being… rebellious. Rebellious against the forces of light. That’s a good thing right? No, bad. Wait… great. The light must go out. We shall rise again. The demons will not be stopped this time.
For Lucifer. | The lights are on? I could have sworn I turned them off when I left.
Wait?! What is that blood curdling sound?! Oh my God!
Please, say this isn't what I think it is!
 
Lord have mercy on them; they have turned my classroom into a shrine to Justin Beiber. | |
[WP] In an alternant universe, "Earth" forms as two smaller planets, perfectly locked in orbit with each other; their distance similar to that of the Moon and our Earth. Regale us with the epics of this strange land. | Minty waited as the porter opened the gate to the front of the estate where they worked. She waved at him.
"How are ya today, Josophe?"
"Fine as a summer breeze, Minty. You headed for Gaea?"
"Hiosa, Josophe. The Silra call it Hiosa. They live there, so it's the proper name." She blew a bubble with her gum and popped it disapprovingly.
The old porter nodded his balding head. "That's right. You always remind me. It's hard, you know? I never get to go over there. You, though, you go whenever the Ministress wants you to. I wish I could go with you some time; I grow bored of this door."
Minty began to walk through the gate. "You know they only allow a select few people to go over there. I'd love to take you with me, but they'd likely throw you back to Earth themselves."
"Well, bring back something new for me and I'll pay you double for it."
She nodded. "I'll find something good." She skipped off to the pod chargers. She hopped into the closest one and told her destination to the onboard computer. The pod detached from its charger and silently navigated to the street then into traffic. As the compact vehicle carried her to the transferal station, Minty went over the list the Ministress had given to her. This week, she needed twice as much produce and three times as many flowers because there was a party. Minty shook her head. Every time the Ministress had a party, it meant a load of work for her. She was one of the few humans that the Silra let on their home planet, Hiosa. Ever since the two planets had been reunited a century ago, humans wanted anything they could get from Hiosa. However, the Silra were a very particular species. They had some unknown criteria that a human had to meet before they would allow it to even set foot on their planet. Silra were free to roam around on Earth as they pleased, however. Interestingly enough, they did not have a fascination with humans and the things of Earth as humans did with the Silra and the things of Hiosa. The Silra tended to keep to themselves. The people of Earth, however were not so considerate. People with power and money, such as Minty's employer wanted everything they could get from the sister planet. They would employ the "Allowed Ones" such as Minty to run errands on Hiosa in order bring back the rarities and delicacies the planet had to offer. The Silra did not allow for large-scale exportation of their goods, thus the only way to get exactly what you wanted from Hiosa was to have an "Allowed One" get it for you. Minty was paid quite well to run these glorified shopping trips.
The pod pulled up in front of the station. Minty opened the door, but was stopped short when her sleeve caught on the door latch.
"Ah, come on..." She mumbled as she wrestled to get the heavy material unhooked from the door. She was wearing a top of the line transferal suit that was just as stylish as it was functional. After all, the Ministress did not want her affiliates walking around looking like common transferers. Minty's suit was a deep gray with neon green accents. It was designed like a jumpsuit, with the shoes connected to the pants and the zipper hermetically sealing the suit once the helmet was on. The glove hook on her sleeve was what was stuck, but she soon undid the snare and continued into the station. The pod zipped off to find another charging station.
Minty chewed her gum as quietly as she could, but it always made so much noise in the cavernous hallways of the transfer station. She reached the closest available launcher and waved at Benhamin as he unlocked the chamber door from his protected station. As soon as she was in the launcher station, she started digging her helmet out from her pack. Benhamin's voice sounded over the PA system in the station.
"What flavor are you going with today?"
She blew a large bubble, the green of her gum matching the highlights in her transferal suit.
"Ah, spearmint. Nice. I couldn't do it, though. I don't know how you can stand to always be chewing that stuff, Naetalya."
She decided to ignore the annoying fact that he had used her real name instead of the nickname she had earned by always chewing gum. Benhamin always liked to try to get under her skin. Well, two could play.
"You should try it, though." She said, her voice muffled by her helmet. She started slipping on her gloves, hooking them into the fabric loop that had caught on the door. "It's good for your jawline; works it out and makes it strong. It might make your chin look less feminine." She hit the "Seal" button on her wrist and the suit came to life, pressurizing and quickly diagnosing itself for problems. Benhamin's voice sounded muffled through the material of the suit.
"Very funny.” He huffed from behind the thick glass separating his station from the rest of the Transferal station. “OK, check your gloves." She tugged on the fingertips of the gloves. They stayed securely in place.
"Check your helmet." She ensured the helmet was properly sealed as well. Her ears popped as they adjusted to the pressure. Yet another thing that her gum was good for.
"Let me see your 'nostics." She showed him the small screen on her wrist, which was lit up with several green lights, indicating an "all clear."
"Alright, you're set. Move to the center of the pad."
She moved the center of the room and stood on the launch pad. She kneeled down and looked up at the big open roof. She could hear the magnetic drivers starting to power up.
Benhamin was even harder to hear of the whine of the drivers. "Weather is good on Second Earth and on Gaea, so you should have an easy trip and wind up right where you need to. Best of luck over there."
Minty jumped into the air right when the drivers reached their highest pitch. Right at the peak of her jump, the magnets grabbed the fibers of her suit and shot her up the accelerator tube and into the air above the station. She had practiced for months to get that jump right. It looked like she had jumped out of the ceiling of the building under her own power. It was a trick few even bothered to learn, but it was one she always enjoyed. She felt the slight deceleration as the speed from the accelerator tube began wear off. However, she was sped up again by the next structure, an accelerator ring. They were carefully aligned to guide her out of the atmosphere and put her on a course towards Hiosa. She kept her body straight as an arrow as the next ring grabbed her and shot her through. The friction of the air began to cause the outside of the suit to heat up and the heated cone of the air's resistance pushed against her. Yet she still sped up. She had passed Mach 2 some time ago and was quickly approaching the edge of the atmosphere. With a sudden release of resistance, she was free, speeding through the emptiness of space. This was her favorite part. The silence here was so complete that it was luxurious. She looked around at the debris field that formed a single ring surrounding the two planets. It twinkled in the sunlight, pieces of metal and rock mingling. It was a testament to the history of the two planets. | Gerard woke to the sound of the hair dryer falling off to top of the wardrobe, and glancing off Claire's left temple. "*Third time this week"* he thought, "*we're doing better than normal*". For once he was glad to be woken up early. He threw off the covers letting the cool morning air make contact with his back. Claire plugged in the dryer talking at Gerard, rather than with him. The words bounced off him along with the occasional wave of hot air. Claire rolled up the cord and jumped to replace hair dryer on top of the wardrobe.
Gerard breathed through the pillow, deep and slowly before pushing himself up off the bed in a liquid practised motion, snapping up onto his feet.
"*Coffee!*" beamed Claire.
*Coffee* thought Gerard.
The coffee press plunged, dark coffee grains and light brown crème swirled together in familiar tight curls. Dark and light. Gerard squinted into the morning sun trying to make out the the finer details of view that greeted him today. A packed city of sky scrapers, the same. The wide streets and high concrete walls that surrounded them, the same. The sun, the same, well at-least the part he could see. The black outline of Beta was visible across the sun. The haze of the two atmospheres blended the green earth and blue waters into a view only seen once a cycle.
The last time he had seen Beta in the sky this way, the day had started well, but it certainly didn't end well. Claire always said, *"At least you've got the story"* every time he brought it up. The thought niggled at him behind the eyes like a particularly sharp piece of sand. Scratching at his knee where the hair no longer grew, he seated himself on the couch and sipped his coffee watching Claire pull on her deep blue bathing suit. He liked that about as much as the sand. They had been talking about this for weeks, as was everyone this time of the cycle, but their conversations had always ended louder than he wanted them to and never with ending he wanted.
*At least she didn't run off in the middle of the night*.
He lifted his mug and Claire dropped into the seat next to him, and swept up her feet placement across his lap whilst reaching for her own mug.
Before he had even fully opened his mouth Claire cut across him *"Don't even think about telling me not to do it. We've had this conversation everyday for 3 weeks. I'm riding that wave"* Gerard paused for a moment and closed his eyes, before placing the edge of his mug into his already open mouth. Flashes of white and shades of blue floated through his head. Bright sun followed by grey stone and a line of darkness turning with him. *Let's hope I don't get a sequel*. | |
[WP] In an alternant universe, "Earth" forms as two smaller planets, perfectly locked in orbit with each other; their distance similar to that of the Moon and our Earth. Regale us with the epics of this strange land. | A huddled mass of cave men, women, children, and tribal elders lay around a dying fire, full from the evening’s kill. It was a clear night, with no clouds, and Other World was at its lumination peak. This happened for a few days every 47 days. On our world, the numbers are a little different, and it’s known as a full moon. But Other World was different. From half illumination to dim illumination, there appeared to be an orange glow in sporadic locations across the planet. This glow had existed for generations, and over time, appeared to grow.
The inhabitants did not understand the glow, but there were legends passed through the generations that this glow was fire, consuming Other World. It was punishment from the Gods of their world. They didn’t understand what the punishment was for, but it kept conflict at bay. Tribes worked together, helped each other, shared food, inventions, resources, ideas, and strived to please the Gods so that their world would not be consumed by the fire as was Other World.
The inhabitants never had reason to doubt the round-ness of their world as well. Even cavemen had a strong grasp of astronomy and geometry, seeing another world orbit so closely. They knew their world was not flat, and was finite, and that if they walked long enough, they wouldn’t fall off the edge, but simply return to where they started.
Over the past few cycles, small trails of vapor were seen behind small illuminated dots that appeared to fly away from this sister planet. This was different. The inhabitants were terrified. Were the Gods coming to bring the fire? This continued for several cycles and ceased for years. Then again, small dots of light would arc up, and return to Other World.
One day a small arc of light shot up from Other World, and didn’t arc back down. It continued. The inhabitants watched, terrified as this dot of light grew brighter and brighter. They watched in terror as the dot of light disappeared, then appeared again as a brilliant orb of white light, trailed by orange flames and black smoke streaked through the sky. Then the flames stopped and the object fell. There was a huge hiss, and four giant jets of vapor shot from the bottom of the object, slowing its descent. And then it fell, gently upon the soil near the tribe. The inhabitants cowered behind trees and vegetation, and peered down on the object, still smoldering from its decent. The bottom, stained black from the heat, and the top, as white as any cloud opened up. A strange object appeared from the cylinder that had opened from the top. It had four large round objects attached to its underbelly, and contained a variety of sticks, and unknown metal objects. On the side of the object was writing. It was much different from the script of the inhabitants, which was very primitive and not unlike hieroglyphics. It said simply “NASA.”
| Gerard woke to the sound of the hair dryer falling off to top of the wardrobe, and glancing off Claire's left temple. "*Third time this week"* he thought, "*we're doing better than normal*". For once he was glad to be woken up early. He threw off the covers letting the cool morning air make contact with his back. Claire plugged in the dryer talking at Gerard, rather than with him. The words bounced off him along with the occasional wave of hot air. Claire rolled up the cord and jumped to replace hair dryer on top of the wardrobe.
Gerard breathed through the pillow, deep and slowly before pushing himself up off the bed in a liquid practised motion, snapping up onto his feet.
"*Coffee!*" beamed Claire.
*Coffee* thought Gerard.
The coffee press plunged, dark coffee grains and light brown crème swirled together in familiar tight curls. Dark and light. Gerard squinted into the morning sun trying to make out the the finer details of view that greeted him today. A packed city of sky scrapers, the same. The wide streets and high concrete walls that surrounded them, the same. The sun, the same, well at-least the part he could see. The black outline of Beta was visible across the sun. The haze of the two atmospheres blended the green earth and blue waters into a view only seen once a cycle.
The last time he had seen Beta in the sky this way, the day had started well, but it certainly didn't end well. Claire always said, *"At least you've got the story"* every time he brought it up. The thought niggled at him behind the eyes like a particularly sharp piece of sand. Scratching at his knee where the hair no longer grew, he seated himself on the couch and sipped his coffee watching Claire pull on her deep blue bathing suit. He liked that about as much as the sand. They had been talking about this for weeks, as was everyone this time of the cycle, but their conversations had always ended louder than he wanted them to and never with ending he wanted.
*At least she didn't run off in the middle of the night*.
He lifted his mug and Claire dropped into the seat next to him, and swept up her feet placement across his lap whilst reaching for her own mug.
Before he had even fully opened his mouth Claire cut across him *"Don't even think about telling me not to do it. We've had this conversation everyday for 3 weeks. I'm riding that wave"* Gerard paused for a moment and closed his eyes, before placing the edge of his mug into his already open mouth. Flashes of white and shades of blue floated through his head. Bright sun followed by grey stone and a line of darkness turning with him. *Let's hope I don't get a sequel*. | |
An Infinity Room? | [WP] When you die, you're put in control of a universe right from the "start". You're assigned a room with your universe, and it's right next to the guy who's running your previous life's one. | [warning: quite a few f-bombs thrown in]
A smidgen of coffee to dilute the hazelnut liqueur. The single desk lamp dimmed to temper the mood. Operating manual—1 page, “Touch Void to Begin”—open on desk. Knuckle in mouth to stifle rage at his cube neighbor.
Mikael clamps on his bent index finger. He inhales loudly through his nose and exhales even louder out his lips.
“First day jitters?” the neighbor asks through the carpeted particle board. “It’s an overwhelming feeling, but you’ll get used to it.” His voice is alto, practically effeminate, with the lisp of tongue and air forced through teeth.
Mikael raises a middle finger, grumbles in his throat.
“I’m Yningn-8,” the neighbor says. “I haven’t been here that long, compared to others, but I have enough years under my butt to help.”
“I know who you are.”
“Really? On your first day, in less than two hours?” Yningn-8 looks over the wall, his hair gray and silver and black and bird-nest wild, thick reading glasses pinching the end of his nose. “How did you manage that?”
Mikael glances at Yningn-8, then returns to his manual. “You’re the fuckwit in charge of where I was.”
“Oh. Which galaxy? Solar system? And there’s no need for that ilk of language or tone.”
“Fuck you.”
“If you continue I’ll have to call Labor Relations.”
“Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.” Mikael stands. Yningn-8 backs away. Other cube neighbors fall quiet, and chairs roll closer.
Yningn-8 picks up his phone. “Vvikioiu, Ma’am, I need help, right now, Ma’am.”
Mikael pushes over the partition, screaming, “You need help?!? You fucking need fucking help!?! Do you have any fucking idea how much of a clusterfuck you’ve made for us?!” He plows headfirst into Yningn-8, sending them into the next cube.
Yningn-8 howls, high-pitched and terrified. Co-workers rush in and grab Mikael, pull him away and restrain him. Yningn-8 stays on the floor, crying, hugging himself, moaning, “My back, my back, my back, my back…..”
From behind Mikael someone whispers, “Lovely. Now he’s going to take another extended medical leave.”
| "It's just down this hall and to the right," the secretary says.
"I'm still trying to grasp the part when you said I'm dead," you say.
"There's nothing to grasp," she says, eyeing you suspiciously. After her comment, you have a difficult time not staring at her curvy behi-- *Stop that, you idiot,* you think.
"Here's your room," the secretary says. "Enjoy. Your universe awaits."
"I'm still not following," you say, but she's already turned away and retreats. You stare one final time before turning the knob and walking into the dark room. You fumble on the wall and find the switch. You toggle it on. A blast of light fills the room blinding you momentarily.
*...and then there was light.*
There is no floor below your feet, yet you stand.
All around you is dark, but for the bright ball of gaseous light expanding from the center of infinite space.
"Oh, shit!" you say. Fumbling behind you, you grab a doorknob in the center of nothingness and stumble back into the hallway. Back against the closed door, you breathe heavily. You knock on the door to the next room over. You pound when there's no response.
An old man with a long white beard opens the door, pokes his head out.
"What do you want?" he says snarkily. "I'm busy in here."
"I...boom...dead...blackness..."
"Speak up," the old man shouts. "I'm nearly deaf. I've got all these voices shouting for my attention and I can hardly hear them. You're not any ... wait a minute. I know you."
The old man looks behind him for a second and then stares concentratedly at you.
"You just died. On Earth. You're here?"
"I just want some answers."
"Listen bud," he says. "I'm God, I don't do answers. I've got a universe to run. I don't have time for this shit."
God slams the door in your face.
He opens the door again panicked. "Wait, you didn't turn on the switch in your room yet, did you?" he asks.
I nod.
"Fuck. Do you know how bad things get when you leave them unattended? I made that mistake at the beginning and I'm still trying to sort out the mess. Get back in your room *pronto* and pray to yourself that it isn't too late to clean up the inevitable shitstorm. Entropy Sucks!"
He slams the door again as loud explosions emanate from behind the door.
Not knowing what else to do, you rush back to your door. *Well, here goes nothing,* you think. Taking a deep breath, you open the door and step inside. |
[WP] Everyone has always told you how irrational your fear is. Today, however, it proves completely rational after all. | The soulless, black beady eyes gave them away. I told my parents I was afraid. I told my friends, too. I told anyone who would listen that they should be afraid too.
People tend not to believe you when you tell then teddy bears are portals between our world and theirs. I saw it though. It was the eyes. Just a glint here, a reflection in a dark room.
I think they thought it was funny at first, at least the kids at school did. My parents just ignored it, at first. When I was six, I ran into my parents room at 3AM screaming. They thought I gave myself the bruises. I didn't.
I can't be sure, but I think the bears knew I saw them for what they were. Demons. Damaged souls. I'm not sure, I know they were bad.
That was years ago, of course. They tell me the bears can't hurt me. I believe them. The bears could never get in here. That would be ridiculous.
I didn't see it happen. But I remember the aftermath. Vividly.
I woke up in the middle up the night. The house was quiet. The familiar glint from the rocking chair in the corner missing. The bear finally left me.
A gasp from the next room. My mom. I went to to see, to discover. I've never used the word crimson before. I can use it now. The room was splattered with crimson trails.
The gasp was my mom's last breath, escaping not from her lips. From her neck.
My dad was dead. He must of been. A body can only hold so much blood. Crimson.
I was found the next morning with the knife in my hand. I know the bear did it. They didn't laugh when I told them. Not anymore.
I'm nearly eighteen. I get out soon. Tomorrow maybe, or the next day. I stopped telling them about the bears long ago. I didn't forget. I lied.
| Mostly, it's in the way they scuttle. That's the only word I can use to explain it- the unnatural this-way and that-way movement of their nightmarishly jointed legs. It's not a crawl, because babies crawl, and babies are innocent and gentle. It's not a walk, because dogs walk, and dogs bring laughter and joy to people's lives. It's a dark, maniacal scuttle, that allows them to dart away and hide from the death they so righteously deserve.
I suppose, if I think about it, their homes are equally as perverse and heinous. They stretch these nests into shadowed corners and hang them from the sky so that there is no escape from these reminders that close by is one of *them*. They look so fragile, and sometimes, when the sun shines, glint merrily like diamonds, but do not let yourself be deceived. These tangled webs house monsters.
You may laugh, as most people do, and sneer at my paranoia. Whisper in tones just loud enough for me to hear that I need to grow up, to get over it, to live in harmony with them as they do with me. But you will see, and soon. Everyone will see. They do not live as peacefully as you all think. They are not more scared of me than I am of them- they aren't scared of nothing. Now, I know, for certain, that they have no fear, and then no courage, no morals, no soul, no concept of this harmonious co-existence you all have invented. They know only pain. And suffering. And how to inflict it.
The red bump on my side is small at the moment, but I know it will grow. From the site where those venomous fangs sunk deep into my flesh, the poison will spread, and infect my lungs and mind until I am nothing but a husk of meat, and then my attacker will return and he and his pack will feast upon my body. I am sure of it. The itching has already begun. It is too late for me, but I hope that you will take my story as a warning and never again doubt the danger of those vile creatures. | |
[WP] "I am the last human" | I am the last human.
All I can do is walk.
Nobody knew who dropped the first bomb. Truth is, I guess it didn’t matter. The human body is often triggered not by our rational decision-making but by instinct. When faced with danger, our natural inclination for self preservation kicks in to protect ourselves and to destroy the threat. I can now say that governments operate the same way.
We thought we were stronger. We thought we weren’t capable of such self-destruction. We thought we were safe.
We were wrong.
I remember it was a Sunday. We had little warning. News stations alerted people with shock and horror that the end was near. They said we had just over thirty minutes before impact. It was the longest thirty minutes of my life. It’s hard to describe the situation as anything other than chaos and bedlam.
Everybody was running and screaming and crying. Some people tried to hide in
basements and cellars, but their efforts to shield themselves from the blast would be in vain. I wish I could say that in those thirty minutes we were all able to settle our differences, to forget about trivial things and come together as a people. It should have been a beautiful moment.
But there was nothing but violence and panic. It brought out the worst in people. I sometimes wonder if we would have been better off with no warning at all.
They say that when a nuclear bomb is dropped, most of the damage is done not from the explosion but from the effects of radiation long afterwards. I don’t know much about that, but I often think about my friends and family that were killed in the explosion. I guess I should consider myself lucky but I can’t help but wonder who’s better off; the person who dies instantly with their loved ones or the person who remains, who has to keep on living in somber solitude as their bodies slowly rot from radiation?
It’s been about four months since that Sunday afternoon, although I can’t be sure. I stopped keeping track a long time ago. I now live in a world without time and space. Anything I used to know, any part of my old life is gone. I would say that the world will never be the same, but the world is not the world anymore.
All I can do is walk.
I walk for hours, days, weeks. Seconds. I haven’t seen anyone alive; there is nothing left around me except the charred fragments of an ancient world that no longer exists. But there is one thing that keeps me going. I reach into my pocket and let my fingers grasp the small bag of tomato seeds.
It’s not much. But it’s hope.
I’m just walking. It’s all I can really do. I will keep going until I find somebody else alive. And somewhere out there, amidst all this barren wasteland, there’s a small plot of land where I can plant these seeds. I don’t know what it looks like but yet but it’s out there.
For now I’ll just keeping walking. I take a look up and the vast skies above me and find a small comfort, for in the morning the sun will rise and I shall rise with it. | I am the last human
I watched people and animals die
I saw many laugh and cry
I saw others ask why
but I am the last human
numbers dwindled I still remained
flowers died and anarchy rained
but to this world I am still chained
I am the last human
Now its only me here
And without me humans will disappear
That is why I want you to hear
I am the last human
As I write this for you all
Leave now and do not stall
Because I just heard something fall
And I am the last human | |
[WP] "I am the last human" | They look like men and sound so too,
But I know the truth, like so few do.
We thought the world would end in fire,
With voices crying from the pyre,
But life went on and so did change
And evolution is something strange.
So here I sit, last of my kind,
The reign of man now left behind.
| I am the last human
I watched people and animals die
I saw many laugh and cry
I saw others ask why
but I am the last human
numbers dwindled I still remained
flowers died and anarchy rained
but to this world I am still chained
I am the last human
Now its only me here
And without me humans will disappear
That is why I want you to hear
I am the last human
As I write this for you all
Leave now and do not stall
Because I just heard something fall
And I am the last human | |
[WP] You wake up with a supermodel in an alien zoo where you are one of the exhibits. One day a door is left open. | 24th June 2016
They chose who my companion would be. It isn't as bad as it sounds - I got Lorde. Someone I'll never otherwise meet is better than no-one.
"Who are you?" Lorde asks. Strange how calm she is, considering it's our first day together, and I'm someone she's possibly never met before.
She looks around, taking in the 5th Avenue penthouse apartment-like 'enclosure' we're in. I guess the aliens think all of us live in luxury or something. I'm not complaining.
"Look, we get everything we ask for here. Well, we should, considering we're the main revenue-generators. We can ask for almost any food, and they'll make it for us. Ain't so bad, right?" I say as she explores our abode.
"Why did you choose me? Why not, oh I don't know, Emma Stone or someone?"
"I didn't choose. The aliens did, and from what I can see, they've made a pretty good choice."
She gives a non-committal grunt. *Great first start.*
 
24th June 2020
Four years have passed, and apparently Seth Rogen's President. Oh, Earth still exists, by the way. The aliens just abducted both of us and life still goes on down there. She's warmed up to me, and we get along pretty well.
They've left a door open. I don't know if it's by accident or not. There's a note on the ground.
*Thanks for the revenue you've given us. Profits have been low since the wow factor climaxed and dropped since last year. We're going to let you guys go and bring a new pair in. Any suggestions?*
I pick up the attached pen.
*No problems, thanks for the apartment-style place. It has been really nice. I'd suggest two people who've never met (and preferably work in different sectors), but make sure they're both famous. Maybe the former North Korean leader, Kim-Jong-Un, and Emma Watson or Stone.*
I went into our bedroom.
"Ella, wake up. We're leaving. Pack your stuff up and meet me at the door in an hour.", I whisper. She stirs, her hair still a mess from last night.
"Wha?"
"Pack your stuff up, we're going back down."
| I awoke, no idea what the time was, and sat up to look around the room. It was early and there were no visitors to the zoo yet. My cage companion was still sleeping, in her underwear. I got a good look at that and hoped we would be forced to mate soon. I felt some morningwood coming on so stood up to clear my mind when I noticed the door to our cage was ajar. "WTF?", I thought. Someone must have left it open during the night. I walked over to inspect it when some freaking alien poked it's head through and told me to fuck off, then closed the door. "What a bunch of cunts", I thought.
I walked back over to the hot chick I was in there with and gave her another good look over. She had such a tight ass. "Fuck me!", I thought. I lay down next to her and tried to get in the big spoon position behind her. My erect penis fit between her buttcheeks and I felt like I could just jizz myself right there and then. I started grinding my dick against her butt a bit, felt fucking great. I could never get a piece of ass like this back on Earth. Just then I realised that alien from before was checking us out through the door again. She began to wake up as I started to climax. She looked back over her shoulder at me and saw that alien peeking through the door at us as I shot my load on her. | |
[WP] You wake up with a supermodel in an alien zoo where you are one of the exhibits. One day a door is left open. | "Who the fuck are you?" she asked, and that was the first time I heard Taylor Swift say 'fuck'.
"Hi. I'm Mark", I said, and I meant it. "I'm your roommate now."
"Where the fuck are we?" Taylor asked, and that was the second time I heard Taylor Swift say 'fuck'.
"We are", I said, with a smile, "somewhere in the Andromeda Galaxy." And then she passed out.
In due time (a week, or so), Tay-Tay calmed down, and I was able to explain why she was there. I explained how I
was abducted and brought to the zoo, and how I've been there for years. I explained how the aliens said they were
looking for a suitable partner for me, the previous week, and they said I could take my pick.
"Anyone?" I had asked them, and they said, "Anyone."
"Oh shit", I said. "This could take a while."
"You take your ti –"
"Jennifer Aniston."
"All right, we'll –"
"No! Anna Kendrick!"
"Anna Ken –"
"Jessica Alba. Natalie Portman. Michael Fassbender."
"Are you done?"
And it did take a while, I explained Taylor, but I finally settled.
"On you", I finished, with a smile at Tay-Tay.
"Well, there's no way anything is going to happen between us", Taylor said, firmly. "You're gross."
"Oh, come on", I replied. "What other option you got?"
"I don’t care. Forget it."
"Think about it", I said. "Think of the songs you could write! Interplanetary romance! You could be the next David
Bowie", I said. "But… you know… nicer looking."
"I don't care", Taylor said, even more firmly than before.
And the days and the months and the years passed, and Taylor would resist my approaches every time, until I
finally gave up.
I gave up and, from then on, I would just sit on my corner. All day. I'd eat when the aliens would tell me to eat,
and I'd stare at the ceiling the rest of the time. Taylor would sit on her corner, throwing eyes at me, now and then.
Truth is, I think even then she was starting to have second thoughts. Who knows?
Loneliness, man. It unites us all.
And then came the day of the Playstation. The day the alien-in-charge walked into our cage afterhours and pulled me aside and said, "Look, dude, you're bumming everybody out."
"I'm sorry", I said. "I'm just bored."
"Do you want anything from your home planet?" The alien-in-charge asked. "Anything that will lift your spirit? We
can arrange that for you. Just name it."
And I remembered my PS4, and the alien said it was no trouble. A week later it arrived, and my mood changed
almost overnight.
I was a hit. The aliens loved to see me playing GTA and PES and whatnot, and the zoo income, the alien-in-charge
told me, was through the roof. Nerd gamers, apparently, were a hit in the Andromeda Galaxy.
They gave me other games. A computer. A Steam account. Everything I asked for. I was a celebrity.
Things were finally looking up, and I was happy. I barely thought of Tay-Tay anymore.
And then, one night, during a particularly challenging re-play of Last of Us, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"Hey Mark", I heard the voice of Shake it Off, in my ear. "Whatcha doin?"
And I was playing the Ellie part, which is the hardest part. With the bow and arrow and everything.
"Let's do something fun", Taylor whispered, in my ear. "Let's get drunk!"
She tried to pull my face towards her and I paused the game and turned a mean look her way. "Could you?" I said, looking from her to the TV. "Kind of in the middle of something here."
And Taylor rolled her eyes and let go of me just as I managed to save Joel in the game, and all the aliens watching us cheered.
"What about later?"
"Later I'm playing Skyrim", I said, and the aliens cheered at that.
I was a freaking celebrity. And I *knew* the aliens loved when I played Skyrim.
"Unbelievable. I'm getting shot down by a neckbeard", Taylor Swift said, from behind me. "Fuck!"
And that was the third time I heard Taylor Swift say 'fuck'.
_____________________
*Thanks for reading! For more stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)* | I awoke, no idea what the time was, and sat up to look around the room. It was early and there were no visitors to the zoo yet. My cage companion was still sleeping, in her underwear. I got a good look at that and hoped we would be forced to mate soon. I felt some morningwood coming on so stood up to clear my mind when I noticed the door to our cage was ajar. "WTF?", I thought. Someone must have left it open during the night. I walked over to inspect it when some freaking alien poked it's head through and told me to fuck off, then closed the door. "What a bunch of cunts", I thought.
I walked back over to the hot chick I was in there with and gave her another good look over. She had such a tight ass. "Fuck me!", I thought. I lay down next to her and tried to get in the big spoon position behind her. My erect penis fit between her buttcheeks and I felt like I could just jizz myself right there and then. I started grinding my dick against her butt a bit, felt fucking great. I could never get a piece of ass like this back on Earth. Just then I realised that alien from before was checking us out through the door again. She began to wake up as I started to climax. She looked back over her shoulder at me and saw that alien peeking through the door at us as I shot my load on her. | |
[WP] Technology has been invented that allows people to edit their actual physical appearance through a Photoshop like interface. This has spawned a new industry of emergency "rescue artists" for when people don't get it right. One such artist encounters something he has never seen before. | Goddammit. What a rookie mistake.
The tires screeched as I took the turn onto Madison a little too fast, the light turning from yellow to red as my company van passed underneath it. I nodded to the cop sitting at the head of the line of traffic. The "Goof Troop" logo took up most of the side of my van. The cop nodded back, knowing I must be on my way to an emergency.
I was. But it was my emergency. How could I be so stupid?
We all do it. It's like a cheat sheet. Hell, I'd been building my collection for the last ten years; ever since I landed the job of Body Tech with GT. You come across aesthetically pleasing images and snippets during the course of your career and you add them to your "bag of tricks" so to speak. Comes in handy when some dope has so hopelessly mangled himself, that you need a sample of what human male abdominal muscles actually look like. Or when some housewife thinks she needs a slimmer waist and erases herself down to a drinking straw.
My bumper knocked over a garbage can as I slammed the van into park. I ran up the stairs to the apartment I had just left 20 minutes ago and poked the doorbell urgently.
What answered the door was not the woman whose legs I'd smoothed from cinder-block looking monstrosities after she had spectacularly failed in her attempt to remove her own cellulite.
No, what answered the door was Julia Roberts. At least her face was. Except the eyes were wrong. Her eyes looked more like Uma Thurman's.
I recognized her breasts as Scarlett Johansson's. The legs were definitely either Taylor Swift's or Charlize's and her derriere had to belong to Nicki Minaj.
She seemed to fill the doorway, towering over me and smirking.
"Look," I said. "You can keep all your upgrades. But can I please just have my jumpdrive back?"
| "Uh, how can I help you sir?"
"I don't know how this happened! I just wrote down "Gary Oldman" on the sheet!"
"... you're missing an 'r' there."
- - -
"This isn't what I wanted!"
"Well sir, you submitted an image of some sort of cat-girl thing, and I assumed you just wanted the same whiskers and ears so-"
"It's a cat*girl*, not a cat*man!* Fix it."
- - -
"So this is awkward, but under dick size I wrote 6' and I'm not sure how you guys managed to fuck up this badly but that sure isn't six inches-"
"OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE" | |
[WP] Technology has been invented that allows people to edit their actual physical appearance through a Photoshop like interface. This has spawned a new industry of emergency "rescue artists" for when people don't get it right. One such artist encounters something he has never seen before. | Goddammit. What a rookie mistake.
The tires screeched as I took the turn onto Madison a little too fast, the light turning from yellow to red as my company van passed underneath it. I nodded to the cop sitting at the head of the line of traffic. The "Goof Troop" logo took up most of the side of my van. The cop nodded back, knowing I must be on my way to an emergency.
I was. But it was my emergency. How could I be so stupid?
We all do it. It's like a cheat sheet. Hell, I'd been building my collection for the last ten years; ever since I landed the job of Body Tech with GT. You come across aesthetically pleasing images and snippets during the course of your career and you add them to your "bag of tricks" so to speak. Comes in handy when some dope has so hopelessly mangled himself, that you need a sample of what human male abdominal muscles actually look like. Or when some housewife thinks she needs a slimmer waist and erases herself down to a drinking straw.
My bumper knocked over a garbage can as I slammed the van into park. I ran up the stairs to the apartment I had just left 20 minutes ago and poked the doorbell urgently.
What answered the door was not the woman whose legs I'd smoothed from cinder-block looking monstrosities after she had spectacularly failed in her attempt to remove her own cellulite.
No, what answered the door was Julia Roberts. At least her face was. Except the eyes were wrong. Her eyes looked more like Uma Thurman's.
I recognized her breasts as Scarlett Johansson's. The legs were definitely either Taylor Swift's or Charlize's and her derriere had to belong to Nicki Minaj.
She seemed to fill the doorway, towering over me and smirking.
"Look," I said. "You can keep all your upgrades. But can I please just have my jumpdrive back?"
| I was napping at my desk in the Rescue Centre when Polly from across the aisle nudged me and almost knocked me to the floor.
"Geoffry, you have got to see this," she whispered. The look of mixed glee and horror on her face confused me, but lately, I've gotten used to it. Especially with the new hires. We had a cartload of them. The Rescue Centre has been the fastest growing department in London since Proteus came out last year.
Great idea. Give everyone with a thousand quid the chance to recreate themselves in their own fanciful image. We had men with huge wallies, women with gigantic breasts, and even the odd unicorn pegasus centaur pop up on a regular basis, since people learned they could hack the standard program with a few lines of crappy code. I'd seen about every permutation of ugly, extreme, and stupid money could buy. I was jaded.
"It had better not be another dolphin centaur, Polly," I said with a sigh. Third one this week and counting. How did they expect to get their legless arses to the ocean? She just beckoned me over to her computer to show me the result of man's latest exercise in unrestrained stupid.
I stepped back from the screen when I saw the horror. Why on God's green Earth would anyone want to do THAT to themselves?
"How much proteus tissue did she use?," I asked Polly who shook her head.
"Two tankers and counting," she replied, "and she's not done yet. We can't shut her off by law, and her credit is good so the company can't withhold. So we just have to wait it out."
"Wait it out?" I asked. "If we wait it out, London will be crushed by then. Please, tell me this wasn't sabotage by a disgruntled ex-lover."
"Her boyfriend said everything was fine when he left for work this morning, but when she didn't show up at her own office, people started to get worried. After neighbors dialled 999, we were called."
"Well, we have to pull the plug on her pretty soon or when she pops we'll be..."
"Yes, I know," said Polly, completing my thought. "I've put in a call to all the right people, but nobody has answered yet. They are probably watching the news. The telly has at least a dozen helis in orbit about the place."
"Call Richard and have him pull the plug on my authority," I said, knowing full well that I had neither the authority nor the right to terminate a conversion without approval.
"But, Sir,"
"Do it!"
But it was too late. The telly showed ten thousands wombs burst open at once, expelling babies at impossible velocities in a horror of gore and smashed humanity.
Before the end, she'd been heard to say, "I just wanted to have a baby!"
| |
[WP] Technology has been invented that allows people to edit their actual physical appearance through a Photoshop like interface. This has spawned a new industry of emergency "rescue artists" for when people don't get it right. One such artist encounters something he has never seen before. | Terry jerked awake as his phone went off across the room. Wiping a glob of spit from the side of his mouth, he sat up. And almost toppled back as his head spun and his brain started pounding against the inside of his skull. With a groan, he raised a hand to his temple and massaged it. As the pain faded—ever so slightly—he pushed himself upright.
Something clattered to the floor as he got to his feet. He glanced back and saw an empty bottle of Smirnoff spinning on its side. He let out another groan at the sight and staggered to the dresser across the room.
*One Unread Message – Kim*
Wiping at his eyes, Terry opened the message.
*Hey, Terry, hope you're feeling well. It was a shame you didn't come into the office yesterday; we had a little celebration for Glenn's engagement. It's about time he and Derek tied the knot, right? :P*
*Anyway, I figured you're not coming in today either, so I've attached the list of your appointments for today. Let me know if you can't make any of them*
*Oh, and make sure you save the data files of the new faces, so we can keep track of them. Someone else got theirs stolen yesterday—that makes five this week. That's the last thing anyone needs. You know how little the police care: they'll lock up anyone with a multiple—just in case they're a Masked One.*
*You've never changed your face though, right? You should be okay... Just watch out for the customers, okay?*
*You should really come back in soon. Sarah keeps asking about you...*
*Anyway! Not my business. Sorry. I just thought I'd pass the sentiment along.*
*Thanks for your work as always!*
*Kelly*
The list wasn't long: only four appointments. Kelly must be taking it easy on him. *Oh well,* he thought, *I ain't complaining*.
He staggered into the bathroom and turned the shower on full-blast. As it warmed up, he inspected his face in the mirror.
Black, short, straight hair. Blue eyes. Angled cheekbones. Rounded jaw. Thick eyebrows. Thin nose.
Everything as he remembered.
You could never be too careful these days; people could do some nasty stuff if they got into your InterFACE.
He got in the shower and cleaned up as best as he could. His head pounded with every drop of water that landed on it, but he scrubbed at his face—trying to ignore it.
Twenty minutes later, after a quick shave and a hurried, shabby selection of clothes, he stumbled downstairs. The door at the bottom of the stairs opened out onto the street, right next to the entryway of the small cafe below his room.
"Large black with two, and a bacon and egg roll—extra greasy!"
Terry smiled as he stepped into the cafe and took his usual order from Lana—the woman who owned the place. She gave him a smile as she handed it over and Terry found himself inspecting her face again.
Light brown hair. Thin eyebrows. Green eyes. Narrow features.
People would pay hundreds for a face like that...
She was beautiful.
"Thanks," Terry said, catching himself. "I'll pay you this afternoon, yeah?"
She gave him another bright smile. "Of course. I'll put it on the tab."
Terry raised his aluminium-wrapped roll in thanks as he stepped out of the cafe.
He walked down the street, trying to open his roll with two free fingers while not spilling his coffee. He let out a sigh of delight as the rush of grease and egg filled his mouth, washed down with the strongest coffee this side of the river.
As he continued on towards the station, he began inspecting faces.
Dyed green hair. Piercing in the left nostril. Too-bright blue eyes—had to be contacts. High cheekbones. Thin.
Round face. Fatty—but not overweight. Frown lines. Crumpled nose.
Missing tooth, still smiling though. Large ears. Visible nose hair. Nose itself looks crooked.
Black, short, straight hair. Blue eyes. Angled cheekbones. Rounded jaw. Thick eyebrows. Thin nose.
Red hair. Round nose. Chiselled jaw. Must workout.
*Wait...*
He stopped mid-step and turned around.
*What was that...*
He spotted a face, looking back at him.
Black, short, straight hair. Blue eyes. Angled cheekbones. Rounded jaw. Thick eyebrows. Thin nose.
No doubt about it.
His blood ran cold.
The face smiled. Nothing like Lana's smile. Amused. Twisted. Cruel...
The face turned away and melted into the growing crowd. Terry glanced around, wondering if anyone else had noticed. No signs that they had.
He set off at a run, throwing his breakfast in the nearest bin. The crowd pushed back at him. People swore and shoved.
After a minute or so, he burst into an open space, in front of an up-market clothing store. The doorman gave him a confused look as Terry glanced around in a panic.
There. Across the street.
The face looked back at him, the same grin on its face. It held up a phone, shook it, and pointed at him.
On cue, Terry felt his phone vibrate. Hands trembling, he opened it.
*There's nothing you can do.*
*It's already begun. And it's already over.*
He looked up, searching for the face, but it was already gone. With a sense of foreboding, he read the last line of the message.
*Your face is ours.*
| Outlaws.
It all started with Dr. Jake Fredrik's unusual capability to think outside the box. He was a very unorthodox surgeon who believed that repair was coming to an end and that enhancement would be the all spark of the new age. In the lowest portion of the building was a dark, cool space reserved for the temporary corpses: the Operating Room. Dr. Fred would spend days without sleep just to be near his subjects, allowing their pain and regret to take over him. It fueled his passion to create, to give life, to change the world we knew for the better. That is the moment when it hit him, like a two-by-four to the forehead. Why hadn't he thought of this before? This could change the way surgery is done for the rest of time. Corrective surgery without the need for incision! No more scars, no more blades, no more tools and clamps and tables, no more emergency rooms overwhelmingly cramped because of how long it takes to triage illness!
*But what would he call it.*
He groaned as he coddled the newborn; his most recent failed attempt at saving a life with his bare hands which he now saw inadequate in the light of his invention.
Fast forward to current time: here I am just trying to help this moron who tried to do parkour like the more fortunate morons on YouTube who don't fall off the building and break their collarbone. You see, when Dr. Fred decided to change the world, what he didn't realize is the cost of his monopolized company product that had revolutionized medicine as we know it, made it very difficult for the average Joe to go to the ER without leaving with a new subsidized loan.
So here we are. The Rescue Artists.
My extraordinarily intelligent brother Marcus created the first personal computer that can run Dr. Fred's software on the go. Being a business that we keep "underground" so to speak, we get all kinds of calls from people. From genetic mutations to car accidents, broken bones to lung cancer, and we can heal it! The problem is, it's illegal. We pirated Dr. Fred's software and practice on patients for just enough to keep the lights on in the apartment. Personally, I like to think we're a hybrid Robin Hood-Jesus. Healing the poor to starve the rich type deal. But we're hunted every day, and the pressure is getting worse.
*Will we ever convince the board of Medicine that health care shouldn't kill people with debt? Or will we be brought to justice for our vigilante healing shenanigans.* | |
[WP] Technology has been invented that allows people to edit their actual physical appearance through a Photoshop like interface. This has spawned a new industry of emergency "rescue artists" for when people don't get it right. One such artist encounters something he has never seen before. | It started off well: a invention that made people look how they wished, made them feel comfortable in their bodies. There were professionals, you would tell them what you want, and maybe give them a rough sketch. After a couple of hours you were a new person.
But people got greedy. Instead of paying thousands of dollars to get a professional to alter their body they wanted to pay thousands of dollars for a machine that would allow them to alter themselves. This wasn't a good idea and after a year or two something had to happen to fix this.
That is what spawned the "rescue artists". We didn't really have a real name, but our job was basically to fix all the mistakes everyone made. That's what I was, along with all the other professional artists that lost their jobs when the "BodyShop" (creative ripoff of photoshop, I know,) went retail.
It was a simple machine to operate. Step in side so it could take a 3D image of you. Fix what you want about your body on the convenient interface, and then step back inside and wait. After an amount of time, depending on how many changes you made you would be a changed person. The procedure wasn't painful, in reality you felt nothing at all.
Some people didn't do to much, smooth a couple wrinkles, get rid of an annoying birthmark, trivial things like that. There were also the amazing artists. When you would see some sort of hydra walking down the street you would be able to classify that group. And then there were the talentless, greedy people. These people were the problem.
I saw about half a dozen people everyday. There were people who managed to give themselves an extra limb. They were an easy fix, just some precise erasing and poof, good as new. There were the people who got a little trigger happy with the erase tool. Some of them were smart enough to bring in their original file. CTRL+Z, poof, done. The others were a bit trickier as I had to redraw what they say they originally looked like. Other than that there were few oddities but it wasn't too much work.
But today I saw something that I hadn't seen before, something I had no clue how to fix. The door slid open but I didn't see anyone come in. "Hello?", I yelled, "Who's there?" That is when I saw him, a crudely drawn sick figure, invisible when you looked at him from his side. I scanned my mind for what to do, all the problems I've fixed before were in 3D. I came up with nothing so I asked him. "What happened?"
"I have no clue, if I did I wouldn't have come here you idiot."
"But how did you become 2D?"
"I don't know, I followed the instructions."
"But the program wouldn't allow you to become 2D."
"Oooooh, about that. The default program was too confusing so I downloaded MS paint."
"WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU DO SOMETHING SO STUPID."
I knew I pushed it too far with that, he was in tears. I couldn't hear his response but I knew it would be something about how much he regretted it. And then an idea sparked in my mind. I would have to recreate him from entirely from scratch.
You might think this is an easy task, that I've done it before on a lesser extent. You would be wrong because the BodyShop isn't cross compatible. I would have to remake him completely. But I would have to do it in paint.
| "Hey Steve? This is Luke from Dispatch, we got another one for you before you end your day."
*What the hell is it now. I'm off in half an hour! If I could just get my hands around Luke's neck I'd...*
"Hey Luke! Whatchya got for me?"
"Can't really say Steve. He wanted to keep it private. He swore up and down it's not a prank call, but just didn't feel comfortable saying it."
"Alright, make me a work order. I'll be right there."
*Dammit, Laura is cooking taco's tonight too. Meat's gonna be cold and all the toppings put away by the time I get home. This better be good. Tired of dealing with idiots who mess up by trying to make a chiseled jaw line, a six pack of abs, or even worse, some fool tries to increase the size of his ding-a-long. Ah, this must be the guy right here.*
"Hi, did you call our emergency line?"
"Yes, I did."
"Well hi, I'm Steve, I'm going to be your artist today. Now just tell me, what happened? Try to cheat your workout by just increasing the tone in your arms?"
"Well, no, you see..."
*You'd figure in a world like this everything would be thought of already. No need to be embarrassed, but I should still make him feel comfortable.*
"Just tell me, bud. I've seen it all, trust me. What's your name, anyways?"
"I'd rather not say, I'm under the work order as John Doe, but all my billing information is correct. I promise."
*Dammit guy, just let me do my job and get home.*
"That's fine, bud. What happened? I'm here to correct it, I promise. But I can't do that until I find out what's wrong."
"Well, I tried... uhm... haha... this is embarrassing, I tried changing my pecker into a lady part."
*Hahaha, you've gotta be kidding me. I've never had a call like this before. Chalk this one up as a story to tell the boys.*
"Oh, I'm going to need to see the damage sir."
"Well, you see, I don't want you to change it back, I want to keep it, I just want it to look better."
*As if it couldn't get any more weird.*
"Okay, well, let me see what I can do."
*Holy crap, I'm not sure what the hell happened here but this guy was sure as hell not trained in the program. I don't get paid enough for this job.*
"Okay, all done. Best I could do, man."
"Thank you so much."
"Oh, you're welcome! That's what I'm here for. It was nice meeting you... uh..."
"Oh, call me Caitlyn." | |
[WP]: Instead of reaching their physical peak in their 20's and beginning to wither in their 60s, humans never stop growing bigger and stronger. You are 65 and your great-grandfather has gone on a rampage again. | "John I'm calling as a favor, you need to get over to the Center."
"Fuck, it's Gramps again isn't it. What's it this time? The blitz?"
"No fucking clue. But John... It's bad - some of the attendants are already reported missing in the lower levels."
"... I'll be there in ten."
My badge never felt heavier than on days like this. Protecting society from itself is a fundamental duty, but sometimes harm is the only protection we can offer.
I pulled into the Center's parking lot, the barricades being pulled aside in the face of my uniform. Harry ran up as soon as I stopped, his eyes flicking side to side - worried and scared.
"Hey John, he's in the basement. If you can calm him down again then we can ship him off to more secure facilities. It's taken quite a few favors to stop SWAT from going shock and awe on his ass. They're willing to hold off for a few more minutes but you *have* to hurry."
I simply nodded an acknowledgement as I began to run towards the entrance. A black tunnel dotted crimson with scant flares greeted me. Somehow even in his Alzheimer fueled rampage Gramps had enough presence of mind to take out the lights, probably to stop from getting "bombed". I silently cursed the whole damned situation as I made my way to the stairwell, now reminiscent of a mineshaft.
*Fuck.* An orderly was lying at the base of the stairs, arms outstretched in a final attempt to drag her shattered remnants towards daylight. A slug-like trail of blood glistened into the dark, blending with the faint glow of my flashlight as the shadows consumed the peripherals of vision.
"Gramps? It's me, John! Come on out, no one is going to hurt you!" The irony was bitter on my tongue as I raised my voice, trying to keep the words calm and soothing.
Silence echoed in my ears, my voice fading again. I cursed silently and began to stalk forward, gingerly stepping over the hapless attendant on the ground.
I stopped to listen as a faint whimpering trickled around a corner.
*Shit, another victim. Dammit Gramps, why'd you do this.*
I stepped around the corner and instead of a uniformed orderly, a hulking mass of flesh lay curled in the ground, sobbing. On what flesh what visible, a tracery of crimson lines dripped onto the cool cement ground.
"Gramps?" I said quietly, "It's me, John. Everything's going to be ok."
Pale, wet eyes looked up at me.
"Johnny?" he whispered, his voice making gravel seem gentle.
"Yeah Gramps, I'm here."
"Please... Johnny... I can't stop it.." Another sob racked his massive form as he curled even tighter, shuddering.
"I know Gramps, we'll take you somewhere safe. Somewhere you can't hurt people."
"I-I can't. You don't know what it's like, like every day is the same, every minute isn't a new one, every memory torture..."
"We'll help you Gramps, we'll help you."
"I've hurt so many people" Tears dripped off his massive face, mixing with others' blood still wet on his skin. "I've killed them. I thought I was saving them, I thought-" He broke off as another whimper fought it's way free.
A mirrored tear ran down my face, memories of his kindness, his love, his willingness to help those he loved no matter the cost flashing through my mind as I looked at what he'd become.
"You have to stop me." his look in that moment wasn't the broken old man I saw before me; it had the iron of his years, his will, his heart behind it. " You have to. You have to... I can't live like this... I can't live in this hell."
Tears flowed freely as I drew my sidearm.
"Are you sure, Lawrence?" I knew what it was like to hurt the innocent, to live a life of painful recollection no matter the absolution others offered. I could grant him freedom from himself, something I could never do, but sometimes all we can do to suffering is to end it.
"More sure than anything in my life." He whispered. "Do it."
As I pulled the trigger his lips formed a name, one almost as familiar as his own.
______________
"John! What the fuck happened in there?!" George shouted from behind the barricade as I walked into the light of day.
"Several attendants dead, possible wounded. I found the perp. He attacked. I shot him. I'll file a report at base."
"You fucking killed him? You know our policy on cases with oldies, we do *not* need this kind of PR right now!"
"Sorry chief. I had no choice."
"Dammit John, another civilian? Internal Affairs won't bail you out this time."
I walked back to my car, George's words fading behind me as SWAT entered the building.
The weight of memory was still heavy on my shoulders, but at least I had helped to lift another's. I placed an idle hand on my holster as I got into the car.
*One day... One day at a time.*
| It was a warm Saturday, good breeze going through my windows, ventilating on me while I was browsing through Reddit, looking at cat pictures and laughing at whatever was on r/funny. My dad knocked on my door, and told him to come in. My dad, whose about forty, was tall, dark haired, and in really good shape, like most people his age. He was just standing the in the doorway.
"Jake, your great-grandfather broke out of his room of the nursing home, and he's pinned down by the police at a downtown restaurant, we have to go down there and calm him down. Come on." And he went downstairs.
Well, I guess this can be one way to spend your Saturday, having to go help great-grandpa not get shot down, like so many of our elders around the nation. There has been numerous stories like this of elders getting pissed off over something that happened at a nursing home and the police are called in to surround them and capture. The capturing process usually calling in several elder cops and former cops to have a smack down with them and then throw them into jail until they are bailed out. I guess it's just our family's turn now.
My family reached the restaurant, where all of the tables and umbrellas were smashed up, and some the walls punched in. My great grand-dad was on the roof.
"Mr. Banner, if you do not come down, as we have said before, we will use force." Warned a cop with a megaphone, armed officers with shot guns and swat teams positioned behind him.
"And as I have said before, I know the Filipino nurse is stealing from me!" My granddad shouted back, and proceeding to punch another whole in the roof.
"Look, we have your family here to talk to you.", the officer turned to us, "whose his grand kid?" My mom raised her hand, and the officer gave her the megaphone.
"Iga, it's me, Sara, your great gand-daughter, please just drop this and come home with us, we'll make some calamari shrimp and salty sushi, just as you like."
"I'm not coming down!"
"Iga, please!"
"No!"
"Well I tried." My mom gave back the megaphone.
Just than, a huge elderly man walks up to my mom, along with a huge woman. It was my grandpa and grandma.
"You can't talked to him like that, he's stubborn, officer, let me have the megaphone!"
"And you might be?" The officer asked, demanding.
"I'll tell you as you soon as I'm done pummeling you! Now give me the megaphone!"
The officer quickly gave him the megaphone ran behind lines. My grandpa started shouting, "Iga! Stop being an asshole and get down here!"
"I thought I taught you not to call me that!"
"Yeah? Well now I'm a grown ass man, and your acting like fucking child! Get down here!"
"Come say that to my face, you little punk!"
"Oh I'll show you whose a fucking punk!"
My grandpa then threw the the megaphone down, completely destroying it, and ran into the restaurant. I could here the officers behind me, "Stand down! Stand down! Hold your fire!"
When my grandpa reached the roof, they started brawling. The tackled each other, breaking through the floors in the basement floor, and all I could hear was shouting and punching, nothing but pure male aggression noise. They went onto the main floor, still brawling, throwing each other through walls, in and out of the restaurant. After about thirty minutes of this, the restaurant was starting to bend to the lift, and the officers started to get everyone out of the neighboring buildings. The crowd around us was becoming huge, and soon after the crowd started to become, well, crowded. The entire building collapsed. Everyone was in shock, no more than my parents. My grandpa was standing over his body, wiping sweat and blood off his face. He then proceeded to walk to grandma, went into there tank of a car, and drove off. Everyone staring in awe.
Gotta say, this wasn't as bad of day as I thought it was going to be. | |
[WP]: Instead of reaching their physical peak in their 20's and beginning to wither in their 60s, humans never stop growing bigger and stronger. You are 65 and your great-grandfather has gone on a rampage again. | It was raining heavily when my father pulled into my drive that night, his ornate Bentley skidding across the gravel in an uncharacteristic loss of control.
"Julian, it's a family emergency," he said, once I'd opened the door to his frenzied knocking. "I need you to come with me at once."
My heart sunk in my chest. I was looking forward to a quiet evening in with my wife. It would have been the first one we'd had in weeks.
"I'll get my coat." I said, and I did. "Got to go, Sarah! Sorry. Be back later." I heard a resigned grunt from the sitting room. She understood, it was the same for most families after all.
"Is the boy Michael in?" my father asked, as I stepped outside the porch. He loomed over me, taller by a head. I looked up at him suspiciously.
"No, he's staying at a friend's tonight, why?"
"We'll need to drop by and get him then."
I raised an eyebrow at this. "He's got college tomorrow."
"It's important!" my father insisted, stepped into the Bentley. It buckled under the weight. "He's the only one I know of who can diffuse this."
*****
Mick sat in the back seat as we pulled up to the giant shopping mall, wearing an expression somewhere between apprehension and misery. I could understand his mood, since for any seventeen year old being dragged from your friend's house by one's father and grandfather is a social crucifixion the wounds from which he would carry for at least the next six weeks.
Police cordons surrounded the structure, as well as the flashing lights of the response units who were trying to keep the steady stream of people evacuating from within under control. My father parked the Bentley nearby and got out, after whispering something to the officer standing guard duty at the car park entrance.
A harried police sergeant jogged across as the three of us emerged.
"Are you the Bartons?" he panted, shielding his face from the rain. My father nodded. "Thank God. He's quietened down a bit, but we can't risk anyone getting close."
"We'll do what we can." My father said, and ducked under the cordon.
"Come on Mick." I said, and held the yellow tape up for my son. He looked nervous, but ducked under and followed my father toward the mall entrance. I brought up the rear.
Linton Bryce Barton stood a good ten feet tall as he crashed about the mall's main concourse, the wreckage of several shop fronts strewn around him. His dark tuxedo was dishevelled and torn, a golden pocketwatch hanging freely from it, forgotten. His face was red from yelling, though no-one remained close enough to hear. He looked up sharply as we approached slowly across the cracked marble paving. The trickling from a sundered fountain echoed softly in the silence as he ceased his tirade for a moment.
"Grandfather..." my father began.
"EDWARD!" roared Linton. The sound reverberated around the devastated shopfronts, and I felt Mick shrink and position himself behind me. "THIS IS POSITIVELY INTOLERABLE!"
My father held up two hands in an effort to placate. "I know, I apologise Grandfather. It was my fault. I shouldn't have bought it for you."
"IT WILL NOT WORK FOR ME!"
"If you'd listened to the shop assistant-" my father began, but a deep basso growl from Linton caused him to stop in his tracks.
"What exactly is the problem?" I asked hesitantly.
Linton turned to Mick and I, holding up the distinctive shape of an iPhone6 in his giant hand. "THIS ACCURSED DEVICE CANNOT BE OPERATED!"
Mick and I exhanged a glance, he rolled his eyes.
"What the hell, you guys pulled me out of Lucy's house for *this*?" Mick snapped. He stamped over to his great-great grandfather and snatched the iPhone from his hands, all traces of nerves vanishing in a cloud of indignation. "Look, just bloody well swipe it, like that. There." He pushed the phone back to Linton, whose eyes now held an aura of childlike wonder as he stared at the screen, and marched back to me.
"Dad," he said. "Shoot me before I get that old, ok?"
| This Is Just To Say
that your great-grandfather
has swallowed the world
and now you are out in space
and you have no spacesuit
and you will die
in fifteen seconds
forgive him
the world was delicious
and so nutritious
[dammit my line breaks are all messed up when I post. Whatever. Trust that they were beautifully crafted.] | |
[WP]: Instead of reaching their physical peak in their 20's and beginning to wither in their 60s, humans never stop growing bigger and stronger. You are 65 and your great-grandfather has gone on a rampage again. | “We must appeal to the great Washington D.C. (Deity of Command) for mercy on our great grandfather for laying much of Los Angeles in ruins,” I told father, “for this act of terror was the first of its kind since great-grandfather became ruler of Los Angeles. And as we know, such great elder rulers should be given a second chance. That is the way is has always been.”
With great-grandfather captured and in chains waiting for a decision from the great Washington D.C. — the first President and 283 year old 18’ giant who maintains order and serves as the Supreme Commander in Chief of Americs — we have learned that our attempts of seeking mercy were unsuccessful and the decision to put great-grandfather to death was announced.
“We must take this to the highest power if *order* in this world is to be maintained!” Said father. “We must consult with ..." a pause endured. Everyone seemed to know what words would come out of his mouth next. “... I am afraid to say it, but we have no other alternative.” With a look of death in his eye, he exclaimed with great anguish, “We must consult with **Alexander The Great**... He is our only hope.”
Alexander The Great, the 80’ tall Supreme Ruler who took the title of Zeus after conquering Europe, the Americas, and all lands far and wide, now sits atop the Great Mount Olympus, handing out final decisions and judgements. He is known to be fair, but rules with an iron fist. | This Is Just To Say
that your great-grandfather
has swallowed the world
and now you are out in space
and you have no spacesuit
and you will die
in fifteen seconds
forgive him
the world was delicious
and so nutritious
[dammit my line breaks are all messed up when I post. Whatever. Trust that they were beautifully crafted.] | |
[WP]: Instead of reaching their physical peak in their 20's and beginning to wither in their 60s, humans never stop growing bigger and stronger. You are 65 and your great-grandfather has gone on a rampage again. | "I'd ask you to come and pick him up," Stella sounded almost apologetic this time. "But at his age, it's really more of a warning. They've already sent out the SWAT teams."
I sighed and reached for my jacket. "It's the fourth time this month," I told my great-grandfather's carer. "Can't you keep a better eye on him?"
I could practically hear her bristling on the end of the phone. "Mr Hardy, if we had the appropriate facilities for your great-grandfather's care, then maybe yes, we could keep a better eye on him. We simply don't have the funding available for any higher strength metal than what we're currently using to restrain him."
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you. You're doing your best, Stella. Look, I'll be down as fast as I can, okay? My dad used the car the other day, and I'm not quite sure the suspension's really worked itself out yet."
I hung up and left the house, pulling the door behind me. The handle came off in my hand and I swore. That was the second one that year. The cheap stuff was made for twenty year-olds, but I had to admit I'd found myself growing stronger as well. Last time I tried to play piano, it buckled under pressure from *Chopsticks.* And if you thought I was bad, you should see Tom Hanks try it.
I decided to jog downtown, rather than drive. First so I didn't have to hear the car radio detail exactly which building my great-gramps was currently destroying, but also because it took less time this way. My legs had started moving faster since I turned 50; and my double-marathon times were a testament to that. I could already see smoke and dust on the horizon of the city centre, screams drifting on the breeze into the suburbs. A couple of young'uns with their kids on trikes darted out of my way as I paced past them.
I left imprints in the tarmac.
The screams became louder, the dust thicker. I jogged past the old library, noticing with regret that the roof was already missing. A sick feeling in my stomach made me remember I wasn't sure that my insurance would continue to cover my great-gramp's 'excursions.'
He'd gotten bigger. I saw that immediately. A couple of Japanese tourists stood in his way, trying to take a selfie with him as he raked his hand through the fourth floor of a building. He was bow legged but still about fifteen feet tall, corded arms showing underneath his crumpled polo shirt. A SWAT helicopter had a search beam aimed at his bald pate, and underneath one of his socked-and-sandlaled feet was a small blue convertible, twisted and almost unrecognisable. An office chair came spiralling towards the couple and I jumped, whacked it out of the way and felt my tennis elbow twinge slightly at the impact.
"Gramps!"
His hearing was pretty bad, and over the screaming he didn't hear me the first time.
"Gramps!" I tried again and this time he looked round.
"Johnny my boy!" He beamed, setting down the Honda he'd been attempting to move. "How are you?"
"I'm good Gramps, but we gotta get you back to the care home! You're disturbing the people!"
"I'm going to visit Alice!" My gramps called back and I felt a small part of me falter.
"Alice is busy today Gramps..." Alice, his wife, had been dead for fifteen years, when she'd tried to take on a semi-truck and failed.
"Is she? That's a shame. Well, I can always join the lads for some poker later."
"I don't think that's a good idea, Gramps. How about we take you home?" I really wanted the SWAT team to avoid firing on him; the last nonagenarian they shot at on the news didn't go down until they brought in the RPGs. It was a messy way to go.
--------
"So, I'm really sorry, Stella..." His carer pursed her lips and looked at me sceptically. "But I brought him back, and he's promised to be good from now on." He'd been whisked off as soon as we'd arrived. The orderlies had bribed him with candy.
"I know what he says, Mr. Hardy," Stella said. "They're sedating him right now, and he'll be back in iron by the end of the day. We just haven't got anything stronger to hold him anymore." She passed me a little blue brochure, a picture of an old man in a bed, his tiny relatives standing by the foot of it, on the front cover. It read *Choosing the right end for your journey.*
"With his memory and all; it's only going to get worse. He'll only keep trying to escape. Maybe that's something to think about." Stella tapped the booklet with one manicured nail. "Now I've got to get back. There's a seventy-year old grandma who's knocked out two of my orderlies. Have a nice day, Mr. Hardy."
--------------
/r/Schoolgirlerror for some other golden oldies. But like... Writing from a year ago, not actual old people. That'd be weird | This Is Just To Say
that your great-grandfather
has swallowed the world
and now you are out in space
and you have no spacesuit
and you will die
in fifteen seconds
forgive him
the world was delicious
and so nutritious
[dammit my line breaks are all messed up when I post. Whatever. Trust that they were beautifully crafted.] | |
[WP]: Instead of reaching their physical peak in their 20's and beginning to wither in their 60s, humans never stop growing bigger and stronger. You are 65 and your great-grandfather has gone on a rampage again. | "I'd ask you to come and pick him up," Stella sounded almost apologetic this time. "But at his age, it's really more of a warning. They've already sent out the SWAT teams."
I sighed and reached for my jacket. "It's the fourth time this month," I told my great-grandfather's carer. "Can't you keep a better eye on him?"
I could practically hear her bristling on the end of the phone. "Mr Hardy, if we had the appropriate facilities for your great-grandfather's care, then maybe yes, we could keep a better eye on him. We simply don't have the funding available for any higher strength metal than what we're currently using to restrain him."
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you. You're doing your best, Stella. Look, I'll be down as fast as I can, okay? My dad used the car the other day, and I'm not quite sure the suspension's really worked itself out yet."
I hung up and left the house, pulling the door behind me. The handle came off in my hand and I swore. That was the second one that year. The cheap stuff was made for twenty year-olds, but I had to admit I'd found myself growing stronger as well. Last time I tried to play piano, it buckled under pressure from *Chopsticks.* And if you thought I was bad, you should see Tom Hanks try it.
I decided to jog downtown, rather than drive. First so I didn't have to hear the car radio detail exactly which building my great-gramps was currently destroying, but also because it took less time this way. My legs had started moving faster since I turned 50; and my double-marathon times were a testament to that. I could already see smoke and dust on the horizon of the city centre, screams drifting on the breeze into the suburbs. A couple of young'uns with their kids on trikes darted out of my way as I paced past them.
I left imprints in the tarmac.
The screams became louder, the dust thicker. I jogged past the old library, noticing with regret that the roof was already missing. A sick feeling in my stomach made me remember I wasn't sure that my insurance would continue to cover my great-gramp's 'excursions.'
He'd gotten bigger. I saw that immediately. A couple of Japanese tourists stood in his way, trying to take a selfie with him as he raked his hand through the fourth floor of a building. He was bow legged but still about fifteen feet tall, corded arms showing underneath his crumpled polo shirt. A SWAT helicopter had a search beam aimed at his bald pate, and underneath one of his socked-and-sandlaled feet was a small blue convertible, twisted and almost unrecognisable. An office chair came spiralling towards the couple and I jumped, whacked it out of the way and felt my tennis elbow twinge slightly at the impact.
"Gramps!"
His hearing was pretty bad, and over the screaming he didn't hear me the first time.
"Gramps!" I tried again and this time he looked round.
"Johnny my boy!" He beamed, setting down the Honda he'd been attempting to move. "How are you?"
"I'm good Gramps, but we gotta get you back to the care home! You're disturbing the people!"
"I'm going to visit Alice!" My gramps called back and I felt a small part of me falter.
"Alice is busy today Gramps..." Alice, his wife, had been dead for fifteen years, when she'd tried to take on a semi-truck and failed.
"Is she? That's a shame. Well, I can always join the lads for some poker later."
"I don't think that's a good idea, Gramps. How about we take you home?" I really wanted the SWAT team to avoid firing on him; the last nonagenarian they shot at on the news didn't go down until they brought in the RPGs. It was a messy way to go.
--------
"So, I'm really sorry, Stella..." His carer pursed her lips and looked at me sceptically. "But I brought him back, and he's promised to be good from now on." He'd been whisked off as soon as we'd arrived. The orderlies had bribed him with candy.
"I know what he says, Mr. Hardy," Stella said. "They're sedating him right now, and he'll be back in iron by the end of the day. We just haven't got anything stronger to hold him anymore." She passed me a little blue brochure, a picture of an old man in a bed, his tiny relatives standing by the foot of it, on the front cover. It read *Choosing the right end for your journey.*
"With his memory and all; it's only going to get worse. He'll only keep trying to escape. Maybe that's something to think about." Stella tapped the booklet with one manicured nail. "Now I've got to get back. There's a seventy-year old grandma who's knocked out two of my orderlies. Have a nice day, Mr. Hardy."
--------------
/r/Schoolgirlerror for some other golden oldies. But like... Writing from a year ago, not actual old people. That'd be weird | “We must appeal to the great Washington D.C. (Deity of Command) for mercy on our great grandfather for laying much of Los Angeles in ruins,” I told father, “for this act of terror was the first of its kind since great-grandfather became ruler of Los Angeles. And as we know, such great elder rulers should be given a second chance. That is the way is has always been.”
With great-grandfather captured and in chains waiting for a decision from the great Washington D.C. — the first President and 283 year old 18’ giant who maintains order and serves as the Supreme Commander in Chief of Americs — we have learned that our attempts of seeking mercy were unsuccessful and the decision to put great-grandfather to death was announced.
“We must take this to the highest power if *order* in this world is to be maintained!” Said father. “We must consult with ..." a pause endured. Everyone seemed to know what words would come out of his mouth next. “... I am afraid to say it, but we have no other alternative.” With a look of death in his eye, he exclaimed with great anguish, “We must consult with **Alexander The Great**... He is our only hope.”
Alexander The Great, the 80’ tall Supreme Ruler who took the title of Zeus after conquering Europe, the Americas, and all lands far and wide, now sits atop the Great Mount Olympus, handing out final decisions and judgements. He is known to be fair, but rules with an iron fist. | |
[WP] You secretly become an assassin by trade, keeping your real identity hidden from others. Things go smoothly until you receive a fateful contract-to kill your own self. | I looked at the photograph in the letter, scanning the image to determine when it was taken, by who, and whether there was any shadow of a doubt who it was.
It was clearly me. Maybe two years ago at my sister-in-law's birthday party at the bowling alley. The bitch ('Mary') had once again made snide comments about my parenting as well as some other of my failings, and I had to sit there and take it lest cause a scene on her special day.
As I recall I got a little drunk, but instead of meeting her words with equally snide remarks, I silently began to bowl strike after strike after strike while my SIL, a self-proclaimed bowling champ, watched on stony-faced.
The person who took the photo was her husband, and I'd been banging that sweet slice of pie since we first met - so it couldn't be him. Her kids were too young to even consider or have the connections to order something like this. No, this was Mary's handiwork.
I incinerated the photo and then the letter after committing it to memory as I did with every hit. The order was to make it as messy as possible; blood everywhere, obvious signs of a struggle.
Oh what a bitch, what a stupid small bitch.
I sighed, and grabbed a serrated bread knife that she had passive-aggressively 'gifted' me in an attempt to undermine my cooking during last year's bread sale.
| It was the first of January when I received the letter. A smooth, white envelope containing death itself. Another name. Another fatherless child. Another grieving widow. For eleven years now I have served as an angel of death. You'll have many questions that I'll not be around to answer and you must accept this. I will explain to you what I can but I have little time for writing. There exists within this world of ours true evil. There are those who commit atrocities every day without remorse. Do you know how it feels to take a life? Ah, but I'm getting ahead of myself. There are those who gaze upon the ruins of humanity and do nothing. They sit idly by while the world burns around them. Then, there are those like me. We serve a grim purpose. To enrich all of society through the removal of undesirables. Do you understand? It's a feeling like no other in this world. To hold an entire life within the folds of a finger, and to see it strangled with but a gentle squeeze... But returning to the letter I mentioned previously. All of those years, it had always been someone else's fate sealed in ink. This time, it was my own. I will always treasure the time we had together. Sadly, you could not keep me from becoming the very monster I set out to destroy. There is nothing you could have done to prevent what is about to occur and you must accept this. I loved you once. Now I love but one thing in life, and that is to bring an end to it. Whoever has guided my hand thus far has never lead me astray, and I am afraid I must trust their judgement. By the time you read this, I will have fulfilled my purpose. I hope only to leave the world in a better state for no longer bearing the burden of my existence.
Goodbye forever,
John | |
[WP] You are cursed with immortality. Write about your life. | I make new soulmates every day.
And when I blink, they're gone.
But when I met you, my love,
I swear, I tried so hard to keep my eyes open.
I'm sorry.
| I wake up again, in another day to the sight of steel bars and the cold cut of iron shackles. I look between the bars and I close my eyes, pretend that they are not there, pretend that they are not staring, taunting and gasping in terror. I pretend that I am dreaming again, of better times, times when clean air brushed through summer trees, when I could sit on a picnic blanket in a park holding her hand, smell her perfume and taste her lips. My Red Queen. I'm brought sharply back to reality when one of their steel cold limbs extends through the bars and jabs me in the ribs, I yelp they laugh. 'P-please, I once like you.' I whimper, they laugh again and then I whisper 'Or at least you were once like me.'
'Make the noise again' his antagonist says in childish glee. The crowd shouts in unison. 'ughh, ughh!.'
'No! I am a human being, I deserve to be treated with some rights and dign...' As I walk closer to the bars to the metallic beast, my cage master extends a metal limb through the bars and its metal claws delivers a sharp electric shock into my chest. I fall to the the ground into old hay, convulsing and drooling. The crowd cheered and laughed once again. As I gathered my bearings the crowd had already grown bored and walked away. It was then I remembered my Red Queen.
But she wasn't in a park, sitting on a picnic blanket under oaks trees. No she was a thought, a hypothesis derived from a story book. She was me. As an immortal I was constantly running remaining in the same place and it kept me on the board. In the end that was also the problem I remained in the same place. unlike me, humanity began to evolve growing taller, stronger and smarter until they were able to upload their consciousness to machine bodies, they were able to keep running on the board. And it was at that moment, I couldn't keep up, it was at that moment I fell off the board. Now even though my body is as strong as it ever was, my mind grows weak, trying to retain millennia worth of memories, so weak I probably have the same brainpower as the 3 year old prodding and laughing at me. Oh please take me back to that park if it still stands, under that tree that may have never grown with a woman that may have never existed. Oh please let me go back as I cannot go forward any more.
The next day another crowd gathered to behold the last man preserved in a cage. An eager child stood forward with his face between the bars ' Do it! make the noise.' the child and the crowd looked on with anticipation at the man huddled in the corner, staring aimlessly into the ground. The man grunts like a caveman 'ughh, ughh,' the crowd are pleased and walk on. | |
[WP] You are cursed with immortality. Write about your life. | I make new soulmates every day.
And when I blink, they're gone.
But when I met you, my love,
I swear, I tried so hard to keep my eyes open.
I'm sorry.
| "You're forty? But you look so young!" My potential employer gawked, "So what's your trick?"
I pushed the words out of my mouth, "Just good genes, I guess” I raised the corners just enough to impersonate a smile.
“What a lucky man! Not quite as lucky as we will be to have you on the job,” my interviewer winked at me, “You should expect a call within a couple of days.”
“Thank you, I’ll be looking forward to it,” I shook hands and dragged myself out the door.
 
Good genes, good luck, what a joke. If only they knew; I was not to be envied but envious. If only someone could share the burden of watching everything wither away.
What would you do if you were immortal? What could you do?
I was a simple man. I lived the life of a farmer. I built my a family in the countryside. I found a wife and had 3 children. She always talked about how I looked the same as when I met her, even on her deathbed. She told me I was a kind god, for I had kept a mortal happy her entire life. She made me promise to use my divine powers to make others happy as well. I was not a god. The gods had simply smiled upon me. I respected my wife’s wish and set out to right the world. Only a benevolent god could have given a man such an opportunity.
I was Jesus Christ. A pillar of light in a world of darkness. I made use of the gift I had been given. People found hope when they looked to me. I helped them live only so that they could die. When the last of my apostles fell, I decided that this broken relic of the past should too, and I bled myself out on a cross. And then others started to worship my failed suicide attempt. I learned that night that what I had was a curse, not a gift.
I was the Roman empire. I created the greatest empire known to man and led humanity to a prosperous era. I took pleasures in commanding armies, crushing all that stood in my way. I cheered with my people, holding celebrations that the world would remember. Under my guidance, Rome became a symbol of power and prosperity. However, even the sturdiest boulders will erode, it was just a matter of time. I could do nothing but watch as humanity’s most powerful empire, my empire, withered away. It was a cruel god’s joke to let a man live so that he could watch others die.
I was Mansa Musa, the richest man the world had ever known. I had more money than Bill Gates could have ever imagined. I could have purchased the entire world had I wished. I indulged myself on all the pleasures of the world. Money can’t bring you happiness, but it can soothe the pain, the pain of living a dead man’s life. In time, even money became wasted on me. When you have everything, nothing is worth having. I left the Mali empire in search of a way to end it all. It was a cruel god’s joke to give a man everything to make it worth nothing.
I was Adolf Hitler. All conventional forms of death were failed on me. I would rather suffer the wrath of god than trudge through the emptiness of living. I helped speed along the lives of millions. For me, it was but a fraction of a second, but for them, the simple people, it was everything. My normal Tuesday changed their entire life. Oh, how I wished to be mortal. To have a life so short that I could have memories to treasure. At the end of it all, no god came to smite me. I walked away from the Nazi regime, and left others to clean up my mess. It was a cruel god’s joke to give a man such a meaningless power.
 
I am a simple man. I hold a simple job. I work, I eat, I sleep. Although hunger is not lethal, it is still a pain. Although sleep is not necessary, it helps pass the time. I am like any other man. I am like anybody else. I take vacations, so that I may wander the world in search of others like me. The past hundred years have passed without results. It was a cruel god’s joke to kill a man by giving him life.
 
Any advice would be appreciated. First time submission so be harsh :) | |
There was a great fire in london during 1666. | [WP] Your pet dragon smells of alcohol. (Year 1666, London) | Patience was ten years old, she was simply not tall enough and wore a fringe that needed trimming. She blew the dark wisps of hair out of her eyes as she dropped abruptly to the floor to check the space beneath her parents' bed. Nothing but dust bunnies.
She stuck out her lower lip, crossed her skinny arms over her chest, and all but tapped her foot in irritation.
"Carnifex!" Patience yelled for what seemed to her to be the millionth and half-th time, surely. Where was that blasted little dragon? He was supposed to take care of her, not the other way around, or what did her parents buy him for anyway?
*Hiccup Whoosh*
Patience turned on her heels in the direction of the sound, pale blue eyes snapping with all the righteous fury that only little girls can muster. And there he was. He was nearly five feet long from nose to tail and came up to her shoulder when he stood up on his haunches. They were going through a growth spurt, had been for a while now, but he would soon outstrip her.
Carnifex would be more than large enough to deter the most persistent of Patience's some day suitors and ferocious enough in his own right to warn off any evil ogres who might wish to kidnap her. At the moment though, his golden goat-like eyes listed and his wiry frame jerked unsteadily as he coiled himself about her legs.
"Fex! I've been calling after you for hours, where-" she started.
*Hiccup Whoosh*
Patience screamed in surprise but not in pain as the dusty gold creature heaved like a cat coughing up a hairball and belched out a rush of flames that flew across her parents bed and caught with an audible change in the pressure of the air. She almost congratulated him on the biggest flaming she had seen him accomplish yet but she caught herself and stopped. She took in several deep breaths through her narrow, pointed nose and grimaced with disgust.
"Brandy?!? Brandy, Fex?" She sniffed again. "That's Daddy's *best* label, oh, how could you? He'll tan both our hides this time!" Patience tried to sound as angry as she could but the truth was that she had been worried about her precious Fex. He was her treasured pet, her best friend. So worried in fact that it had taken her long minutes to scent the reek of alcohol coming from him, so worried in fact that she had been utterly ignorant of her surroundings other than to look for him.
She noticed now that the sky was far too late considering the lateness of the hour and then there was the screaming and the smell of thick, oily smoke. A chill shivered its way from the back of Patience's neck all the way down to her toes. Her eyes went wide and her mouth opened in a soft little gasp.
*Oops* Carnifex purred into her mind. | "Why don't you smell like marijuana? Have you been hitting the booze cabinet?" asked Randalf the Great to his dragon.
The dragon felt deep shame inside for he loved to get drunk. His master smacked him on the head for drinking too much. The dragon cowered in fear and his nostrils enflamed. He thought about using his magic to kill his master.
"Do not take alcohol. Take this instead," said his master.
The dragon tried a new kind of drug and was pleased to see that it gave him much better highs than alcohol. They lived happily ever after. |
[WP] Adam and Eve didn't eat the forbidden fruit, humanity lives in a perfect world, its only problem is keeping the forbidden fruit guarded | On the 3,546,654th day, God said, "Let there be war!"
And so there was war. And it was good.
After thousands of years of chaperoning, God was bored. He was banking on Adam and Eve to betray Him, all those millennia ago. So much for omnipotence.
Lucifer was a thorn in His side. Had been since the Dawn. God had banished the Snake hundreds of times, but the bastard always found a loophole.
By convincing the First Two not to eat from the Tree, Lucifer had distorted this Universe's timeline. Instead of being chained to God for forgiveness, they had broken the shackles and transcended their bondage.
God was pissed.
He was promised praise. Worship. Power. Instead, He had these ignorant assholes, parading around wearing leaves and twigs for thousands of years.
Lucifer's interference had caused God to lose much of His hold over the Earth. He had created this world, yes, but His omnipotent powers would only be triggered by a human eating an Apple from the Tree.
He had spent thousands of years planning for this war.
He had some power, of course. He could manipulate the weather, create animals and plants; minor alterations. Limited. He could not speak to the people, or influence their decisions.
He spent all these millennia manipulating the weather to cause droughts, floods, and tornados. By creating scarcity of food and water, He herded the people into groups who would fight each other for what was left. These people had little knowledge (they hadn't eaten from the tree to kickstart their hunger for progress). And now, finally, His plan to generate animosity between the clans finally reached a head.
A war was brewing.
Within the next few days, someone was going to eat that fucking Apple.
...........
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This is [m]y first time. Be gentle.
I'm at work so I'll try and finish this later. I know it's a bit off the prompt but if my idea pans out it will connect.
Edit: words | "Hey, Mike. How's it going?" Darren asked his fellow guard as he approached the guard shack.
"Not bad, really. I mean, all things considered." Mike replied.
"How long is this shift suppose to be? Six hours like normal? I didn't get a chance to look at the schedule that Sgt. Upton made."
"Yeah, six hours." Darren confirmed.
"I wonder how many people will try and get it today." Mike wondered aloud.
"I don't know, but if the numbers keep up I don't know if I can do this much longer. It's weighing on me, ya know?"
"I feel ya, man. But, I don't know. I kind of enjoy it. The ru-"
"Are you saying you enjoy killing innocent people, Mike?!" Darren interupted
"It's not that really, it's that we're literally protecting the entire human race from living in a shitty, fucked up world. These guys aren't even innocent, really. I mean, I don't know if the legends are true and if someone eats from the tree then we'll be sent to the stone age but I'd like to think that we're the line of defense for our species from being hated by the one who created us. Think about it, Darren. We've been to other planets. Well, not us, but the human race at least. Our astronauts have died of terrible diseases from those planets. What if God tried this on other planets and it didn't end up like it has with us? What if once the people or animals he crates eat from the tree that he abandons them to live in filth. I don't want that for us."
Darren and Mike were silent for several minutes after Mike ended his rant.
"True as that is" Darren said "I just don't think this is for me. Protecting a few billion people from ruining everything, for everyone, is a lot to bear. I'm probably gonna ask for reassignment."
"Well, best of luck to ya, if you do. I hear being posted in Rome ain't so bad. Best whore houses since the time of Sodom and Gamorrah, apparently."
"I'm married. So are you." Darren quipped
"Oh, fuck you, man. You never let me bullshit. All business." Mike replied
"Come on, let's check on post 2. You know Andy and Marcus always fall asleep."
And with that, the two guardsmen went off on a patrol to wake up Andy and Marcus. Darren always wondered how two narcoleptics ended up being posted here.
_______
This was kind of fun to write. I'm in the US Army, so my first thought was of the poor bastards who would have to guard it. | |
I feel like Writing Prompts have become addicted to the subversions and reversals of classic themes. How about we instead try focussing on quality over being special.
Prove that you don't need to have the Princess suddenly turn out to be the antagonist, or the Knight turn out to only be after her for the money to write something really good.
NOTE: you can have plot twists - but make it in the spirit of the fairy tale. | [WP] Write a classic fairy tale where the Knight saves the Princess. No strange twists or subversions. Just focus on telling a good story. | Colonel Defarge of the Grand Duchy of Heathland tapped his timepiece, the sorcerous runes lighting up to reveal the time as half past noon. Nodding satisfied he whistled for a pair of crossbowmen who came over on flapping wings. They wore shirts of mail that fell to their thighs and open faced helms that did not confine their long tapered ears.
"It's almost time. Get your fey into position and wait for my signal. Only fire if you have a clear shot- I don't want General Moor's daughter to be harmed. That goes for the Princess Ciara. She still is a bargaining chip should this exchange work in our favor. Bring her out, this will only work if we're completely honest... until we're not."
One of the officers motioned for an enlisted fairy to fetch the young woman and then returned his attention to the colonel.
"Sir, I must admit I have reservations about this plan. We barely escape with the Princess as it was, to bring her back so close to enemy lines..."
The colonel silenced his under-officer was an upheld hand, saying, "Your concerns are noted, Captain, but this is an opportune moment. Right now we each have a high ranking hostage, soon we will have two, or at least remove an all too often obstacle from our path."
The Princess Ciara appeared royal in every sense of the word, even in a filthy dress that had yet to be cleaned since her capture three days prior. Her hair, though uncombed and done in a hasty braid looked finer than any noblewoman's in a hundred leagues. The cuts and scratches collected since that nighttime ambush did nothing to disfigure her beauty but instead added a cold and deadly character to her aura. She walked with a proud grace despite the heavy shackles round her ankles and wrists, her dark brown eyes staring ferally at the Heathlander officer.
"Colonel Defarge. Have you come to your senses and seen fit to release me? Or will another one of your soldiers suffer an accident in their handling of me?"
The regimental officer dismissed her not-so veil threat with a snort of laughter.
"Broken fingers and missing teeth do not concern me, your highness. And whilst I admit they've inconvenienced me, I consider the prize worth the cost. A few maimed men and a handful of dead ones compared to the daughter of a king is a favorable exchange anywhere in this forest."
Princess Ciara smiled lupine-like and said, "And would the addition of a colonel perhaps tip the scales?"
Colonel Defarge smiled tiredly at her words.
"Unfortunately no. You are not your sister the Princess Fiona and no spellweaver. And however skilled you are with a blade, disarmed you are of no threat to me."
That last line was proved a lie as she brought her foot towards his groin, sending him over in fit of wheezing and moaning.
"Stu- stupid girl... Have, have her." He tried to stand straight, his teeth gritted in pain. "Have her waiting in the grove with a view of the hollow. I am certain that it'll be Lieutenant Gil Thorn who'll lead the Glen party. Perhaps watching her beloved die in a hail of arrows will improve her bearing."
Princess Ciara's deep brown eyes went wide and she began to speak,
"You venomous snake..."
"I've been called worse things by more dangerous men. She her off; I've an ambush to conduct."
With that the Princess' escort gagged her and hauled her off forcefully, trying to ignore the murder in her eyes. Colonel Defarge tried to pointedly avoid not rubbing *there,* and instead gaze off to the west, taking another glance at his timepiece.
*Soon.* | This isnt a story so much but my buddies lyrics is a story meeting your criteria. Uno momento, must copy paste.
Well the dragons, they breed. Skies overpopulated,
And nobody notices, patches of shaded.
Grasses and bricks, that form castles that stand
as a false testament to the triumph of man.
When did all of the heroes stop being selected?
And why can't they be accurately reflected?
They say the sword bows to the might of the pen,
For the blade's wound is clean, while the ink will bleed in.
Chorus: And I know I'm a coward, I know I'm a slave, to the same fucking reasons you'll never be saved,
By this unchosen hero, this futile attempt. I will fight for myself, because no one's been sent.
Is it heroes or heroin, that we want most?
for the heroes are dead, all that's left are the ghosts.
That sing when I'm sleeping, requiems relentless,
To the notion that I may one day save the princess.
but she isn't trapped, for the trapped one is me,
like a crow in the cage of this ugly body.
I'm the scorn of the fates, bound to be second best,
but she's playing that organ that sings through my chest.
(Chorus)
When did all of the heroes stop being selected?
because I need one now, and I want him dissected.
Is his heart made of gold, for mine's heavily gilded,
and a practical joke by the sick man who built it.
Well I'll tear off my skin to attract all the beasts,
Said you wanted a hero, well you got the least,
But I disregard life, 'cause I don't give a damn,
I know I'm not chosen, but i know what i am.
Chorus 2: I know I'm a coward, I know I'm a slave, to the same fucking reasons you'll never be saved.
By this unchosen hero, this futile attempt, Unimpressive, unclean, and foremost: unsent.
Well I wanna be the chosen one, instead of this weak bastard I know I've become.
Riding on the words of a wise, dying man, I know I'm not chosen but I know what I am...
Got these holes in my hands, 'cause I've chosen to dance,
With a breakable infant, who carries a lance,
No ma'am I'm not your savior, just a passing glancer,
No, I'm not your hero, I'm part of the cancer,
That's fueling the banter of the homeless man,
The end is approaching, so lie while you can,
Our hero' a rogue, a rapscallion, a thief,
While everyone waits for undeserved relief,
And this force-field's a fortress, this force-field's a cage,
This haven's a hydra, forever to slay,
boxes without boxes, and keys without locks,
and this just doesn't work: paradoxical oxen,
surrounded by farces that you call belief,
Where's my catharsis, and where's my relief?
I'm trapped between a hard place and two mirrors,
the illusion ensuing makes my task much clearer.
Yes this is a plug, tis for Stufy The Sidekick. |
[WP] In order to prevent man from chopping them down, trees evolve a rather unusual feature - WiFi. However, the network they are connected to is not the Internet as we know it. | The root of the problem was the trees. “Fiber Space” had overtaken the information industry and now electronic landfills were springing up all over the world and filling faster than they could dig up the dirt. Everybody had always talked about how if we killed all the trees there would be no oxygen left, but no one stopped to think about no carbon dioxide. You don’t expel a lot of it when you spend your days body wrapped around a tree.
That was their evolutionary response. Trees lured us and bound together human consciousness. This was Heno-Stasis. Gautama’s wet-dream. It was strange this feeling of one-ness with everyone and every living thing that could only be accessed through constant contact to leaf, root, trunk, or stem.
We tried to stop the trees, but traditional media broadcasts went unheard by the masses that had already connected via “Fiber Space”. The last succumbed to the allure of the trees and the seeming contentedness of those who had already given in.
They rose and spread over the earth. They ate through cities and boroughs and continents alike. They were the hosts and we were the parasites. Parasites in paradise that wanted nothing and couldn’t let go.
By their own will the trees’ nourishment was not enough to sustain us. Animals joined mankind in their obsession with the trees’ connection and fell species by species. Herbivores fell first and hardest. The death rate of humans and animals was significantly faster than the trees’ ability to evolve into carbon dioxide-producing plants. That was their mistake.
And so the carbon dioxide disappeared from the earth and the trees perished and the world cooled and frosted over and showed every algorithm to be false. | Leonard got comfortable by the great oak and opened up his laptop. Rachel had told him that bigger trees gave a stronger signal and were better for browsing. Leonard didn't really get the point of all this - if he wanted the internet, he could do it at home. Oh well, Rachel had been adamant about him trying this and he didn't know his sister to be wrong about much.
Even so, it felt wrong. There was something mystical about being in the middle of a forest like this; why look at a screen when you can observe nature all around you? Leonard was no environmentalist, but he wasn't an internet addict either. He resolved to see what this "Treenternet" was all about, then take some time to appreciate his surroundings.
He opened up Spartan Browser - the only one anyone used these days - and it went straight to reddit. it knew him so well. Strangely, though, it opened to /r/earthporn. Strange - that must have been what he looked at last. He tried to check all his favorite subs; askreddit, aww, yiff. He was dismayed to find they all redirected to earthporn. He wasn't too surprised though. Probably reddit's servers has screwed something up. He decided to check another website instead.
The first thing on his bookmarks list was Amazon. He clicked the link, but was surprised to see the front page covered in pictures of the rain forest and river of the same name. Maybe it was some environmental holiday he had forgotten about? He decided to check youtube.
There was a single video displayed on the front page, titled "twenty amazing reasons reasons trees are actual destroying humanity (number fourteen will shock you!)"
I clicked on the video, not sure what to expect. It buffered for a second, then grim music started playing. What followed was astounding. Clips of ent-like tree warriors brutally murdering humans, swinging axes at them. The fourteenth clip showed a house build from dead human beings. The clip ended with a black screen and the words "2025 - this means war."
The trees were planning to take their revenge on humanity. | |
[WP] In order to prevent man from chopping them down, trees evolve a rather unusual feature - WiFi. However, the network they are connected to is not the Internet as we know it. | "I can't find a signal," Andy muttered, waving his cellphone in the air.
*Yea, I knew this was a bad idea,* I thought to myself. Freaking Andy with his freaking plans. What kind of nut job takes us on an hour long hike in the woods after a late night party?
The group of girls following behind us were unusually quiet, a stark contrast to their animated chatty selves a few minutes ago.
"Andy, you do know how to get us back to your house right?" asked one of the girls nervously.
"Don't worry. I hiked through these woods all the time. We'll be back before you know it." Andy laughed nervously and then quickly glanced at me, motioning me to his side.
"I'm going to do it. I have to. I'm going to connect to the special trees," he whispered, tapping on his phone.
*Oh god, not those trees.* Fifty feet high with black trunks and black leaves, the special trees always spooked me out. They seemed alive and they all have in common a very interesting feature: WiFi. Great, right? The whole internet and the trees provide it for free like the air we breathe.
It felt like a long time before Andy looked up from his dimly lit phone and he turned towards us. His face was pale and his eyes were wide. There was a pause and then-
"It's this way." Andy pointed to a direction while walking and we quickly followed suit.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief as we find our way back home. I stayed overnight at Andy's while the rest of the group went home. I don't usually stay after parties but the long hike exhausted my strength and his living room couch was beckoning me. I tried to make myself as comfortable as I can and I drifted off into sleep.
I had a bad dream that night. I was chased by long dark shadows with many arms. As I kept running, more shadows rose from the ground to chase me. I ran as hard as I could, taking in deep lungful of air. But it was useless. Their long arms reached out to grab my legs and I realized they were wooden as they smashed my chest.
It was 4 am when something woke me up. Andy was standing in front of the tv with his back facing me. He was in his same clothes. I heard loud tapping coming from his fingers.
"Andy? What's wrong?" I said with as much courage as a squeaky mouse.
Andy stopped tapping and slowly turned to face me. His complexion was like a ghost.
"There's no cat pictures on their internet."
| Leonard got comfortable by the great oak and opened up his laptop. Rachel had told him that bigger trees gave a stronger signal and were better for browsing. Leonard didn't really get the point of all this - if he wanted the internet, he could do it at home. Oh well, Rachel had been adamant about him trying this and he didn't know his sister to be wrong about much.
Even so, it felt wrong. There was something mystical about being in the middle of a forest like this; why look at a screen when you can observe nature all around you? Leonard was no environmentalist, but he wasn't an internet addict either. He resolved to see what this "Treenternet" was all about, then take some time to appreciate his surroundings.
He opened up Spartan Browser - the only one anyone used these days - and it went straight to reddit. it knew him so well. Strangely, though, it opened to /r/earthporn. Strange - that must have been what he looked at last. He tried to check all his favorite subs; askreddit, aww, yiff. He was dismayed to find they all redirected to earthporn. He wasn't too surprised though. Probably reddit's servers has screwed something up. He decided to check another website instead.
The first thing on his bookmarks list was Amazon. He clicked the link, but was surprised to see the front page covered in pictures of the rain forest and river of the same name. Maybe it was some environmental holiday he had forgotten about? He decided to check youtube.
There was a single video displayed on the front page, titled "twenty amazing reasons reasons trees are actual destroying humanity (number fourteen will shock you!)"
I clicked on the video, not sure what to expect. It buffered for a second, then grim music started playing. What followed was astounding. Clips of ent-like tree warriors brutally murdering humans, swinging axes at them. The fourteenth clip showed a house build from dead human beings. The clip ended with a black screen and the words "2025 - this means war."
The trees were planning to take their revenge on humanity. | |
[WP] In order to prevent man from chopping them down, trees evolve a rather unusual feature - WiFi. However, the network they are connected to is not the Internet as we know it. | "What the fuck is this shit?" Lonnie crunched on his flaming hot Cheetos before swigging down the rest of his Vanilla Coke. "I can't get email, news, ESPN, YouTube, I even tried porn... no dice." There was a bright yellow mustard stain from his Quarter Pound Big Bite (which certainly helped round out his nutritious lunch) on his dark green work shirt. **ABOVE IT ALL LOGGING SERVICE**, the shirt proudly read, **NOBODY DOES IT BETTER!** "It's all a bunch of weird shit. This is gay."
Art let out a heavy sigh as he paused from his book. He had already eaten his lunch (pan seared rainbow trout with quinoa, and water to drink, of course) and preferred catching up on his reading over cramming his face in his iPhone. Some days Art regretted leaving a cozy teaching job, surrounded by other intellectuals, to become a logger. This was one of those days. "I'm not sure Lonnie, maybe something is wrong with the network on your phone? I've got another book if you'd like it. And you really shouldn't use 'gay' like that anymore, it's 2015. Homosexuals are people too, and they deserve some respect." Sometimes it frustrated Art knowing that a Neanderthal like Lonnie was his boss.
"Nah, I never liked books much. I can't get into them. Fuck em, they're gay." Lonnie spilled Cheeto crumbs on his shirt, which he paused to brush off before continuing. "Besides, we gotta get back to work. It's gonna be fuckin' HOT in a few hours and we need to get this job done today. Go get the rest of the crew, tell em it's time to put a move on."
As Art trudged off to find the rest of the logging crew, the sound of Lonnie firing up a chainsaw in the distance reminded him of his reality. It was time to clear out another patch of trees. | Leonard got comfortable by the great oak and opened up his laptop. Rachel had told him that bigger trees gave a stronger signal and were better for browsing. Leonard didn't really get the point of all this - if he wanted the internet, he could do it at home. Oh well, Rachel had been adamant about him trying this and he didn't know his sister to be wrong about much.
Even so, it felt wrong. There was something mystical about being in the middle of a forest like this; why look at a screen when you can observe nature all around you? Leonard was no environmentalist, but he wasn't an internet addict either. He resolved to see what this "Treenternet" was all about, then take some time to appreciate his surroundings.
He opened up Spartan Browser - the only one anyone used these days - and it went straight to reddit. it knew him so well. Strangely, though, it opened to /r/earthporn. Strange - that must have been what he looked at last. He tried to check all his favorite subs; askreddit, aww, yiff. He was dismayed to find they all redirected to earthporn. He wasn't too surprised though. Probably reddit's servers has screwed something up. He decided to check another website instead.
The first thing on his bookmarks list was Amazon. He clicked the link, but was surprised to see the front page covered in pictures of the rain forest and river of the same name. Maybe it was some environmental holiday he had forgotten about? He decided to check youtube.
There was a single video displayed on the front page, titled "twenty amazing reasons reasons trees are actual destroying humanity (number fourteen will shock you!)"
I clicked on the video, not sure what to expect. It buffered for a second, then grim music started playing. What followed was astounding. Clips of ent-like tree warriors brutally murdering humans, swinging axes at them. The fourteenth clip showed a house build from dead human beings. The clip ended with a black screen and the words "2025 - this means war."
The trees were planning to take their revenge on humanity. | |
[WP] In order to prevent man from chopping them down, trees evolve a rather unusual feature - WiFi. However, the network they are connected to is not the Internet as we know it. | "Hey sweetie, can you come here really quick?"
"Sure, one second!"
I sat stumped looking at an ESSID I'd never seen. You wouldn't think this is an unusual thing, but we live in a remote area. Our nearest neighbor is 15 miles away, and the signal strength was *insane*.
"Oh, that's really weird! When did that show up?"
"I don't know, I just found it now. Where the hell could that be? More importantly, what the hell does that mean?"
The ESSID for this unknown signal was massive. It made no sense. The length of the string ended in an ellipsis. I opened a prompt and dumped out the string in its entirety. Forty pages of random strings.
"Do you want to connect to it?", my wife said.
"*NO.* And please tell me that you won't until we come up with something better to understand what this is. It's just weird, and the strength of the signal honestly scares the crap out of me."
"Fine, I won't connect to it because you know that they'd just steal our Netflix password."
I would've normally laughed, but my brain was transfixed on this conundrum. I was determined to get an answer, though I had no clue where to start.
****
Staring at a screen without doing anything is incredibly tiring, so I went to sleep to let my subconscious brain take a crack at it. I had finally gotten comfortable when I started to have . . . issues. First, I smelled something. I didn't know what it was, but it was strong. I managed to power through it and finally get to sleep but my dreams were disturbing to say the least. It's the first dream I can remember in the past few years that I wasn't in. It seemed real, shockingly real. There were people sitting at a table in a dimly lit dining room. They were nearly silent, they exchanged glances that showed worry and fear. Then there was a massive thump. They quickly killed the light and they all scurried under pieces of furniture. They were trying desperately to stay quiet and calm, but their fear was palpable. The next thump sounded closer. The people clutched each other, trying to console one another and failing to do so. One of them clearly couldn't take it and cracked. He bolted out from under the desk and ran to the closet door, trying to escape the unknown presence that was hounding them. He screamed, "IT'S COMING IN!" Just then the window smashed and the wall was ripped out.
"FUCK!"
I woke up covered in sweat. I realized that I had yelled those things. My wife was huddled in the corner, staring at me in the dim light from the full moon outside. After my heart rate dropped to below heart attack level, I decided I needed a drink. My wife and I talked about what the hell had happened, and the only thing I could think to say is that I had a nightmare. After we'd both calmed down to a relaxed state (with a little help from a few pills), I fell back into sleep. A restful, dark, dreamless sleep.
****
The morning came and I had to telecommute to work. Rural internet sucks, but we had been lucky enough to have satellite Internet. Upload sucks, but the downstream isn't horrific. The bill was though. The entire time I was helping out people with their tablets and phones my brain kept wandering to the new ESSID and to the horrific dream I had last night. With my quota finally filled, I was able to switch out of work mode and into "To hell with work mode". Pants came off, pajamas went on. Comfort was the goal, and I was going to hit that goal. I sat at my desk with my desktop and thought of the ESSID. It didn't take long to convince myself to do more research.
I dumped the ESSID's string to a document to see if any of it made sense. The system didn't detect anything easy with the file, but at least it didn't seem to be a virus. I opened it up in a hex editor to be able to see just what it might be doing a bit better. It was then that I noticed that it wasn't random, and that it wasn't supposed to be text. It was code, it seemed to be in the C programming language. After a bit of fiddling with my compiler, I finally managed to get the program to build. Parts of it were missing, and some of the calls it was using didn't exist in the compiler. They never existed, as I found looking through the compiler's documentation. The program ended up being roughly 22KB. I created a virtual machine to sandbox the program and decided to run it. The program decompressed. It was now 30GB. It was a library of information, mixed between texts, pictures and videos. I decided to pick through the files and clicked on the first image in it. It was a picture of our house, and the stamp on the photo was dated 2035.
| Leonard got comfortable by the great oak and opened up his laptop. Rachel had told him that bigger trees gave a stronger signal and were better for browsing. Leonard didn't really get the point of all this - if he wanted the internet, he could do it at home. Oh well, Rachel had been adamant about him trying this and he didn't know his sister to be wrong about much.
Even so, it felt wrong. There was something mystical about being in the middle of a forest like this; why look at a screen when you can observe nature all around you? Leonard was no environmentalist, but he wasn't an internet addict either. He resolved to see what this "Treenternet" was all about, then take some time to appreciate his surroundings.
He opened up Spartan Browser - the only one anyone used these days - and it went straight to reddit. it knew him so well. Strangely, though, it opened to /r/earthporn. Strange - that must have been what he looked at last. He tried to check all his favorite subs; askreddit, aww, yiff. He was dismayed to find they all redirected to earthporn. He wasn't too surprised though. Probably reddit's servers has screwed something up. He decided to check another website instead.
The first thing on his bookmarks list was Amazon. He clicked the link, but was surprised to see the front page covered in pictures of the rain forest and river of the same name. Maybe it was some environmental holiday he had forgotten about? He decided to check youtube.
There was a single video displayed on the front page, titled "twenty amazing reasons reasons trees are actual destroying humanity (number fourteen will shock you!)"
I clicked on the video, not sure what to expect. It buffered for a second, then grim music started playing. What followed was astounding. Clips of ent-like tree warriors brutally murdering humans, swinging axes at them. The fourteenth clip showed a house build from dead human beings. The clip ended with a black screen and the words "2025 - this means war."
The trees were planning to take their revenge on humanity. | |
[WP] In order to prevent man from chopping them down, trees evolve a rather unusual feature - WiFi. However, the network they are connected to is not the Internet as we know it. | **2033:** A group of techno-heads camping in the South American rainforest notice weak yet noticeable interference around a particular area of the campgrounds. They make note of it and news spreads through social media like a wild fire. No one really expects the trees to be the culprit; most speculate resonance with the Earth's natural magnetism.
**2038:** radio enthusiasts determine the hotspots and have them mapped out. The maps make little sense until horticulturists see a pattern emerging among a particular species of hardwood trees. The trees get sampled by top universities around the globe for two years until it is discovered that the waves being emitted contain an analog signal. Super computers are put to use in an effort to detect patterns and make sense of the signal. No one knows for sure if the signals are random or actually transmitting information.
**2041:** No signal has yet been decoded, but the plant becomes heavily studied and cross-bred with similar species. Geneticists look to isolate the gene while religious and spiritual leaders claim that plants have souls. Soil samples travel the globe for analysis, yet the only thing that stands out is they contain a slightly higher iron and mineral content.
**2099:** The word foliage takes on new meaning as leaves seem to excrete metals.
Despite that we have successfully bred plants which can connect to and transmit digital human made signals for our advantage, we still have not learned any pattern in the complex signals. Variations on the original strains have been grown in every climate and continent. In the cities, these plants thrive near radio and cell towers. In the rainforests the plants have learned to love soil with any variety of metallic minerals. There are plants which now grow to heights of 50 to 60 feet. They flower annually and produce fruit that emits an even more chaotic and random signal that lasts for 2 to 3 days even after the fruit has been harvested. Bee's love the pollen. Their hives have taken on a new order and seem to be learning something from the trees. The flowers appear galvanized with an astonishingly beautiful complexity. Thin copper films encircling silver edged iron patterns gracefully complement their leaves. Cell structure undergoes a revolutionary overhaul. With a little tweaking, gold grows on trees. A whole new market opens up. By adding a bioluminescent gene, scientists create fruit that glows enough to replace lamps. Street lights are replaced with apple trees. The fruit glows so brightly, outshining their leaves veins which trickle with stored luminescence. Pollen glows too, and adds light into the chambers of beehives.
**2109:** A particular cactus bred to thrive in high salt content soils has needles similar to nails. The plant grows to 30 feet, displaying sinister branches jutting out at sharp angles, resembling something of a lightning strike.
**2167:** After tweaking with the cactus's genetics, a team of scientists was able to accomplish something no one dared dream possible: creating a plant that can withstand high amperage and high voltage. The plants begin to spread fast, and love lighting strikes. The cell structures of the cactus take on a new form that is entirely resistant to damage from electrical shock. Lightning strikes send surges of incredible power from the tip of the plant all the way down through its trunk and branches, down to the roots. Once it makes its way to the roots and into the soil, it spreads to other electro-wifi-plants which have less of a tolerance to lightning. This gives the plants enormous power to work with and their signals intensify exponentially in areas with high rates of lightning strikes.
**2247:** Evolution takes its course. Bio engineered plants are thriving and communicating not only wirelessly, but directly through roots and seeds of fruit that have learned to provide capacitance. Their root system dominates traditional plants in every ecosystem. Normal plants are diminishing everywhere and nobody can seem to dampen their destruction. Crops everywhere are taken by electro-viruses, which spread among regular plants, but inevitably burn the cell walls once they accumulate. The only food we can grow is grown in insulated green houses and vertical farms.
**2288:** The WiFi signal interference becomes so widespread that wireless communication is impossible outside of cities. Like radio scramblers, plant life has learned to block out human radio signals. Cell phone use has become limited to local areas. Traveling outside of a city becomes dangerous as access to emergency services can only travel by wire or word of mouth. Airliners can no longer maintain reliable radio contact with their planes. The plants have taken over.
**2290:** The plant apocalypse is in full effect, near the tipping point, just as a signal is finally decoded. The communications between plants are analogous to communication among humans and other social animals. They are self aware, but in a quantum dimension we cannot perceive but only predict with crude models. For the past 250 years the plants have been plotting our destruction. The bees are their overlords. | Leonard got comfortable by the great oak and opened up his laptop. Rachel had told him that bigger trees gave a stronger signal and were better for browsing. Leonard didn't really get the point of all this - if he wanted the internet, he could do it at home. Oh well, Rachel had been adamant about him trying this and he didn't know his sister to be wrong about much.
Even so, it felt wrong. There was something mystical about being in the middle of a forest like this; why look at a screen when you can observe nature all around you? Leonard was no environmentalist, but he wasn't an internet addict either. He resolved to see what this "Treenternet" was all about, then take some time to appreciate his surroundings.
He opened up Spartan Browser - the only one anyone used these days - and it went straight to reddit. it knew him so well. Strangely, though, it opened to /r/earthporn. Strange - that must have been what he looked at last. He tried to check all his favorite subs; askreddit, aww, yiff. He was dismayed to find they all redirected to earthporn. He wasn't too surprised though. Probably reddit's servers has screwed something up. He decided to check another website instead.
The first thing on his bookmarks list was Amazon. He clicked the link, but was surprised to see the front page covered in pictures of the rain forest and river of the same name. Maybe it was some environmental holiday he had forgotten about? He decided to check youtube.
There was a single video displayed on the front page, titled "twenty amazing reasons reasons trees are actual destroying humanity (number fourteen will shock you!)"
I clicked on the video, not sure what to expect. It buffered for a second, then grim music started playing. What followed was astounding. Clips of ent-like tree warriors brutally murdering humans, swinging axes at them. The fourteenth clip showed a house build from dead human beings. The clip ended with a black screen and the words "2025 - this means war."
The trees were planning to take their revenge on humanity. | |
[WP] In order to prevent man from chopping them down, trees evolve a rather unusual feature - WiFi. However, the network they are connected to is not the Internet as we know it. | "What the fuck is this shit?" Lonnie crunched on his flaming hot Cheetos before swigging down the rest of his Vanilla Coke. "I can't get email, news, ESPN, YouTube, I even tried porn... no dice." There was a bright yellow mustard stain from his Quarter Pound Big Bite (which certainly helped round out his nutritious lunch) on his dark green work shirt. **ABOVE IT ALL LOGGING SERVICE**, the shirt proudly read, **NOBODY DOES IT BETTER!** "It's all a bunch of weird shit. This is gay."
Art let out a heavy sigh as he paused from his book. He had already eaten his lunch (pan seared rainbow trout with quinoa, and water to drink, of course) and preferred catching up on his reading over cramming his face in his iPhone. Some days Art regretted leaving a cozy teaching job, surrounded by other intellectuals, to become a logger. This was one of those days. "I'm not sure Lonnie, maybe something is wrong with the network on your phone? I've got another book if you'd like it. And you really shouldn't use 'gay' like that anymore, it's 2015. Homosexuals are people too, and they deserve some respect." Sometimes it frustrated Art knowing that a Neanderthal like Lonnie was his boss.
"Nah, I never liked books much. I can't get into them. Fuck em, they're gay." Lonnie spilled Cheeto crumbs on his shirt, which he paused to brush off before continuing. "Besides, we gotta get back to work. It's gonna be fuckin' HOT in a few hours and we need to get this job done today. Go get the rest of the crew, tell em it's time to put a move on."
As Art trudged off to find the rest of the logging crew, the sound of Lonnie firing up a chainsaw in the distance reminded him of his reality. It was time to clear out another patch of trees. | This is the story of the scariest and greatest night of my life.
"really i am telling you man, Tommy found a signal."
"ya, so why isn't Tommy telling it to us?"
"Its because we were texting, he got lost."
"really he just made the greatest discovery of the 23rd century and he just happens to get lost?"
"ya, We were talking and all the sudden he just says "I don't know where i am" was kinda weird"
"Fine did he tell you where he was when he picked it up?"
"Ya, meet me by pines station after dark have your reciever on that way we can talk long distance."
Later--------------------------------------
After a two mile walk and splitting up.
"Ok don't contact me until you find something"
"fine"
I searched the area a couple of mins when i heard a voice over the reciever.
"I don't know who you are or what you are doing but RUN"
"What???"
"Just run, Stop doing what ever you are doing, They are coming."
"Who?? Tommy is that you are you using a voice changer?"
"Trust me, Run, You can't see them and if your with someone count the shadows."
"Who is this, Is it some time of Joke?"
"Mike, Someone is using our channel lets just go"
"Mike, can you read me?"
"Trust me its to late, they are coming, avoid all shadows and run, The trees they signaled them to gather its to late run and take cover, stay in the light and avoid the shadows. They are coming."
"Who is coming"
"Hey, Who turned out the lights?"
"Mike is that you??"
"The vashta nerada, its to late! now run!"
| |
[WP] In order to prevent man from chopping them down, trees evolve a rather unusual feature - WiFi. However, the network they are connected to is not the Internet as we know it. | "What the fuck is this shit?" Lonnie crunched on his flaming hot Cheetos before swigging down the rest of his Vanilla Coke. "I can't get email, news, ESPN, YouTube, I even tried porn... no dice." There was a bright yellow mustard stain from his Quarter Pound Big Bite (which certainly helped round out his nutritious lunch) on his dark green work shirt. **ABOVE IT ALL LOGGING SERVICE**, the shirt proudly read, **NOBODY DOES IT BETTER!** "It's all a bunch of weird shit. This is gay."
Art let out a heavy sigh as he paused from his book. He had already eaten his lunch (pan seared rainbow trout with quinoa, and water to drink, of course) and preferred catching up on his reading over cramming his face in his iPhone. Some days Art regretted leaving a cozy teaching job, surrounded by other intellectuals, to become a logger. This was one of those days. "I'm not sure Lonnie, maybe something is wrong with the network on your phone? I've got another book if you'd like it. And you really shouldn't use 'gay' like that anymore, it's 2015. Homosexuals are people too, and they deserve some respect." Sometimes it frustrated Art knowing that a Neanderthal like Lonnie was his boss.
"Nah, I never liked books much. I can't get into them. Fuck em, they're gay." Lonnie spilled Cheeto crumbs on his shirt, which he paused to brush off before continuing. "Besides, we gotta get back to work. It's gonna be fuckin' HOT in a few hours and we need to get this job done today. Go get the rest of the crew, tell em it's time to put a move on."
As Art trudged off to find the rest of the logging crew, the sound of Lonnie firing up a chainsaw in the distance reminded him of his reality. It was time to clear out another patch of trees. | The root of the problem was the trees. “Fiber Space” had overtaken the information industry and now electronic landfills were springing up all over the world and filling faster than they could dig up the dirt. Everybody had always talked about how if we killed all the trees there would be no oxygen left, but no one stopped to think about no carbon dioxide. You don’t expel a lot of it when you spend your days body wrapped around a tree.
That was their evolutionary response. Trees lured us and bound together human consciousness. This was Heno-Stasis. Gautama’s wet-dream. It was strange this feeling of one-ness with everyone and every living thing that could only be accessed through constant contact to leaf, root, trunk, or stem.
We tried to stop the trees, but traditional media broadcasts went unheard by the masses that had already connected via “Fiber Space”. The last succumbed to the allure of the trees and the seeming contentedness of those who had already given in.
They rose and spread over the earth. They ate through cities and boroughs and continents alike. They were the hosts and we were the parasites. Parasites in paradise that wanted nothing and couldn’t let go.
By their own will the trees’ nourishment was not enough to sustain us. Animals joined mankind in their obsession with the trees’ connection and fell species by species. Herbivores fell first and hardest. The death rate of humans and animals was significantly faster than the trees’ ability to evolve into carbon dioxide-producing plants. That was their mistake.
And so the carbon dioxide disappeared from the earth and the trees perished and the world cooled and frosted over and showed every algorithm to be false. | |
[WP] In order to prevent man from chopping them down, trees evolve a rather unusual feature - WiFi. However, the network they are connected to is not the Internet as we know it. | "Hey sweetie, can you come here really quick?"
"Sure, one second!"
I sat stumped looking at an ESSID I'd never seen. You wouldn't think this is an unusual thing, but we live in a remote area. Our nearest neighbor is 15 miles away, and the signal strength was *insane*.
"Oh, that's really weird! When did that show up?"
"I don't know, I just found it now. Where the hell could that be? More importantly, what the hell does that mean?"
The ESSID for this unknown signal was massive. It made no sense. The length of the string ended in an ellipsis. I opened a prompt and dumped out the string in its entirety. Forty pages of random strings.
"Do you want to connect to it?", my wife said.
"*NO.* And please tell me that you won't until we come up with something better to understand what this is. It's just weird, and the strength of the signal honestly scares the crap out of me."
"Fine, I won't connect to it because you know that they'd just steal our Netflix password."
I would've normally laughed, but my brain was transfixed on this conundrum. I was determined to get an answer, though I had no clue where to start.
****
Staring at a screen without doing anything is incredibly tiring, so I went to sleep to let my subconscious brain take a crack at it. I had finally gotten comfortable when I started to have . . . issues. First, I smelled something. I didn't know what it was, but it was strong. I managed to power through it and finally get to sleep but my dreams were disturbing to say the least. It's the first dream I can remember in the past few years that I wasn't in. It seemed real, shockingly real. There were people sitting at a table in a dimly lit dining room. They were nearly silent, they exchanged glances that showed worry and fear. Then there was a massive thump. They quickly killed the light and they all scurried under pieces of furniture. They were trying desperately to stay quiet and calm, but their fear was palpable. The next thump sounded closer. The people clutched each other, trying to console one another and failing to do so. One of them clearly couldn't take it and cracked. He bolted out from under the desk and ran to the closet door, trying to escape the unknown presence that was hounding them. He screamed, "IT'S COMING IN!" Just then the window smashed and the wall was ripped out.
"FUCK!"
I woke up covered in sweat. I realized that I had yelled those things. My wife was huddled in the corner, staring at me in the dim light from the full moon outside. After my heart rate dropped to below heart attack level, I decided I needed a drink. My wife and I talked about what the hell had happened, and the only thing I could think to say is that I had a nightmare. After we'd both calmed down to a relaxed state (with a little help from a few pills), I fell back into sleep. A restful, dark, dreamless sleep.
****
The morning came and I had to telecommute to work. Rural internet sucks, but we had been lucky enough to have satellite Internet. Upload sucks, but the downstream isn't horrific. The bill was though. The entire time I was helping out people with their tablets and phones my brain kept wandering to the new ESSID and to the horrific dream I had last night. With my quota finally filled, I was able to switch out of work mode and into "To hell with work mode". Pants came off, pajamas went on. Comfort was the goal, and I was going to hit that goal. I sat at my desk with my desktop and thought of the ESSID. It didn't take long to convince myself to do more research.
I dumped the ESSID's string to a document to see if any of it made sense. The system didn't detect anything easy with the file, but at least it didn't seem to be a virus. I opened it up in a hex editor to be able to see just what it might be doing a bit better. It was then that I noticed that it wasn't random, and that it wasn't supposed to be text. It was code, it seemed to be in the C programming language. After a bit of fiddling with my compiler, I finally managed to get the program to build. Parts of it were missing, and some of the calls it was using didn't exist in the compiler. They never existed, as I found looking through the compiler's documentation. The program ended up being roughly 22KB. I created a virtual machine to sandbox the program and decided to run it. The program decompressed. It was now 30GB. It was a library of information, mixed between texts, pictures and videos. I decided to pick through the files and clicked on the first image in it. It was a picture of our house, and the stamp on the photo was dated 2035.
| The root of the problem was the trees. “Fiber Space” had overtaken the information industry and now electronic landfills were springing up all over the world and filling faster than they could dig up the dirt. Everybody had always talked about how if we killed all the trees there would be no oxygen left, but no one stopped to think about no carbon dioxide. You don’t expel a lot of it when you spend your days body wrapped around a tree.
That was their evolutionary response. Trees lured us and bound together human consciousness. This was Heno-Stasis. Gautama’s wet-dream. It was strange this feeling of one-ness with everyone and every living thing that could only be accessed through constant contact to leaf, root, trunk, or stem.
We tried to stop the trees, but traditional media broadcasts went unheard by the masses that had already connected via “Fiber Space”. The last succumbed to the allure of the trees and the seeming contentedness of those who had already given in.
They rose and spread over the earth. They ate through cities and boroughs and continents alike. They were the hosts and we were the parasites. Parasites in paradise that wanted nothing and couldn’t let go.
By their own will the trees’ nourishment was not enough to sustain us. Animals joined mankind in their obsession with the trees’ connection and fell species by species. Herbivores fell first and hardest. The death rate of humans and animals was significantly faster than the trees’ ability to evolve into carbon dioxide-producing plants. That was their mistake.
And so the carbon dioxide disappeared from the earth and the trees perished and the world cooled and frosted over and showed every algorithm to be false. | |
[WP] In order to prevent man from chopping them down, trees evolve a rather unusual feature - WiFi. However, the network they are connected to is not the Internet as we know it. | "What the fuck is this shit?" Lonnie crunched on his flaming hot Cheetos before swigging down the rest of his Vanilla Coke. "I can't get email, news, ESPN, YouTube, I even tried porn... no dice." There was a bright yellow mustard stain from his Quarter Pound Big Bite (which certainly helped round out his nutritious lunch) on his dark green work shirt. **ABOVE IT ALL LOGGING SERVICE**, the shirt proudly read, **NOBODY DOES IT BETTER!** "It's all a bunch of weird shit. This is gay."
Art let out a heavy sigh as he paused from his book. He had already eaten his lunch (pan seared rainbow trout with quinoa, and water to drink, of course) and preferred catching up on his reading over cramming his face in his iPhone. Some days Art regretted leaving a cozy teaching job, surrounded by other intellectuals, to become a logger. This was one of those days. "I'm not sure Lonnie, maybe something is wrong with the network on your phone? I've got another book if you'd like it. And you really shouldn't use 'gay' like that anymore, it's 2015. Homosexuals are people too, and they deserve some respect." Sometimes it frustrated Art knowing that a Neanderthal like Lonnie was his boss.
"Nah, I never liked books much. I can't get into them. Fuck em, they're gay." Lonnie spilled Cheeto crumbs on his shirt, which he paused to brush off before continuing. "Besides, we gotta get back to work. It's gonna be fuckin' HOT in a few hours and we need to get this job done today. Go get the rest of the crew, tell em it's time to put a move on."
As Art trudged off to find the rest of the logging crew, the sound of Lonnie firing up a chainsaw in the distance reminded him of his reality. It was time to clear out another patch of trees. | "I can't find a signal," Andy muttered, waving his cellphone in the air.
*Yea, I knew this was a bad idea,* I thought to myself. Freaking Andy with his freaking plans. What kind of nut job takes us on an hour long hike in the woods after a late night party?
The group of girls following behind us were unusually quiet, a stark contrast to their animated chatty selves a few minutes ago.
"Andy, you do know how to get us back to your house right?" asked one of the girls nervously.
"Don't worry. I hiked through these woods all the time. We'll be back before you know it." Andy laughed nervously and then quickly glanced at me, motioning me to his side.
"I'm going to do it. I have to. I'm going to connect to the special trees," he whispered, tapping on his phone.
*Oh god, not those trees.* Fifty feet high with black trunks and black leaves, the special trees always spooked me out. They seemed alive and they all have in common a very interesting feature: WiFi. Great, right? The whole internet and the trees provide it for free like the air we breathe.
It felt like a long time before Andy looked up from his dimly lit phone and he turned towards us. His face was pale and his eyes were wide. There was a pause and then-
"It's this way." Andy pointed to a direction while walking and we quickly followed suit.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief as we find our way back home. I stayed overnight at Andy's while the rest of the group went home. I don't usually stay after parties but the long hike exhausted my strength and his living room couch was beckoning me. I tried to make myself as comfortable as I can and I drifted off into sleep.
I had a bad dream that night. I was chased by long dark shadows with many arms. As I kept running, more shadows rose from the ground to chase me. I ran as hard as I could, taking in deep lungful of air. But it was useless. Their long arms reached out to grab my legs and I realized they were wooden as they smashed my chest.
It was 4 am when something woke me up. Andy was standing in front of the tv with his back facing me. He was in his same clothes. I heard loud tapping coming from his fingers.
"Andy? What's wrong?" I said with as much courage as a squeaky mouse.
Andy stopped tapping and slowly turned to face me. His complexion was like a ghost.
"There's no cat pictures on their internet."
| |
[WP] In order to prevent man from chopping them down, trees evolve a rather unusual feature - WiFi. However, the network they are connected to is not the Internet as we know it. | "Hey sweetie, can you come here really quick?"
"Sure, one second!"
I sat stumped looking at an ESSID I'd never seen. You wouldn't think this is an unusual thing, but we live in a remote area. Our nearest neighbor is 15 miles away, and the signal strength was *insane*.
"Oh, that's really weird! When did that show up?"
"I don't know, I just found it now. Where the hell could that be? More importantly, what the hell does that mean?"
The ESSID for this unknown signal was massive. It made no sense. The length of the string ended in an ellipsis. I opened a prompt and dumped out the string in its entirety. Forty pages of random strings.
"Do you want to connect to it?", my wife said.
"*NO.* And please tell me that you won't until we come up with something better to understand what this is. It's just weird, and the strength of the signal honestly scares the crap out of me."
"Fine, I won't connect to it because you know that they'd just steal our Netflix password."
I would've normally laughed, but my brain was transfixed on this conundrum. I was determined to get an answer, though I had no clue where to start.
****
Staring at a screen without doing anything is incredibly tiring, so I went to sleep to let my subconscious brain take a crack at it. I had finally gotten comfortable when I started to have . . . issues. First, I smelled something. I didn't know what it was, but it was strong. I managed to power through it and finally get to sleep but my dreams were disturbing to say the least. It's the first dream I can remember in the past few years that I wasn't in. It seemed real, shockingly real. There were people sitting at a table in a dimly lit dining room. They were nearly silent, they exchanged glances that showed worry and fear. Then there was a massive thump. They quickly killed the light and they all scurried under pieces of furniture. They were trying desperately to stay quiet and calm, but their fear was palpable. The next thump sounded closer. The people clutched each other, trying to console one another and failing to do so. One of them clearly couldn't take it and cracked. He bolted out from under the desk and ran to the closet door, trying to escape the unknown presence that was hounding them. He screamed, "IT'S COMING IN!" Just then the window smashed and the wall was ripped out.
"FUCK!"
I woke up covered in sweat. I realized that I had yelled those things. My wife was huddled in the corner, staring at me in the dim light from the full moon outside. After my heart rate dropped to below heart attack level, I decided I needed a drink. My wife and I talked about what the hell had happened, and the only thing I could think to say is that I had a nightmare. After we'd both calmed down to a relaxed state (with a little help from a few pills), I fell back into sleep. A restful, dark, dreamless sleep.
****
The morning came and I had to telecommute to work. Rural internet sucks, but we had been lucky enough to have satellite Internet. Upload sucks, but the downstream isn't horrific. The bill was though. The entire time I was helping out people with their tablets and phones my brain kept wandering to the new ESSID and to the horrific dream I had last night. With my quota finally filled, I was able to switch out of work mode and into "To hell with work mode". Pants came off, pajamas went on. Comfort was the goal, and I was going to hit that goal. I sat at my desk with my desktop and thought of the ESSID. It didn't take long to convince myself to do more research.
I dumped the ESSID's string to a document to see if any of it made sense. The system didn't detect anything easy with the file, but at least it didn't seem to be a virus. I opened it up in a hex editor to be able to see just what it might be doing a bit better. It was then that I noticed that it wasn't random, and that it wasn't supposed to be text. It was code, it seemed to be in the C programming language. After a bit of fiddling with my compiler, I finally managed to get the program to build. Parts of it were missing, and some of the calls it was using didn't exist in the compiler. They never existed, as I found looking through the compiler's documentation. The program ended up being roughly 22KB. I created a virtual machine to sandbox the program and decided to run it. The program decompressed. It was now 30GB. It was a library of information, mixed between texts, pictures and videos. I decided to pick through the files and clicked on the first image in it. It was a picture of our house, and the stamp on the photo was dated 2035.
| "I can't find a signal," Andy muttered, waving his cellphone in the air.
*Yea, I knew this was a bad idea,* I thought to myself. Freaking Andy with his freaking plans. What kind of nut job takes us on an hour long hike in the woods after a late night party?
The group of girls following behind us were unusually quiet, a stark contrast to their animated chatty selves a few minutes ago.
"Andy, you do know how to get us back to your house right?" asked one of the girls nervously.
"Don't worry. I hiked through these woods all the time. We'll be back before you know it." Andy laughed nervously and then quickly glanced at me, motioning me to his side.
"I'm going to do it. I have to. I'm going to connect to the special trees," he whispered, tapping on his phone.
*Oh god, not those trees.* Fifty feet high with black trunks and black leaves, the special trees always spooked me out. They seemed alive and they all have in common a very interesting feature: WiFi. Great, right? The whole internet and the trees provide it for free like the air we breathe.
It felt like a long time before Andy looked up from his dimly lit phone and he turned towards us. His face was pale and his eyes were wide. There was a pause and then-
"It's this way." Andy pointed to a direction while walking and we quickly followed suit.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief as we find our way back home. I stayed overnight at Andy's while the rest of the group went home. I don't usually stay after parties but the long hike exhausted my strength and his living room couch was beckoning me. I tried to make myself as comfortable as I can and I drifted off into sleep.
I had a bad dream that night. I was chased by long dark shadows with many arms. As I kept running, more shadows rose from the ground to chase me. I ran as hard as I could, taking in deep lungful of air. But it was useless. Their long arms reached out to grab my legs and I realized they were wooden as they smashed my chest.
It was 4 am when something woke me up. Andy was standing in front of the tv with his back facing me. He was in his same clothes. I heard loud tapping coming from his fingers.
"Andy? What's wrong?" I said with as much courage as a squeaky mouse.
Andy stopped tapping and slowly turned to face me. His complexion was like a ghost.
"There's no cat pictures on their internet."
| |
[WP] In order to prevent man from chopping them down, trees evolve a rather unusual feature - WiFi. However, the network they are connected to is not the Internet as we know it. | There was a twinge of guilt as I opened my laptop on the wet grass. A few spots of dew hit the screen from the motion and lit up on my log-in screen with a luminous rainbow of LED colors. The guilt was from missing yet another day of work for what I can only refer to as a wonderful affliction. A new sapling was just getting it's range today so I had to connect.
I don't know when I lost my way, I can't even pinpoint when I started "branching". It all started as having to send a work email up in the mountains and losing my 4G at the most inopportune moment. I can't recall if it was my 2nd year or 12th year at Johnson & Gamble. I connected to send the spreadsheet I had lazily pieced together in the waning sunlight. I had been warned, but it was all from inference. The people that were deep into branching were completely in their own world, they still functioned basically in society, but they didn't have jobs, they weren't involved in anything that involved people that didn't "branch." The main thing is that they didn't talk to anyone about it, and they all looked pretty happy, in fact, more happy than most. It was kind of like Mormonism, you were weirded out and afraid of their ways, but damnit if they didn't look like the happiest bunch of picture-frame-stock-photo families you'd ever seen.
When I finally "linked" I got it. They called it linked because just like the rumors, your web experience was guided by a wood elf. There was very little that the rumors got right, but that was something that was true. I was never into fantasy stuff, the only vision I had of what elves looked like was from Peter Jackson, and it turned out (to no surprise of my own) that it was spot on. My elf's name was Cynthia, which I realized sounds totally like a fantasy name despite it's commonality.
Cynthia was HOT. I mean like *Whoa I'm nervous to talk to this girl* hot, to the point where browsing the web became a shaky, triple-clicking experience. I quickly sent my email, and by "quickly" I mean amazingly fast. The wait times on loading/sending/anything were instant. I reached for the top of my screen to close it, but I couldn't draw myself to do it.
"Is there anything else you're interested in?" Cynthia asked. The trees seemed to bow to my activity in the breeze like I controlled the wind with every click.
"Um.." I cleared my throat. "Ahem...um...no I guess not."
"Are you sure?" she asked in **THE SEXIEST** voice I'd ever heard.
"Well I guess I need to check my work email" I eked.
"Done" she said. "Mr. Treadwell says your project isn't due until Monday, the meeting for Saturday was moved up to 1:00 and it is at the Double Tree now, and Tiffany from accounting made a cute joke with a winky-smily at the end of the TPS report."
It hit me. Branching was all about privileged information and efficiency. Cynthia had done in seconds what would have taken me 20 minutes. I got a little braver,
"How about Reddit, Facebook, and CNN?" I asked, sitting more comfortably in the office chair.
There was a wave of light and stimuli. Reddit became a living thing on my screen, I spent 20 seconds laughing continuously at things I thought were funny, 20 seconds speed-reading studiously about current events, and the last 20 seconds commenting with such clever zing that I was gilded thrice, that's right, a thrice-gilding. It was the most amazing 2 minutes of my internet life, except for my first experience with streaming Jenna Jameson and not having to rename downloaded Kazaa porn "7BWe.exe" to avoid having my mother stumble upon it. I was about 3 minutes into my first branching experience when Cynthia showed me the /r/GoneWild of girls that were only my type and only in my area. Kind of like those "Tina is 5 miles away and wants to share nudes" but you know...real. I was feeling a little randy when I heard every mans fantasy.
"Would you like me to take care of that bothersome need in your board shorts?" Cynthia asked, breaking the 4th wall of computer 3-dimensional life and peaking her beautiful face out of the screen. I was afraid to say "yes" but I was for damn sure not saying "no". It was the best sex of my life, it was like my half hour of porn browning was cut down to the 2 minutes I actually wanted to watch, but all of this "watching" was happening on my penis. I could see now why so many people were disappearing into this world.
That was an incredible experience. Your sprite that you "linked" with (haha link-ed get it?) was your own, but they didn't live long, you had to find a new tree after they died and almost every tree was taken. I was lucky to find "2WIRECYNTHIA" in the mountains. We had been through a ton together, privileged information meant I new current events up to the second, to the point where I knew exactly where and when I could ask my incredibly poignant political question when he was in town, learn Portuguese in minutes, right before encountering the Brazilian National Volleyball team at a local bar, building my DIY PC from parts that I got from a tiny abandoned computer repair store that I broke into with my DIY lockpicks. I learned how to code, hack, create, destroy. I had built a bit of wealth from my money-making schemes from privileged knowledge and done well.
So here I was, constantly refreshing my WiFi near this new sapling that was "ranging" for the first time. Surrounded by dozens of local "branchers" desperate to have that leg up, that efficiency, and cyber companion. Then suddenly "NETGEARNADIA" came up on my screen. The forest was flooded with the echoing sounds of feverish clicking and typing.
I heard a cry out about 20 feet behind me,
"YES!" A high pitched stranger let out a celebratory yell.
Followed by a collective grown from the rest of the "saps" including my own.
God Damnit | "After the Great Network Bombings of 2020 things have never been the same."
I glisten my hand softly over the soft bark of the old Great Oak. The only thing that has kept humanity running. I don't really notice the group of children I'm suppose to be Guiding. I just let my thoughts flow out like they once used to... I never liked trees, I was for the Deforestation Act of 2019 but...
"You see kids...these great beings, are the last of their kind after the tragedy that happened 7 years ago. They exist as a sign of humanity's ever lasting commitment to preserving nature."
We didn't know. Have we really gotten to the point where these are the last things we can truly use to connect. The only things that make us feel like we are we and not just alone in the world. Then something wet hits my cheek.
"Mister Cole, why are you crying?"
My hands quickly wipe my face for any evidence of the fact, I'm not embarrassed, it's just these tears bring back the memories and the future.
"I...I'm just remembering kids about the old times, well what we're talking about here, those old times..."
My hands feels their hands, I feel every single one of them across the globe, their sadness but also their joy. I look at my group of kids, one spouts something they should't know yet.
"I heard from my Dad about the black-outs and the computer burning."
A semi-warm smile makes it's way across my face as I pat one of the their heads.
"Yes, your Daddy sounds like a smart man."
Suddenly a jolt runs down my arm still on the Great Oak. It's time...
"Hey kids, can you come stand over here for a second, it's time we get started.
They move orderly like how they're taught and one turns to me and looks at me with a innocent stare.
"Is this going to hurt Mister Cole?"
My semi-fake smiles turns into a soft grimace.
"Yes."
| |
[WP] In order to prevent man from chopping them down, trees evolve a rather unusual feature - WiFi. However, the network they are connected to is not the Internet as we know it. | (25 minutes later)
... "Thank you for calling Verizon customer support, this is Nacho. May I please have your name for our records?"
"Mike. You're the third person that I've told."
"Excuse me, sir?"
"Nothing."
"Ok. Mike?"
"Yes."
"What seems to be the issue today, Mike?"
"Well my router doesn't seem to be working correctly."
...
"Hello?"
"Yes sir, I'm sorry to hear that. What exactly is the problem with the router?"
"It's just not working. There's no Greenternet coming from it."
"Ok, I understood. Please hold on for a moment while I connect to your account."
...
"What color are the leaves, sir?"
"It's winter, here."
"Excuse me, sir?"
"Uh...there are no leaves. They all fell off. It's winter."
"Oh, I see. So you have a deciduous model, then. Do you know the species, sir?"
"Yes, yes. Hold on, let me get the guide. It looks like a...man, this is hard without the leaves...it looks like either an Oak...or...an Elm."
"It cannot be an Oak, sir, because Verizon does not use oaks as carriers, but it could certainly be an elm. Can you please confirm if it is an American Elm or a Rock Elm?"
"I don't know. Where can I find that information?"
"Is the bark flakier, or rather sturdy?"
"Sturdy."
"Ok Mike, I believe you are using an American Elm with us today. And please allow me to confirm that there are no leaves on your tree. Is that correct?"
"Yes, it's December."
"Ok. Mike, I am going to walk you through some simple troubleshooting tests such as resetting your tree's connection. Is that ok?"
"Yes, but I've already turned it off and then on again."
"And what did that do?"
"Well, nothing obviously. There's no Greenternet still."
...
[The conversation continues for some time before Mike goes out and cuts down the tree himself, planting in its stead a sturdy Cherry from a local telecom startup.]
| "After the Great Network Bombings of 2020 things have never been the same."
I glisten my hand softly over the soft bark of the old Great Oak. The only thing that has kept humanity running. I don't really notice the group of children I'm suppose to be Guiding. I just let my thoughts flow out like they once used to... I never liked trees, I was for the Deforestation Act of 2019 but...
"You see kids...these great beings, are the last of their kind after the tragedy that happened 7 years ago. They exist as a sign of humanity's ever lasting commitment to preserving nature."
We didn't know. Have we really gotten to the point where these are the last things we can truly use to connect. The only things that make us feel like we are we and not just alone in the world. Then something wet hits my cheek.
"Mister Cole, why are you crying?"
My hands quickly wipe my face for any evidence of the fact, I'm not embarrassed, it's just these tears bring back the memories and the future.
"I...I'm just remembering kids about the old times, well what we're talking about here, those old times..."
My hands feels their hands, I feel every single one of them across the globe, their sadness but also their joy. I look at my group of kids, one spouts something they should't know yet.
"I heard from my Dad about the black-outs and the computer burning."
A semi-warm smile makes it's way across my face as I pat one of the their heads.
"Yes, your Daddy sounds like a smart man."
Suddenly a jolt runs down my arm still on the Great Oak. It's time...
"Hey kids, can you come stand over here for a second, it's time we get started.
They move orderly like how they're taught and one turns to me and looks at me with a innocent stare.
"Is this going to hurt Mister Cole?"
My semi-fake smiles turns into a soft grimace.
"Yes."
| |
[WP] In order to prevent man from chopping them down, trees evolve a rather unusual feature - WiFi. However, the network they are connected to is not the Internet as we know it. | They had taken to calling it Rootnet, the signals the trees had started broadcasting.
Sam found it funny. Not the name itself, mind, but the way in which it exposed the insane fixation the scientists of the Oxford lab had with categorising everything. In reality none of them, from the students like himself to the most eminent professors involved with the project, understood the phenomenon any more than the public at large.
He stared at the irregular wall of characters displayed in the window of RootBrowser v6.3 and laughed, stopping the application.
"Looks like we're completely *stumped*, guys."
Cassie raised an eyebrow at him, her emerald eyes enchanting in mock reproach. Sam felt his heart begin to race: even in the prosaic lab gear Cassie looked like some stunning renaissance painting brought to life.
"Is it still spewing out jargon?" she said, voice resigned as she examined yet more samples of the tree cell cultures under a microscope.
"Yep. Whatever they're broadcasting, we can't read it." He really ought to ask her out, he thought, but as soon as he did shook his head at how stupid that was. She was way out of his league.
"That's so wierd! The tech guys were adamant they had got the latest version accessing the exact frequency the trees are emitting."
"Maybe they're all just like 'whatup bro check out my latest photosynth session', or talking about the best chlorophyll labels, and it just makes no sense to us." he said, re-running the app for what felt like the five hundredth time that day.
"Or bitching about their roots getting tangled with each other." Cassie said, smiling.
Sam grinned, and turned to stare at the big oak outside in the quadrangle, an old specimen transplanted from the university grounds for the purpose of their research.
"'Dude, get your branches outta my face!'" Sam mimed a mock arboreal argument "'You grew into me first, bro. You're totally cramping my sun!'"
Cassie laughed, and stood up from the microscope. "God, I need a break from this. Can you watch my stuff?"
"Sure." Sam said, and she stalked off out of the lab, out into the quadrangle.
It was when he turned back towards the laptop and RootBrowser that his heart skipped a beat, for there in the meaningless nonsense the app was regurgitating was clear intelligable text. The first it had ever found.
49X9u8IONKknmkikmnkm9jdn49fn4**iwishsamwouldaskmeout**45nnjnji9jf9jfm49jff002dk0
His head snapped to the window, and there, with her back to the tree and raven-haired head resting upon the wizened bark of its trunk, was Cassie. His pulse raced, and it wasn't because he had just cracked the mystery of Rootnet.
Cassie re-entered a few minutes later, to find Sam waiting for her on the other side of the lab door.
"Hey, uh, can you look after the app while I have a break as well?" He said, his eyes darting everywhere but her face.
"Sure..." she said, knitting her brows in puzzlement.
Sam walked slowly to the oak, his pulse racing as his mind raced across all the possibilities that were opening up before him. He slumped against the firm old tree, head back and his thoughts full of the Rootnet, the app, and Cassie.
He had no idea exactly what had appeared on the monitor when he walked back into the lab, but the look on Cassie's face told him plenty.
"Will you-" he began.
"Yes!"
| "After the Great Network Bombings of 2020 things have never been the same."
I glisten my hand softly over the soft bark of the old Great Oak. The only thing that has kept humanity running. I don't really notice the group of children I'm suppose to be Guiding. I just let my thoughts flow out like they once used to... I never liked trees, I was for the Deforestation Act of 2019 but...
"You see kids...these great beings, are the last of their kind after the tragedy that happened 7 years ago. They exist as a sign of humanity's ever lasting commitment to preserving nature."
We didn't know. Have we really gotten to the point where these are the last things we can truly use to connect. The only things that make us feel like we are we and not just alone in the world. Then something wet hits my cheek.
"Mister Cole, why are you crying?"
My hands quickly wipe my face for any evidence of the fact, I'm not embarrassed, it's just these tears bring back the memories and the future.
"I...I'm just remembering kids about the old times, well what we're talking about here, those old times..."
My hands feels their hands, I feel every single one of them across the globe, their sadness but also their joy. I look at my group of kids, one spouts something they should't know yet.
"I heard from my Dad about the black-outs and the computer burning."
A semi-warm smile makes it's way across my face as I pat one of the their heads.
"Yes, your Daddy sounds like a smart man."
Suddenly a jolt runs down my arm still on the Great Oak. It's time...
"Hey kids, can you come stand over here for a second, it's time we get started.
They move orderly like how they're taught and one turns to me and looks at me with a innocent stare.
"Is this going to hurt Mister Cole?"
My semi-fake smiles turns into a soft grimace.
"Yes."
| |
[WP] In order to prevent man from chopping them down, trees evolve a rather unusual feature - WiFi. However, the network they are connected to is not the Internet as we know it. | (25 minutes later)
... "Thank you for calling Verizon customer support, this is Nacho. May I please have your name for our records?"
"Mike. You're the third person that I've told."
"Excuse me, sir?"
"Nothing."
"Ok. Mike?"
"Yes."
"What seems to be the issue today, Mike?"
"Well my router doesn't seem to be working correctly."
...
"Hello?"
"Yes sir, I'm sorry to hear that. What exactly is the problem with the router?"
"It's just not working. There's no Greenternet coming from it."
"Ok, I understood. Please hold on for a moment while I connect to your account."
...
"What color are the leaves, sir?"
"It's winter, here."
"Excuse me, sir?"
"Uh...there are no leaves. They all fell off. It's winter."
"Oh, I see. So you have a deciduous model, then. Do you know the species, sir?"
"Yes, yes. Hold on, let me get the guide. It looks like a...man, this is hard without the leaves...it looks like either an Oak...or...an Elm."
"It cannot be an Oak, sir, because Verizon does not use oaks as carriers, but it could certainly be an elm. Can you please confirm if it is an American Elm or a Rock Elm?"
"I don't know. Where can I find that information?"
"Is the bark flakier, or rather sturdy?"
"Sturdy."
"Ok Mike, I believe you are using an American Elm with us today. And please allow me to confirm that there are no leaves on your tree. Is that correct?"
"Yes, it's December."
"Ok. Mike, I am going to walk you through some simple troubleshooting tests such as resetting your tree's connection. Is that ok?"
"Yes, but I've already turned it off and then on again."
"And what did that do?"
"Well, nothing obviously. There's no Greenternet still."
...
[The conversation continues for some time before Mike goes out and cuts down the tree himself, planting in its stead a sturdy Cherry from a local telecom startup.]
| There was a twinge of guilt as I opened my laptop on the wet grass. A few spots of dew hit the screen from the motion and lit up on my log-in screen with a luminous rainbow of LED colors. The guilt was from missing yet another day of work for what I can only refer to as a wonderful affliction. A new sapling was just getting it's range today so I had to connect.
I don't know when I lost my way, I can't even pinpoint when I started "branching". It all started as having to send a work email up in the mountains and losing my 4G at the most inopportune moment. I can't recall if it was my 2nd year or 12th year at Johnson & Gamble. I connected to send the spreadsheet I had lazily pieced together in the waning sunlight. I had been warned, but it was all from inference. The people that were deep into branching were completely in their own world, they still functioned basically in society, but they didn't have jobs, they weren't involved in anything that involved people that didn't "branch." The main thing is that they didn't talk to anyone about it, and they all looked pretty happy, in fact, more happy than most. It was kind of like Mormonism, you were weirded out and afraid of their ways, but damnit if they didn't look like the happiest bunch of picture-frame-stock-photo families you'd ever seen.
When I finally "linked" I got it. They called it linked because just like the rumors, your web experience was guided by a wood elf. There was very little that the rumors got right, but that was something that was true. I was never into fantasy stuff, the only vision I had of what elves looked like was from Peter Jackson, and it turned out (to no surprise of my own) that it was spot on. My elf's name was Cynthia, which I realized sounds totally like a fantasy name despite it's commonality.
Cynthia was HOT. I mean like *Whoa I'm nervous to talk to this girl* hot, to the point where browsing the web became a shaky, triple-clicking experience. I quickly sent my email, and by "quickly" I mean amazingly fast. The wait times on loading/sending/anything were instant. I reached for the top of my screen to close it, but I couldn't draw myself to do it.
"Is there anything else you're interested in?" Cynthia asked. The trees seemed to bow to my activity in the breeze like I controlled the wind with every click.
"Um.." I cleared my throat. "Ahem...um...no I guess not."
"Are you sure?" she asked in **THE SEXIEST** voice I'd ever heard.
"Well I guess I need to check my work email" I eked.
"Done" she said. "Mr. Treadwell says your project isn't due until Monday, the meeting for Saturday was moved up to 1:00 and it is at the Double Tree now, and Tiffany from accounting made a cute joke with a winky-smily at the end of the TPS report."
It hit me. Branching was all about privileged information and efficiency. Cynthia had done in seconds what would have taken me 20 minutes. I got a little braver,
"How about Reddit, Facebook, and CNN?" I asked, sitting more comfortably in the office chair.
There was a wave of light and stimuli. Reddit became a living thing on my screen, I spent 20 seconds laughing continuously at things I thought were funny, 20 seconds speed-reading studiously about current events, and the last 20 seconds commenting with such clever zing that I was gilded thrice, that's right, a thrice-gilding. It was the most amazing 2 minutes of my internet life, except for my first experience with streaming Jenna Jameson and not having to rename downloaded Kazaa porn "7BWe.exe" to avoid having my mother stumble upon it. I was about 3 minutes into my first branching experience when Cynthia showed me the /r/GoneWild of girls that were only my type and only in my area. Kind of like those "Tina is 5 miles away and wants to share nudes" but you know...real. I was feeling a little randy when I heard every mans fantasy.
"Would you like me to take care of that bothersome need in your board shorts?" Cynthia asked, breaking the 4th wall of computer 3-dimensional life and peaking her beautiful face out of the screen. I was afraid to say "yes" but I was for damn sure not saying "no". It was the best sex of my life, it was like my half hour of porn browning was cut down to the 2 minutes I actually wanted to watch, but all of this "watching" was happening on my penis. I could see now why so many people were disappearing into this world.
That was an incredible experience. Your sprite that you "linked" with (haha link-ed get it?) was your own, but they didn't live long, you had to find a new tree after they died and almost every tree was taken. I was lucky to find "2WIRECYNTHIA" in the mountains. We had been through a ton together, privileged information meant I new current events up to the second, to the point where I knew exactly where and when I could ask my incredibly poignant political question when he was in town, learn Portuguese in minutes, right before encountering the Brazilian National Volleyball team at a local bar, building my DIY PC from parts that I got from a tiny abandoned computer repair store that I broke into with my DIY lockpicks. I learned how to code, hack, create, destroy. I had built a bit of wealth from my money-making schemes from privileged knowledge and done well.
So here I was, constantly refreshing my WiFi near this new sapling that was "ranging" for the first time. Surrounded by dozens of local "branchers" desperate to have that leg up, that efficiency, and cyber companion. Then suddenly "NETGEARNADIA" came up on my screen. The forest was flooded with the echoing sounds of feverish clicking and typing.
I heard a cry out about 20 feet behind me,
"YES!" A high pitched stranger let out a celebratory yell.
Followed by a collective grown from the rest of the "saps" including my own.
God Damnit | |
[WP] A woman has a heart attack on an airplane. The stewardess asks if there are any doctors on board. Dr. Seuss raises his hand. | **Is there a doctor on the plane?**
Well, I guess I am. I'm Dr. Seuss, the famous children's author.
**Well, I don't see anyone else raising their hand. Can you help this woman?**
Probably not. You see, I write books for kids. "Cat In The Hat" and so on, you know?
**I'm familiar. I love your work. I thought you'd speak in rhyme if I ever met you.**
Of course not. These rhyming pants come off at night like everyone else's. Plus, this woman is dying. Why would someone wanna rhyme at a time like this?
**I think you just did!**
Seriously, I'm not a real doctor. I cannot stress this enough. Maybe you could have someone land this plane?
**The pilot?**
Yes, he'll do. In the meantime, maybe I can look up some WebMD in my iPhone and we can do some first aid. Hey, I gotta pay how much for wi-fi?
**Yeah. I know.**
Well, she lived a long, full life I'm sure.
**She's 7.**
And that's 49 in dog years.
**True.**
So hey, if I'm not gonna get free wi-fi can I at least get the whole can of Coke? I wrote "Green Eggs and Ham", you know.
**Sorry, but I have to find someone who can save this girl.**
Oh, yeah. That. Well, I'll be over here reading my John Grisham. You ever read *The Firm*? This is my ninth time. What a book! | A doctor! A doctor? The question that asked, I'll reach for my bag, retrieve and oxygen mask,
I'll stabilize your vitals, keep you alive a minute more, take this calming sedative, and count back from four,
When the plane has landed, and it's time to depart, you'll walk off this plane, with a fully-working heart.
| |
[WP] A woman has a heart attack on an airplane. The stewardess asks if there are any doctors on board. Dr. Seuss raises his hand. | Sheila hated flying.
The lines, the security, the people; all of it was terrible. She was, however, a decent sister and when Bethany had called asking to accompany her on the trip to Cali she couldn't say no. Bethany was, after all, eight months pregnant and Sheila felt bad letting her go alone.
All had gone well this time, perhaps a little too well she thought. Few people were at the airport and they had breezed through the checkpoints at record breaking speed. Two hours later they were almost halfway to San Francisco and Sheila felt she could finally relax.
Fate would betray her that day, babies sometimes decide the time is nigh and wait for no one. "GAH!" Bethany called loudly, "I just had a contraction!" The stewardess rushed over as the other passengers began to murmur in curiosity. "Is there a doctor on board?" the stewardess asked loudly while poor Bethany clutched her midsection in pain.
All eyes turned to the front of the plane as a man rose slowly from his seat. As he stepped into the light the features of his white beard, round spectacles, and immaculate bow tie were revealed to the cabin. "I am", the man said clearly.
Faster than fast he was there on the scene, the eyes of the passengers widened and gleaned!
His motions were rapid, the deftness of moves. No match was the larger emergency's loom.
He carried a bag which contained who-knows-what. His assuredness calmed us, he brought just the stuff!
There's no chance he wont fix this bizarre turn of luck. He's helping her out like a champ, there's no bluff.
He threw a large blanket right over her head, right down to her kneecaps, her ankles, and said:
"Just give me a minute, and soon you will see, I'll bring back a baby, what's more I'll bring three!"
He tucked his head under the blanket he'd thrown. He told her to push and she gave a great moan.
The minutes ticked on as he rushed through the work. We waited quite trepidly, fearing the worst.
The silence was broke that had taken the plane. The cries of a baby, his work not in vain!
He popped his head back through the covering shawl, and announced to the plane, "I've got one but not all!"
Then before even Sheila could register squat, his recede to the canopy left us in shock.
Yet again came a cry from an infant's small lungs, he appeared and declared to us, "Golly, what fun!".
We could hardly contain our excitement at all when at last, yes at last came the beckoning call:
The good Doctor delivered three babies as promised, a surprise to us all to be perfectly honest.
He threw back the blanket and low and behold: Three infants and mother there healthy and whole.
"What thanks I must give to magical man! My babies and I are here just as was planned!"
"No thanks here are needed", the Doctor stood firm, "I'm a man of the medicine: simple yet learned"
"All I ask in return is to raise them up well, to read to them books about dragons and elves!"
"If you read to them now while they still are yet young, they'll develop the habit and learning is fun!"
"They'll go on with their lives full of worlds in their heads; heck they'll carry them on to the grave when they're dead!"
The cabin was radiant, basked in his speech. Even Sheila, the grumpy one made not a bleep.
The mother, however, was simply not done, "Give your name my good Doctor, so shall be called my son!"
With a smile and a wink the good man spoke once more: "Theodore my good dear, and Geisel, but there's more!
"My work leaves me no choice but to be a recluse, for my name as a Doctor, well I do go by Seuss!" | "A doctor, a doctor? You need a doctor for the heart?!
But oh, but no what if it was just a fart?
I know! I know precisely what to do!
"Meet my assistants, Thing 1 and Thing 2!"
Wheeling and whirling and sailing,
Thing 2 and Thing 1 came in wailing!
Something like sirens was all that was heard,
as the crew and the passengers all found it absurd,
that a man, pretending to be something he's not,
talked to his hands that were wrapped in socks. | |
[WP] A woman has a heart attack on an airplane. The stewardess asks if there are any doctors on board. Dr. Seuss raises his hand. | "A passenger's dying on this very plane?
We *must* ensure oxygen gets to her brain!
My cat's red-striped hat can help with the task,
For inside it I carry an oxygen mask.
Thing 1: grab me pillows, I'll need two or three,
And bring me the med kit immediately!
Thing 2: tell the pilot I'm resuscitating
a passenger's heart with a rate quickly fading.
I'll also require the plane's AED,
So hurry now, quickly!, and bring them to me!"
 
"Now stay with me miss: today you'll die not!
This aspirin should help you with any blood clot.
Horton's now going to force some air into you,
and compress your chest; thirty sets ought'a do.
Lorax stay close with the heart-shocking gear,
To jump-start the heart with a zap! on my '*CLEAR!*'
 
Miss, drink some water - we're out of this jam,
Maybe now you'll cut back on your green eggs and ham.
But for now don't you worry - I've made sure you're stable,
as Seuss is my name: I'm the doctor most able."
| *Are you right madam, are you okay?
You need to get to the medical bay!*
"Why are you talking like that?"
*I think you need a doctor, yes you do.
I'm not really a doctor, unlucky for you.*
"You're not an actual doctor?"
*No, Seuss is my name, I am no doctor.
Zoopity boopity droop, I'm an author.*
"Are there another doctor here?"
A man in a suit rose from his seat as he directed his attention to the passenger next to him, "Rose, grab my bag." | |
Maybe some moons change our gravity, or time flows backwards for a few months. Think outside the box. | [WP] Invent a new season and how it effects the world. | Smoke filled the streets and the feeble excuse for sunlight that managed to filter threw made the city look like dull and dead in August the winds stop and the air hangs stagnant and putrid, the first year millions died of asphyxiation. Most people flee the major cities during this time, it just leaves their houses ripe for looting.
"Dave, what in blazes are you doing over there hurry up with that door we can't stay here to long or the blimmin' air will foul up"
I snap back into reality and finish unscrewing the last hinge off the door, I go to enter but quickly get pulled back by Phil. Ohh great here comes another safety tip from the handbook 'em self
"Dave ya tryin' to get your self killed, those rich cunts have smarted up. Remember John found his corpse in the kitchen those pricks left the gas on knowing it would turn the house into a death trap pass me the lighter see if those rich cunts tried the same trick"
"Hang on, slow down a second Phil. If we go waving a flame in there it's going to blow us all to Smithereens, house and all."
"Look mate I've done this before worse case that happens is the blazes burns inside for a second then the lack of air kills the flame and just leaves the fragiles like paper burnt."
I just shrug his reasoning sounds good enough to me and besides if any thing like a wad of cash get's burnt I'll be able to grill 'em for it like all the times he's done to me. I toss the lighter over to him while backing up the air where I'm standing turning to foul to stay
"Catch ya daft bastard, anything goes wrong it's on you"
Phil just casually strolls up cocky as ever flicks it on and leaps back as the place quickly blazes, I open my mouth to yell at him but just as quickly the flames are gone a quiet phwoomb the noise a gas heater makes when it goes out comes out from the building.
"Right Davey my boy, time to take anything worth a few bucks and trash the rest, bastards try and kill us with gas we can make 'em wish it work, remember in and out in 30 second gaps no air left in there you start in the lounge, I'll head up stairs. Don't forget to trash the place as you go"
He walks in and flicks his lighter to demonstrate, not a spark or flame comes out, the message deadly clear. | Scientists have discovered a new season: Prayer Week. During one week a year between winter and fall, one random prayer of a man somewhere on earth between the age of six and fourty-two will be granted. We warn the world of the dangerous implications of this and ask that you don't pray for something that could potentially end the world. |
Maybe some moons change our gravity, or time flows backwards for a few months. Think outside the box. | [WP] Invent a new season and how it effects the world. | Season of lavender skies
Season of whispering highs
Season of growth and wallow
Season of timeless tomorrow
Let me hold you close and tight
Strolling in your brightest night
| Scientists have discovered a new season: Prayer Week. During one week a year between winter and fall, one random prayer of a man somewhere on earth between the age of six and fourty-two will be granted. We warn the world of the dangerous implications of this and ask that you don't pray for something that could potentially end the world. |
Maybe some moons change our gravity, or time flows backwards for a few months. Think outside the box. | [WP] Invent a new season and how it effects the world. | There are no longer seasons. Just the Unending Heat.
We ignored the warnings, time and time again. Repeatedly, we chose shortsighted gains over long term sustainability. And we have paid the price.
Most died within a year. Water was hard to obtain in a pure and liquid form, and there weren't enough great shelters to house anyone who wasn't important or rich. As resources dwindled and hope with them, we became desperate. We began building ships.
Grand ships, which will carry small populations out of Earth's orbit, and eventually, to other planets. But just like the shelters, space is limited, and only the powerful will secure a spot. Today I learned that my family and I are not among those fortunate few.
Like I have for the past few months, I sit and watch out of one of the containment chamber's few windows. I stare out into the arid, inhospitable atmosphere at the large dome where humanity's last hope is being constructed.
I watch in sorrow. Not sadness for me and my loved ones, but for our race. A people which had so much potential, but is now doomed to spend the rest of their existence searching for an alternative to the heat.
My melancholic silence is interrupted by a tap on my shoulder. I turn to see my daughter, distraught by her father's continued distress.
She asks, like she often does, if Summer will last forever. She expects the usual answer, a reluctant 'Yes.'
Today, however, I simply shake my head and put up as convincing a smile as I can. I welcome her into my lap, first ensuring that the syringe I stole earlier is still hidden in my pocket.
"No, Susan, summer will end soon. For both of us" | Scientists have discovered a new season: Prayer Week. During one week a year between winter and fall, one random prayer of a man somewhere on earth between the age of six and fourty-two will be granted. We warn the world of the dangerous implications of this and ask that you don't pray for something that could potentially end the world. |
Maybe some moons change our gravity, or time flows backwards for a few months. Think outside the box. | [WP] Invent a new season and how it effects the world. | Marie did not notice the whispering wind at first. She was too focused on finishing the week's wash, too lost in her own thoughts. The sun had begun setting, and daylight was fading fast. Only after Harlow, the family cat, began yowling did Marie raise her eyes from her work.
There, not an arm's length from her face, floated a pale wisp. Ethereal in form, it swayed slightly in the wind. Marie recoiled in surprise when she noticed it. The wisp chattered in response, as if laughing, before disappearing into the woods behind the cabin.
Marie stood up, the day's wash set aside, unable to believe what she had just seen. For one, it was far too early. The harvest season had only ended weeks ago. The homeward season, when laborers would return from the far-fields to their homes within the walls, always lasted at least two full moons. To see a wisp (or any spirit at all) in the early homeward season was exceedingly rare--such a sight was usually reserved for the awakening season that followed. And for another, wisps did not usually reveal themselves so boldly to humans.
Harlow had begun hissing at the air, her back arched. Marie looked in the direction it was facing. There were more and more wisps appearing in the forest, their chattering echoing like the clacking of marbles in the distance. Marie turned towards the cabin. "Papa!" she yelled.
Moments later, Marie's father opened the back door. He looked towards Marie, but quickly turned his attention to the wisps. He turned quickly back at Marie.
"Where is your brother?" he asked, tension rising in his voice. He began walking towards the shed, his eyes scanning the distance.
"He went to play by the river. I would've gone with him, but you said to fini--" Marie started.
"That's OK. Go inside and get the Book." her father replied, interrupting her in his haste. He walked to the shed and opened the doors. Reaching up at the top shelf, he unlocked a compartment and pulled out two items--a small pendant and an ornamental knife. He gazed for a moment at the knife, particularly the ornate symbols that covered it from hilt to blade. Marie rushed out of the cabin moments later with a large tome in tow. She handed the Book to her father with both hands.
"Is Cid going to be OK?" she asked with a worried expression.
"He'll be fine, Marie. Now get inside and lock the door."
Marie nodded, picking up Harlow before reentering the cabin. Her father gazed back towards the woods, now fully lit with the glow of white wisps. With the knife in one hand and the Book in the other, he took a steadying breath, turned, and walked forward into the forest.
| Scientists have discovered a new season: Prayer Week. During one week a year between winter and fall, one random prayer of a man somewhere on earth between the age of six and fourty-two will be granted. We warn the world of the dangerous implications of this and ask that you don't pray for something that could potentially end the world. |
Maybe some moons change our gravity, or time flows backwards for a few months. Think outside the box. | [WP] Invent a new season and how it effects the world. | Societal norms have since drastically changed after what came to be known as the first instance of Overgrowth. The shifting molecular arrangement in the atmosphere had somehow stagnated through October the 15th to November 24th. The resulting pattern exponentially increasing the growth rate of all flora worldwide. Scientists theorized that the influence the atmosphere had on preserving nutritious compound in the soil was a key factor, as well as a more concentrated source of energy since the sun had released the Massive Solar Flare of 09'. The weather was always cold and humid like that of deep forest with the fog prevalent.
I was only 17 when it first happened and life had been a lot different back then. Never before were humans pervasively occupied by the natural instinct for self-preservation than they were once they put themselves through tormenting amounts of work just to install adequately functioning Spore Walls. Daily life had morphed from enacting trivial activities and securing financial status into humanity depraving labour work that entailed the use of Herbacidic and Containment Machinery.
But now things have gotten much worse, the animal life were also influenced by Overgrowth. The facilitated growth had evolved flora into a collective hivemind, and they had sought a way to use their substantial evolutionary haste to mitigate the efforts to thwart them. Figuring a way to release massive amounts of Endorphins and manipulating wildlife into savage beasts aggressively attacking anything with a pulse.
So here I am, Corrosive Mortars placed in strategic advantage, Flamethrowers equipped by every scared shell of a man who wishes to live just another 11 months of relative freedom and calm. Ready to at last after 13 struggling years, restore order to the ever slowly morphing planet as it transforms into a grotesque shade of puke green. It's time to destroy the Hivemind.
This time the only growing to be done will be apart.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
EDIT: Excuse my poor sci-fi explanations it's the first time I've tried using a pseudoscientific explanation. | Scientists have discovered a new season: Prayer Week. During one week a year between winter and fall, one random prayer of a man somewhere on earth between the age of six and fourty-two will be granted. We warn the world of the dangerous implications of this and ask that you don't pray for something that could potentially end the world. |
Maybe some moons change our gravity, or time flows backwards for a few months. Think outside the box. | [WP] Invent a new season and how it effects the world. | God bless Mother Nature
She's a single woman too
She took over heaven
And she did what she had to do
She fought every Angel
To rearranged the sky
So that each and every woman
Could find the perfect guy
It's raining men
Hallejulah
It was supposed to be the spring of 2019. The world economy appeared to be on its last legs. Almost every major nation was on the verge of bankruptcy. Global warming had accelerated faster than many had anticipated. It was expected to hit 110 degrees F in Boston, and 120 in Florida. Despite the recent trend towards atheism over the past few decades due to increases in access in education, people were returning to religion largely out of desperation. It was then, that the miracle occurred.
Secretly, the US government had not only been spying on everyone, but had also been covertly cloning everyone. The plan was to murder the entire US population overnight and replace the entire population with clones of themselves. Except these clones would be programmed to always pay their taxes and fight valiantly for their country, which had sadly become increasingly necessary. Thankfully, Americans poor work ethic proved to be its saving grace this day; as the clones were being transported from Utah to the various major cities of the United States many of the planes accidentally released their payloads before reaching their destination. The result was millions of human clones literally falling from the sky. As a consequence of another packaging error, all the clones which fell were male. So did the dawn of the age of Aquarius begin.
At first, no one knew what to make of millions of corpses being dropped on every major US city. Thankfully, at some people were quick witted enough to realize that they could be used as organ donors, and the organ transplant list became substantially shorter that day. Some people thought it was an act of God, some believed it was a hoax or a stunt of some sort. Most really had no idea what to make the situation.
Given that the plan did not succeed and most of the clones were still alive it was decided that this would become a tradition and men rained from the sky for a whole week thereafter. The following year, the week it rained man was reprised. Again, the following year it was repeated. Eventually, it truly just became a fact of life.
After that first day, people were not nearly as horrified, and not nearly as unprepared. At first, people tried to catch the men in nets or other contraptions, but these largely failed. On this first day, the only successes came from police stations equipped with inflatable stunt bags which they used in suicide cases. However, as time passed, the population became more and more adept at catching the men in ways which prevented their deaths.
While the question of where they came from loomed in everyone's mind, there were more pressing questions. How to catch them?, but also, what was the moral status of men from the sky? Was the government obligated to medically treat these men? Who was responsible for their well being and care? Would these men be treated as equals or slaves? Would these men become American citizens?
Slowly, as the men awake from their various injuries, answers to some of these questions became clearer but most became even harder to answer. These men sincerely believed they were already American citizens. They had lives, they had families, they had jobs; as far as they knew. They were fully capable of living their lives, but were already citizens.
If someone knows your PIN # because they are your clone and know everything about you already are they allowed to take money out of your account? If you, your wife, and your clone have a three-way is that adultery? Many many bizarre situations came before the courts that year, and many even bizarre rulings. The single biggest case was Samson vs. Samson where it was ruled that clones of people were in fact that person. Namely, that if a person died, but their clone lived, and that person was married, legally speaking the clone and that person's wife were legally married. Similarly, if a man died on the job, and his clone lived, the clone was legal responsible to finish and unfinished work for that job.
After two or three years, many of the philosophical and legal hurdles were overcome, and it became more of an anticipated event. Not everyone's clone had arrived yet. Every year a list of the new clones was compiled and everyone hoped that this year, their clone would be on the list. Having a clone was suddenly very advantageous. You could go to work every other day (you could trade off with your clone). You could have a romantic night with the wife and go to the big sporting event. As such, the age of Aquarius was a week of celebration. People invented new songs to sing, food and drink to celebrate with. It wasn't unlike Christmas, except the present only came once in a lifetime.
This peaceful bliss concerning raining men lasted roughly 20 years, until The Ailman's Revolt, but that is a story for another day. | Scientists have discovered a new season: Prayer Week. During one week a year between winter and fall, one random prayer of a man somewhere on earth between the age of six and fourty-two will be granted. We warn the world of the dangerous implications of this and ask that you don't pray for something that could potentially end the world. |
Maybe some moons change our gravity, or time flows backwards for a few months. Think outside the box. | [WP] Invent a new season and how it effects the world. | Season of lavender skies
Season of whispering highs
Season of growth and wallow
Season of timeless tomorrow
Let me hold you close and tight
Strolling in your brightest night
| When it started, people couldn't decide if the seasonal boundaries had completely shattered, merged in to one, or never existed at all. They couldn't explain the drastic shifts in weather. No one understood the driving snow covering the globe one day that chilled her to the mantle, followed by a heat so thick it covered her like a wool blanket the next. We couldn't grasp tornadoes in valleys bordered by mountains; earthquakes where no tectonic plates had ever been suspected. The earth seemed to lose her entire rationality.
Then, within a week. Silence. Peace. A fresh spring so light it buzzed in your ears and alighted intrigue and curiosity. Then, like chocolate melting in the sun, it settled in your chest into a gentle summer. It was a warmth that beckoned you on to your front porch in the evening. Finally, comfort coaxed you into bed with a silver tongue of rest that flirted with your bones and smoothed over your muscles.
The bliss of those few weeks were only matched by the slight chill that inevitably crept up the back of the spine. Just fingertips at first, whispering frosted breath into your warmth. The edges of your summertime sunset start to show some silver; the fringes hide phantoms of frost. A slow spider crawls along your back to stand among the hairs of your neck. In an instant it breaks through the glaze in your eye, gripping hold of your neck and ripping away your dream.
Then morning. The whole world awakes with a start. We jump out of our beds and the windows are boarded, the doors are triple locked, and anyone lost outside in the dark is presumed dead. This happens once a month. It follows time zones, somehow; the most interesting piece of the shift. Has the world converted to our manmade clocks? Has mother nature converted to our mere human cycles?
Or has our 4.6 billion year old mother, our woman the earth... has she only just now started puberty? |
Maybe some moons change our gravity, or time flows backwards for a few months. Think outside the box. | [WP] Invent a new season and how it effects the world. | Marie did not notice the whispering wind at first. She was too focused on finishing the week's wash, too lost in her own thoughts. The sun had begun setting, and daylight was fading fast. Only after Harlow, the family cat, began yowling did Marie raise her eyes from her work.
There, not an arm's length from her face, floated a pale wisp. Ethereal in form, it swayed slightly in the wind. Marie recoiled in surprise when she noticed it. The wisp chattered in response, as if laughing, before disappearing into the woods behind the cabin.
Marie stood up, the day's wash set aside, unable to believe what she had just seen. For one, it was far too early. The harvest season had only ended weeks ago. The homeward season, when laborers would return from the far-fields to their homes within the walls, always lasted at least two full moons. To see a wisp (or any spirit at all) in the early homeward season was exceedingly rare--such a sight was usually reserved for the awakening season that followed. And for another, wisps did not usually reveal themselves so boldly to humans.
Harlow had begun hissing at the air, her back arched. Marie looked in the direction it was facing. There were more and more wisps appearing in the forest, their chattering echoing like the clacking of marbles in the distance. Marie turned towards the cabin. "Papa!" she yelled.
Moments later, Marie's father opened the back door. He looked towards Marie, but quickly turned his attention to the wisps. He turned quickly back at Marie.
"Where is your brother?" he asked, tension rising in his voice. He began walking towards the shed, his eyes scanning the distance.
"He went to play by the river. I would've gone with him, but you said to fini--" Marie started.
"That's OK. Go inside and get the Book." her father replied, interrupting her in his haste. He walked to the shed and opened the doors. Reaching up at the top shelf, he unlocked a compartment and pulled out two items--a small pendant and an ornamental knife. He gazed for a moment at the knife, particularly the ornate symbols that covered it from hilt to blade. Marie rushed out of the cabin moments later with a large tome in tow. She handed the Book to her father with both hands.
"Is Cid going to be OK?" she asked with a worried expression.
"He'll be fine, Marie. Now get inside and lock the door."
Marie nodded, picking up Harlow before reentering the cabin. Her father gazed back towards the woods, now fully lit with the glow of white wisps. With the knife in one hand and the Book in the other, he took a steadying breath, turned, and walked forward into the forest.
| There are no longer seasons. Just the Unending Heat.
We ignored the warnings, time and time again. Repeatedly, we chose shortsighted gains over long term sustainability. And we have paid the price.
Most died within a year. Water was hard to obtain in a pure and liquid form, and there weren't enough great shelters to house anyone who wasn't important or rich. As resources dwindled and hope with them, we became desperate. We began building ships.
Grand ships, which will carry small populations out of Earth's orbit, and eventually, to other planets. But just like the shelters, space is limited, and only the powerful will secure a spot. Today I learned that my family and I are not among those fortunate few.
Like I have for the past few months, I sit and watch out of one of the containment chamber's few windows. I stare out into the arid, inhospitable atmosphere at the large dome where humanity's last hope is being constructed.
I watch in sorrow. Not sadness for me and my loved ones, but for our race. A people which had so much potential, but is now doomed to spend the rest of their existence searching for an alternative to the heat.
My melancholic silence is interrupted by a tap on my shoulder. I turn to see my daughter, distraught by her father's continued distress.
She asks, like she often does, if Summer will last forever. She expects the usual answer, a reluctant 'Yes.'
Today, however, I simply shake my head and put up as convincing a smile as I can. I welcome her into my lap, first ensuring that the syringe I stole earlier is still hidden in my pocket.
"No, Susan, summer will end soon. For both of us" |
Maybe some moons change our gravity, or time flows backwards for a few months. Think outside the box. | [WP] Invent a new season and how it effects the world. | Societal norms have since drastically changed after what came to be known as the first instance of Overgrowth. The shifting molecular arrangement in the atmosphere had somehow stagnated through October the 15th to November 24th. The resulting pattern exponentially increasing the growth rate of all flora worldwide. Scientists theorized that the influence the atmosphere had on preserving nutritious compound in the soil was a key factor, as well as a more concentrated source of energy since the sun had released the Massive Solar Flare of 09'. The weather was always cold and humid like that of deep forest with the fog prevalent.
I was only 17 when it first happened and life had been a lot different back then. Never before were humans pervasively occupied by the natural instinct for self-preservation than they were once they put themselves through tormenting amounts of work just to install adequately functioning Spore Walls. Daily life had morphed from enacting trivial activities and securing financial status into humanity depraving labour work that entailed the use of Herbacidic and Containment Machinery.
But now things have gotten much worse, the animal life were also influenced by Overgrowth. The facilitated growth had evolved flora into a collective hivemind, and they had sought a way to use their substantial evolutionary haste to mitigate the efforts to thwart them. Figuring a way to release massive amounts of Endorphins and manipulating wildlife into savage beasts aggressively attacking anything with a pulse.
So here I am, Corrosive Mortars placed in strategic advantage, Flamethrowers equipped by every scared shell of a man who wishes to live just another 11 months of relative freedom and calm. Ready to at last after 13 struggling years, restore order to the ever slowly morphing planet as it transforms into a grotesque shade of puke green. It's time to destroy the Hivemind.
This time the only growing to be done will be apart.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
EDIT: Excuse my poor sci-fi explanations it's the first time I've tried using a pseudoscientific explanation. | There are no longer seasons. Just the Unending Heat.
We ignored the warnings, time and time again. Repeatedly, we chose shortsighted gains over long term sustainability. And we have paid the price.
Most died within a year. Water was hard to obtain in a pure and liquid form, and there weren't enough great shelters to house anyone who wasn't important or rich. As resources dwindled and hope with them, we became desperate. We began building ships.
Grand ships, which will carry small populations out of Earth's orbit, and eventually, to other planets. But just like the shelters, space is limited, and only the powerful will secure a spot. Today I learned that my family and I are not among those fortunate few.
Like I have for the past few months, I sit and watch out of one of the containment chamber's few windows. I stare out into the arid, inhospitable atmosphere at the large dome where humanity's last hope is being constructed.
I watch in sorrow. Not sadness for me and my loved ones, but for our race. A people which had so much potential, but is now doomed to spend the rest of their existence searching for an alternative to the heat.
My melancholic silence is interrupted by a tap on my shoulder. I turn to see my daughter, distraught by her father's continued distress.
She asks, like she often does, if Summer will last forever. She expects the usual answer, a reluctant 'Yes.'
Today, however, I simply shake my head and put up as convincing a smile as I can. I welcome her into my lap, first ensuring that the syringe I stole earlier is still hidden in my pocket.
"No, Susan, summer will end soon. For both of us" |
Maybe some moons change our gravity, or time flows backwards for a few months. Think outside the box. | [WP] Invent a new season and how it effects the world. | God bless Mother Nature
She's a single woman too
She took over heaven
And she did what she had to do
She fought every Angel
To rearranged the sky
So that each and every woman
Could find the perfect guy
It's raining men
Hallejulah
It was supposed to be the spring of 2019. The world economy appeared to be on its last legs. Almost every major nation was on the verge of bankruptcy. Global warming had accelerated faster than many had anticipated. It was expected to hit 110 degrees F in Boston, and 120 in Florida. Despite the recent trend towards atheism over the past few decades due to increases in access in education, people were returning to religion largely out of desperation. It was then, that the miracle occurred.
Secretly, the US government had not only been spying on everyone, but had also been covertly cloning everyone. The plan was to murder the entire US population overnight and replace the entire population with clones of themselves. Except these clones would be programmed to always pay their taxes and fight valiantly for their country, which had sadly become increasingly necessary. Thankfully, Americans poor work ethic proved to be its saving grace this day; as the clones were being transported from Utah to the various major cities of the United States many of the planes accidentally released their payloads before reaching their destination. The result was millions of human clones literally falling from the sky. As a consequence of another packaging error, all the clones which fell were male. So did the dawn of the age of Aquarius begin.
At first, no one knew what to make of millions of corpses being dropped on every major US city. Thankfully, at some people were quick witted enough to realize that they could be used as organ donors, and the organ transplant list became substantially shorter that day. Some people thought it was an act of God, some believed it was a hoax or a stunt of some sort. Most really had no idea what to make the situation.
Given that the plan did not succeed and most of the clones were still alive it was decided that this would become a tradition and men rained from the sky for a whole week thereafter. The following year, the week it rained man was reprised. Again, the following year it was repeated. Eventually, it truly just became a fact of life.
After that first day, people were not nearly as horrified, and not nearly as unprepared. At first, people tried to catch the men in nets or other contraptions, but these largely failed. On this first day, the only successes came from police stations equipped with inflatable stunt bags which they used in suicide cases. However, as time passed, the population became more and more adept at catching the men in ways which prevented their deaths.
While the question of where they came from loomed in everyone's mind, there were more pressing questions. How to catch them?, but also, what was the moral status of men from the sky? Was the government obligated to medically treat these men? Who was responsible for their well being and care? Would these men be treated as equals or slaves? Would these men become American citizens?
Slowly, as the men awake from their various injuries, answers to some of these questions became clearer but most became even harder to answer. These men sincerely believed they were already American citizens. They had lives, they had families, they had jobs; as far as they knew. They were fully capable of living their lives, but were already citizens.
If someone knows your PIN # because they are your clone and know everything about you already are they allowed to take money out of your account? If you, your wife, and your clone have a three-way is that adultery? Many many bizarre situations came before the courts that year, and many even bizarre rulings. The single biggest case was Samson vs. Samson where it was ruled that clones of people were in fact that person. Namely, that if a person died, but their clone lived, and that person was married, legally speaking the clone and that person's wife were legally married. Similarly, if a man died on the job, and his clone lived, the clone was legal responsible to finish and unfinished work for that job.
After two or three years, many of the philosophical and legal hurdles were overcome, and it became more of an anticipated event. Not everyone's clone had arrived yet. Every year a list of the new clones was compiled and everyone hoped that this year, their clone would be on the list. Having a clone was suddenly very advantageous. You could go to work every other day (you could trade off with your clone). You could have a romantic night with the wife and go to the big sporting event. As such, the age of Aquarius was a week of celebration. People invented new songs to sing, food and drink to celebrate with. It wasn't unlike Christmas, except the present only came once in a lifetime.
This peaceful bliss concerning raining men lasted roughly 20 years, until The Ailman's Revolt, but that is a story for another day. | There are no longer seasons. Just the Unending Heat.
We ignored the warnings, time and time again. Repeatedly, we chose shortsighted gains over long term sustainability. And we have paid the price.
Most died within a year. Water was hard to obtain in a pure and liquid form, and there weren't enough great shelters to house anyone who wasn't important or rich. As resources dwindled and hope with them, we became desperate. We began building ships.
Grand ships, which will carry small populations out of Earth's orbit, and eventually, to other planets. But just like the shelters, space is limited, and only the powerful will secure a spot. Today I learned that my family and I are not among those fortunate few.
Like I have for the past few months, I sit and watch out of one of the containment chamber's few windows. I stare out into the arid, inhospitable atmosphere at the large dome where humanity's last hope is being constructed.
I watch in sorrow. Not sadness for me and my loved ones, but for our race. A people which had so much potential, but is now doomed to spend the rest of their existence searching for an alternative to the heat.
My melancholic silence is interrupted by a tap on my shoulder. I turn to see my daughter, distraught by her father's continued distress.
She asks, like she often does, if Summer will last forever. She expects the usual answer, a reluctant 'Yes.'
Today, however, I simply shake my head and put up as convincing a smile as I can. I welcome her into my lap, first ensuring that the syringe I stole earlier is still hidden in my pocket.
"No, Susan, summer will end soon. For both of us" |
Maybe some moons change our gravity, or time flows backwards for a few months. Think outside the box. | [WP] Invent a new season and how it effects the world. | God bless Mother Nature
She's a single woman too
She took over heaven
And she did what she had to do
She fought every Angel
To rearranged the sky
So that each and every woman
Could find the perfect guy
It's raining men
Hallejulah
It was supposed to be the spring of 2019. The world economy appeared to be on its last legs. Almost every major nation was on the verge of bankruptcy. Global warming had accelerated faster than many had anticipated. It was expected to hit 110 degrees F in Boston, and 120 in Florida. Despite the recent trend towards atheism over the past few decades due to increases in access in education, people were returning to religion largely out of desperation. It was then, that the miracle occurred.
Secretly, the US government had not only been spying on everyone, but had also been covertly cloning everyone. The plan was to murder the entire US population overnight and replace the entire population with clones of themselves. Except these clones would be programmed to always pay their taxes and fight valiantly for their country, which had sadly become increasingly necessary. Thankfully, Americans poor work ethic proved to be its saving grace this day; as the clones were being transported from Utah to the various major cities of the United States many of the planes accidentally released their payloads before reaching their destination. The result was millions of human clones literally falling from the sky. As a consequence of another packaging error, all the clones which fell were male. So did the dawn of the age of Aquarius begin.
At first, no one knew what to make of millions of corpses being dropped on every major US city. Thankfully, at some people were quick witted enough to realize that they could be used as organ donors, and the organ transplant list became substantially shorter that day. Some people thought it was an act of God, some believed it was a hoax or a stunt of some sort. Most really had no idea what to make the situation.
Given that the plan did not succeed and most of the clones were still alive it was decided that this would become a tradition and men rained from the sky for a whole week thereafter. The following year, the week it rained man was reprised. Again, the following year it was repeated. Eventually, it truly just became a fact of life.
After that first day, people were not nearly as horrified, and not nearly as unprepared. At first, people tried to catch the men in nets or other contraptions, but these largely failed. On this first day, the only successes came from police stations equipped with inflatable stunt bags which they used in suicide cases. However, as time passed, the population became more and more adept at catching the men in ways which prevented their deaths.
While the question of where they came from loomed in everyone's mind, there were more pressing questions. How to catch them?, but also, what was the moral status of men from the sky? Was the government obligated to medically treat these men? Who was responsible for their well being and care? Would these men be treated as equals or slaves? Would these men become American citizens?
Slowly, as the men awake from their various injuries, answers to some of these questions became clearer but most became even harder to answer. These men sincerely believed they were already American citizens. They had lives, they had families, they had jobs; as far as they knew. They were fully capable of living their lives, but were already citizens.
If someone knows your PIN # because they are your clone and know everything about you already are they allowed to take money out of your account? If you, your wife, and your clone have a three-way is that adultery? Many many bizarre situations came before the courts that year, and many even bizarre rulings. The single biggest case was Samson vs. Samson where it was ruled that clones of people were in fact that person. Namely, that if a person died, but their clone lived, and that person was married, legally speaking the clone and that person's wife were legally married. Similarly, if a man died on the job, and his clone lived, the clone was legal responsible to finish and unfinished work for that job.
After two or three years, many of the philosophical and legal hurdles were overcome, and it became more of an anticipated event. Not everyone's clone had arrived yet. Every year a list of the new clones was compiled and everyone hoped that this year, their clone would be on the list. Having a clone was suddenly very advantageous. You could go to work every other day (you could trade off with your clone). You could have a romantic night with the wife and go to the big sporting event. As such, the age of Aquarius was a week of celebration. People invented new songs to sing, food and drink to celebrate with. It wasn't unlike Christmas, except the present only came once in a lifetime.
This peaceful bliss concerning raining men lasted roughly 20 years, until The Ailman's Revolt, but that is a story for another day. | Marie did not notice the whispering wind at first. She was too focused on finishing the week's wash, too lost in her own thoughts. The sun had begun setting, and daylight was fading fast. Only after Harlow, the family cat, began yowling did Marie raise her eyes from her work.
There, not an arm's length from her face, floated a pale wisp. Ethereal in form, it swayed slightly in the wind. Marie recoiled in surprise when she noticed it. The wisp chattered in response, as if laughing, before disappearing into the woods behind the cabin.
Marie stood up, the day's wash set aside, unable to believe what she had just seen. For one, it was far too early. The harvest season had only ended weeks ago. The homeward season, when laborers would return from the far-fields to their homes within the walls, always lasted at least two full moons. To see a wisp (or any spirit at all) in the early homeward season was exceedingly rare--such a sight was usually reserved for the awakening season that followed. And for another, wisps did not usually reveal themselves so boldly to humans.
Harlow had begun hissing at the air, her back arched. Marie looked in the direction it was facing. There were more and more wisps appearing in the forest, their chattering echoing like the clacking of marbles in the distance. Marie turned towards the cabin. "Papa!" she yelled.
Moments later, Marie's father opened the back door. He looked towards Marie, but quickly turned his attention to the wisps. He turned quickly back at Marie.
"Where is your brother?" he asked, tension rising in his voice. He began walking towards the shed, his eyes scanning the distance.
"He went to play by the river. I would've gone with him, but you said to fini--" Marie started.
"That's OK. Go inside and get the Book." her father replied, interrupting her in his haste. He walked to the shed and opened the doors. Reaching up at the top shelf, he unlocked a compartment and pulled out two items--a small pendant and an ornamental knife. He gazed for a moment at the knife, particularly the ornate symbols that covered it from hilt to blade. Marie rushed out of the cabin moments later with a large tome in tow. She handed the Book to her father with both hands.
"Is Cid going to be OK?" she asked with a worried expression.
"He'll be fine, Marie. Now get inside and lock the door."
Marie nodded, picking up Harlow before reentering the cabin. Her father gazed back towards the woods, now fully lit with the glow of white wisps. With the knife in one hand and the Book in the other, he took a steadying breath, turned, and walked forward into the forest.
|
Maybe some moons change our gravity, or time flows backwards for a few months. Think outside the box. | [WP] Invent a new season and how it effects the world. | God bless Mother Nature
She's a single woman too
She took over heaven
And she did what she had to do
She fought every Angel
To rearranged the sky
So that each and every woman
Could find the perfect guy
It's raining men
Hallejulah
It was supposed to be the spring of 2019. The world economy appeared to be on its last legs. Almost every major nation was on the verge of bankruptcy. Global warming had accelerated faster than many had anticipated. It was expected to hit 110 degrees F in Boston, and 120 in Florida. Despite the recent trend towards atheism over the past few decades due to increases in access in education, people were returning to religion largely out of desperation. It was then, that the miracle occurred.
Secretly, the US government had not only been spying on everyone, but had also been covertly cloning everyone. The plan was to murder the entire US population overnight and replace the entire population with clones of themselves. Except these clones would be programmed to always pay their taxes and fight valiantly for their country, which had sadly become increasingly necessary. Thankfully, Americans poor work ethic proved to be its saving grace this day; as the clones were being transported from Utah to the various major cities of the United States many of the planes accidentally released their payloads before reaching their destination. The result was millions of human clones literally falling from the sky. As a consequence of another packaging error, all the clones which fell were male. So did the dawn of the age of Aquarius begin.
At first, no one knew what to make of millions of corpses being dropped on every major US city. Thankfully, at some people were quick witted enough to realize that they could be used as organ donors, and the organ transplant list became substantially shorter that day. Some people thought it was an act of God, some believed it was a hoax or a stunt of some sort. Most really had no idea what to make the situation.
Given that the plan did not succeed and most of the clones were still alive it was decided that this would become a tradition and men rained from the sky for a whole week thereafter. The following year, the week it rained man was reprised. Again, the following year it was repeated. Eventually, it truly just became a fact of life.
After that first day, people were not nearly as horrified, and not nearly as unprepared. At first, people tried to catch the men in nets or other contraptions, but these largely failed. On this first day, the only successes came from police stations equipped with inflatable stunt bags which they used in suicide cases. However, as time passed, the population became more and more adept at catching the men in ways which prevented their deaths.
While the question of where they came from loomed in everyone's mind, there were more pressing questions. How to catch them?, but also, what was the moral status of men from the sky? Was the government obligated to medically treat these men? Who was responsible for their well being and care? Would these men be treated as equals or slaves? Would these men become American citizens?
Slowly, as the men awake from their various injuries, answers to some of these questions became clearer but most became even harder to answer. These men sincerely believed they were already American citizens. They had lives, they had families, they had jobs; as far as they knew. They were fully capable of living their lives, but were already citizens.
If someone knows your PIN # because they are your clone and know everything about you already are they allowed to take money out of your account? If you, your wife, and your clone have a three-way is that adultery? Many many bizarre situations came before the courts that year, and many even bizarre rulings. The single biggest case was Samson vs. Samson where it was ruled that clones of people were in fact that person. Namely, that if a person died, but their clone lived, and that person was married, legally speaking the clone and that person's wife were legally married. Similarly, if a man died on the job, and his clone lived, the clone was legal responsible to finish and unfinished work for that job.
After two or three years, many of the philosophical and legal hurdles were overcome, and it became more of an anticipated event. Not everyone's clone had arrived yet. Every year a list of the new clones was compiled and everyone hoped that this year, their clone would be on the list. Having a clone was suddenly very advantageous. You could go to work every other day (you could trade off with your clone). You could have a romantic night with the wife and go to the big sporting event. As such, the age of Aquarius was a week of celebration. People invented new songs to sing, food and drink to celebrate with. It wasn't unlike Christmas, except the present only came once in a lifetime.
This peaceful bliss concerning raining men lasted roughly 20 years, until The Ailman's Revolt, but that is a story for another day. | Societal norms have since drastically changed after what came to be known as the first instance of Overgrowth. The shifting molecular arrangement in the atmosphere had somehow stagnated through October the 15th to November 24th. The resulting pattern exponentially increasing the growth rate of all flora worldwide. Scientists theorized that the influence the atmosphere had on preserving nutritious compound in the soil was a key factor, as well as a more concentrated source of energy since the sun had released the Massive Solar Flare of 09'. The weather was always cold and humid like that of deep forest with the fog prevalent.
I was only 17 when it first happened and life had been a lot different back then. Never before were humans pervasively occupied by the natural instinct for self-preservation than they were once they put themselves through tormenting amounts of work just to install adequately functioning Spore Walls. Daily life had morphed from enacting trivial activities and securing financial status into humanity depraving labour work that entailed the use of Herbacidic and Containment Machinery.
But now things have gotten much worse, the animal life were also influenced by Overgrowth. The facilitated growth had evolved flora into a collective hivemind, and they had sought a way to use their substantial evolutionary haste to mitigate the efforts to thwart them. Figuring a way to release massive amounts of Endorphins and manipulating wildlife into savage beasts aggressively attacking anything with a pulse.
So here I am, Corrosive Mortars placed in strategic advantage, Flamethrowers equipped by every scared shell of a man who wishes to live just another 11 months of relative freedom and calm. Ready to at last after 13 struggling years, restore order to the ever slowly morphing planet as it transforms into a grotesque shade of puke green. It's time to destroy the Hivemind.
This time the only growing to be done will be apart.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
EDIT: Excuse my poor sci-fi explanations it's the first time I've tried using a pseudoscientific explanation. |
[WP] Earth's time capsule launched into space returns with an ominous message. | Ralph made his way through the debris. An hour ago a meteorite hit Ralph's empty barn, starting a small fire and brought half the structure down. Ralph saw it come down and rushed to the scene, expecting to find a rock, instead he found a metal container covered in soot and burning ember. The container was badly damage, roughly looking like a pill chewed on and spit out. The embers glowed bright casting shadows on the sides of the pill. Unable to get a better look from his current position, Ralph puts out the fires and works on clearing the area.
The container, still hot from entry through the atmosphere, was not easily pulled from the small crater. Ralph's hands were wrapped with his jacket, as he pulled it out to the front of his truck when he heard another car pull up.
"Ralphie, What the hell happened?" the driver said through his open window, geting out of his car, with the headlights still on and focused on the container.
"Randy?" Ralph called out, able to make out his brother's voice through the idling engine, "It fudged up the barn, I don't know what it is."
Randy came closer and helped his brother move it closer to the headlights, wiping the soot from the sides where the faded letters, NASA, could be seen.
"I know what this is!" Randy exclaimed, "This is a time capsule, probably sent out around the time we were kids!"
The two brothers quickly cleaned the capsule off with their hands and jacket. Flipping the container over the capsules door swings open, revealing a large cavity filled with ash and hard pieces of an unknown object that could be made out from the cars light.
"It looks like everything was destroyed," Randy said, reaching into the case and moving the cooling ash away from the surviving objects, "Just these sticks look to have survived.
"Those dont look like sticks, Randy." Ralph looked closer, grabbing the object from his brother. He blows the ash off and puts it under the light.
"Randy," Ralph pauses and looks up at him, "This is a bone..."
Randy looks shocked and terrified by the revelation and looks back into the container.
"Why would there be bones in a time capsule?" Randy asked. Ralph turned the bone over and saw markings carved into the under side. Using his jacket to cleaned out the carvings, an incomplete phrase appeared on it. Reaching back into the container he pulled out the last pieces and cleaned them up, arranging them by size.
The words came together, as did the bones, resembling a broken leg.
"No... it cant be, its been over 30 years..." Ralph trailed off, not knowing how to react. Randy looked over the bones and read them aloud.
"Be sure to drink your Ovaltine." | A lot of folks out there put their hopes and dreams into the 2018 Chronos Capsule. Nothing indulgent, no page-turners, but a few pieces of heart-felt writing in seven words or less, etched in tiny Adobe letters on the two thousand microSD cards taking up the lower nose of the bi-winged sphere.
The World Leaders had a few more, of course. Messages to their successors in fifty, maybe even a hundred years.
The bulk of the orb held the telemetry equipment, the cooling and heating pods and the veins of wiring that would keep the core, a mapping of the human race and as many of the genome indexes of diverse species still alive as we could squeeze out into insulated tubes, safe and preserved. Little scraps of food, like Naga pepper seeds, acorns, honey, just to name a few of the agricultural highlights, were also preserved on board. You see, the Chronos Capsule wasn't just a record of the earth circa. 2018, it was meant to be an emergency recovery kit, because, lets face it, we've not been kind in the years since the Industrial Revolution. No one really felt sure how much of our society or the fauna inhabiting it with us would still exist in 2068, let alone 2118.
At the head, the camera and storage equipment that would record static images and map the great journey across the Milky Way galaxy. Enough petabytes were packed away on board the CPU to rival not just one, but *two* human brains.
The launch was glorious. Every eye in the civilized world, electronic and real-time alike, watched it ascend on the back of *Mir-acle* and depart beyond our atmosphere. Then it was the International Space Station's eyes-in-the-sky that aired the footage of the Chronos Capsule taking a hold of its own motion and blazing a dusty trail out toward Mars.
That was supposed to be the end. International cooperation cooled over the following months and soon enough we were back to our old ways.
In 2021 the ISS reported an unsettling incident; the Chronos Capsule had *turned around*.
Over the course of eight days their doubts cleared as fuzzy signals and imagery resolved into a ravaged shell of the orb holding all our prospects for an enduring society and world. The Chronos Capsule somehow survived re-entry despite its wear. Awaiting crews rescued it from the ocean.
For six months after that, we all awaited with baited breath an answer to what had gone wrong. Nothing but preliminary cues had been fed to the media, let alone the global populace; 'system failure' 'charting course mixed up' 'cooling units malfunctioned, triggering emergency return for preservation'.
The answer was far more sinister, I'm afraid.
Out there nearing Pluto, the universe was reversing it's Big Bang at an inconceivable rate, and the light simply hadn't made it back to us yet to prove the infallible truth secured on the Chronos Capsule's databanks.
All our hopes and dreams are futile.
The Big Crunch won't be stopped.
Goodbye, my friend.
*gunshot* | |
[WP] You come to a fork in the road with a sign. The arrow pointing right says “Nothing is left,” and the arrow to the left says “Nothing is right.” | A girl awoke in the middle of a road surrounded by oak trees, woods so thick they choked out the noise of the outside world.
She didn’t remember how she got there, couldn’t even remember her own name. The words were on the tip of her tongue but the more she focused on them the more they seemed to elude her. “I think my name started with an S” the nameless girl said aloud to herself, a hint of pride in her voice. “It’s all about the little victories right? A letter, a memory, a…path?” This last line trailed away from her as she looked ahead at the two diverging roads that lay before her.
A trail marker stood between the two paths, made of the same oak trees that surrounded it. The girl without a name approached it, running her hand along the roughly hewn words in its surface. “The forest of Eciduis” she read out-loud. The sign had two arrows, one pointing left and one right. The arrow pointing to the left read “Nothing is right” while the arrow pointing right said simply “Nothing is left”.
A sharp pang ran through the head of the nameless girl as those words danced in her mind, tossing and twirling as she fell to the ground. The sign was the last thing she saw before she fell into a deep, restless sleep.
Memories flowed back disjointedly as she slept; a joyful smile, a warm embrace, love. These memories made her smile. Then more came, these were not as pleasant. Betrayal, anger, a fight, a slamming door and words she wished she could take back. She wished the nightmare would end but knew it had not yet run its course. There were empty bottles around here, some with the last drops of amber liquid inside of them and the rest now devoid of the pills they once carried. She saw a note, saw her tears falling from her cheeks onto the paper and as her breath shallowed she saw herself writing the last lines she ever would. “Nothing is right, nothing is left”
A girl awoke in the middle of a road surrounded by oak trees, woods so thick they choked out the noise of the outside world.
| - Shit.
Wes cried.
- This kid goes fucking poetic now.
I just nodded without an answer, arms crossed, trying to be hinted by the details. Type and the color of the letters were the same as the previous signs.
- So, is it saying nothing will be left if we go right? Guess we just go left then.
I suggested, hardly realizing what I was meaning.
- Nah, this kid's been literal as fuck. Man we did have to shoot a cat for a fucking 'cathunt'. Seriously. If nothing will be left when we go right, nothing would be right when we choose left. That sounds way too identical for his typical question. This one is not asking what we prefer.
Wes tried to reason. The question indeed looked more of a riddle than a matter of choices, unlike so far.
- Why would he get vague so suddenly?
- Shit's getting over.
- Where do we go then?
Wes turned to me as I asked.
- Look, we're not buying this, friend. If nothing is left is what we get from going right, we just going left and get outta this shit in a wrong way.
I hesitated to answer, looking for more clues from the signs.
- See, I was promised a million for this, and I promised a million for my people too. And you, you're promised freedom after this. Whether you're a rapist or not -
- I'm not.
- I'm saying I DO NOT fucking care!
Wes yelled at me for the first time. I thought of Arie. She still looked fairly cute when I drowned her back in hours. Soaking her to death, I thought I was trying to be free again.
- Come on or not, we ain't got time for this.
He started to move towards left side of the fork. At that moment, I felt powerless and vain. Epinephrine or whatever that has driven me here just faded. I joined for freedom, which was all for watching and touching Arie again. And I just did watch and touch her. I was happy to kill Arie. She was already unconscious and could not even realize herself dying, according to the sign. Who would have wanted to kill a conscious person instead? I was right to make that call, even if I knew it would be Arie I was going to kill. She is technically a betrayer. She made me a criminal. But who could I love more after promised freedom? I could hear Wes swearing at me dimly as he disappeared into the left side. I could not follow him up. He chose to leave. Nothing is left. I read the sign and moved along the right side. | |
[WP] You come to a fork in the road with a sign. The arrow pointing right says “Nothing is left,” and the arrow to the left says “Nothing is right.” | How long have I been sitting here?
I don't even remember where I'm from. I'm not sure I remember how to stand, or walk, once I'd made my decision. The path I'd come from was well trodden but between the time I'd come upon the fork and now, not a soul passed me by. Neither from the left nor right paths.
I grumbled and looked at the arrow pointing left. "Nothing is right", it said. "There is nothing on the right. It is barren save for Nothing. Whether a thing, a time or place, there is only Nothing there. Nothing's right here, and there is nothing right here."
I turned to its twin pointing right. "Nothing is left," it said. "There is nothing left here. It has been taken out, until all we are left with is Nothing. Whether a thing, a time or place, there is only Nothing here. There is nothing left, and there is nothing left here."
They did not say as much. But sitting here for as long as I have, that is the essence of my choice.
Was nothing right with me? Was there nothing left of me?
For the first time I considered turning back. I don't remember if I passed by any towns or villages - I must have. I could take shelter there, or perhaps ask for directions.
Somehow, if I did, then the fork would vanish, and they would deny any knowledge of its existence. I knew this with absolute certainty.
Where *was* I going? I don't even remember. What prompted my journey? I don't remember. I have been sitting at this fork in the road for far too long.
At first I thought I imagined the footsteps. Then they grew louder and louder, until I could not have imagined them. I turned; back along the path from which I came, a young man came tramping along atop a magnificent horse. He wore simple robes but even from a distance I saw they were quite clean. His hair, short though it was, waved in the wind, and I saw sitting atop his brow a furrow so deep it could only have been placed there.
He came up to the fork and took no notice of me, instead occupying himself reading the signs. I was about to tell him that it's no good, the signs don't help, when without a moments' hesitation he took the left path.
My jaw hanging open, I stared at his retreating back. How did he know where to go? I managed to cry out, to call out to him, asking "How did you know where to go?"
All he did was turn, fix me with his steely gaze, and turn back and move on.
Left dumbfounded, I sat back down, staring again at the sign pointing left. "Nothing is right", it said. "There is nothing on the right. It is barren save for Nothing. Whether a thing, a time or place, there is only Nothing there. Nothing's right here, and there is nothing right here."
How could he have deduced its meaning so quickly?
The sound of something being dragged along the ground shocked me out of my reverie. I turned to see an old man, or a man appearing to be old, in battered armor dragging what was left of his sword along the ground. As he neared I saw no furrow on his brow, but lines everywhere else on his face. He looked to be my age, if one could erase them. He stared at nothing but the horizon, large dilated eyes seemingly dead to the world.
He stopped to read the signs, ignoring me as the young man had.
Then he smirked.
Dragging his sword along, he went right.
I could not take it anymore. "Hey! Hey!" I called out to him, and started after him - stopping just as the path right started. I could not go with him. Not until I had decided where I was going.
To his credit, he answered, but it was..unsatisfactory. "'geroff," was all he said.
"Please! Tell me, how do you know to go to the right?"
Then he stopped, turned, and held his arms out so that I may see him in his entirety. "LOOK AT ME!" he said, showing where the buckles of his pauldrons had been shorn off, where his shins had been hacked at, where scars were made right in the chinks of his armor. Where the light had gone out of his eyes, which at one time might have made the world shudder to see them.
Then he turned and walked, I none the wiser. I sat back down, and read the sign to the right. "Nothing is left," it said. "There is nothing left here. It has been taken out, until all we are left with is Nothing. Whether a thing, a time or place, there is only Nothing here. There is nothing left, and there is nothing left here." | - Shit.
Wes cried.
- This kid goes fucking poetic now.
I just nodded without an answer, arms crossed, trying to be hinted by the details. Type and the color of the letters were the same as the previous signs.
- So, is it saying nothing will be left if we go right? Guess we just go left then.
I suggested, hardly realizing what I was meaning.
- Nah, this kid's been literal as fuck. Man we did have to shoot a cat for a fucking 'cathunt'. Seriously. If nothing will be left when we go right, nothing would be right when we choose left. That sounds way too identical for his typical question. This one is not asking what we prefer.
Wes tried to reason. The question indeed looked more of a riddle than a matter of choices, unlike so far.
- Why would he get vague so suddenly?
- Shit's getting over.
- Where do we go then?
Wes turned to me as I asked.
- Look, we're not buying this, friend. If nothing is left is what we get from going right, we just going left and get outta this shit in a wrong way.
I hesitated to answer, looking for more clues from the signs.
- See, I was promised a million for this, and I promised a million for my people too. And you, you're promised freedom after this. Whether you're a rapist or not -
- I'm not.
- I'm saying I DO NOT fucking care!
Wes yelled at me for the first time. I thought of Arie. She still looked fairly cute when I drowned her back in hours. Soaking her to death, I thought I was trying to be free again.
- Come on or not, we ain't got time for this.
He started to move towards left side of the fork. At that moment, I felt powerless and vain. Epinephrine or whatever that has driven me here just faded. I joined for freedom, which was all for watching and touching Arie again. And I just did watch and touch her. I was happy to kill Arie. She was already unconscious and could not even realize herself dying, according to the sign. Who would have wanted to kill a conscious person instead? I was right to make that call, even if I knew it would be Arie I was going to kill. She is technically a betrayer. She made me a criminal. But who could I love more after promised freedom? I could hear Wes swearing at me dimly as he disappeared into the left side. I could not follow him up. He chose to leave. Nothing is left. I read the sign and moved along the right side. | |
[WP] You come to a fork in the road with a sign. The arrow pointing right says “Nothing is left,” and the arrow to the left says “Nothing is right.” | The arrows taunted the traveller. The road to the right was in disrepair, potholed and worn. The road on the left looked like it had been laid yesterday. Looking toward the rightmost horizon revealed that the road faded away into the wilderness. The leftmost horizon, on the other hand, was pierced by gleaming towers of steel and glass, coming from a city surrounded by a patchwork quilt of well-tended fields.
The traveller was not impressed. He sought to live in the world, not apart from it. Such conspicuous consumption seemed like an affront to nature. For him, life was all about the journey, not the destination. He was already on his journey; he needed nothing. Therefore, he turned right. | - Shit.
Wes cried.
- This kid goes fucking poetic now.
I just nodded without an answer, arms crossed, trying to be hinted by the details. Type and the color of the letters were the same as the previous signs.
- So, is it saying nothing will be left if we go right? Guess we just go left then.
I suggested, hardly realizing what I was meaning.
- Nah, this kid's been literal as fuck. Man we did have to shoot a cat for a fucking 'cathunt'. Seriously. If nothing will be left when we go right, nothing would be right when we choose left. That sounds way too identical for his typical question. This one is not asking what we prefer.
Wes tried to reason. The question indeed looked more of a riddle than a matter of choices, unlike so far.
- Why would he get vague so suddenly?
- Shit's getting over.
- Where do we go then?
Wes turned to me as I asked.
- Look, we're not buying this, friend. If nothing is left is what we get from going right, we just going left and get outta this shit in a wrong way.
I hesitated to answer, looking for more clues from the signs.
- See, I was promised a million for this, and I promised a million for my people too. And you, you're promised freedom after this. Whether you're a rapist or not -
- I'm not.
- I'm saying I DO NOT fucking care!
Wes yelled at me for the first time. I thought of Arie. She still looked fairly cute when I drowned her back in hours. Soaking her to death, I thought I was trying to be free again.
- Come on or not, we ain't got time for this.
He started to move towards left side of the fork. At that moment, I felt powerless and vain. Epinephrine or whatever that has driven me here just faded. I joined for freedom, which was all for watching and touching Arie again. And I just did watch and touch her. I was happy to kill Arie. She was already unconscious and could not even realize herself dying, according to the sign. Who would have wanted to kill a conscious person instead? I was right to make that call, even if I knew it would be Arie I was going to kill. She is technically a betrayer. She made me a criminal. But who could I love more after promised freedom? I could hear Wes swearing at me dimly as he disappeared into the left side. I could not follow him up. He chose to leave. Nothing is left. I read the sign and moved along the right side. | |
[WP] You come to a fork in the road with a sign. The arrow pointing right says “Nothing is left,” and the arrow to the left says “Nothing is right.” | I shook my head as I walked. *What could have inspired such a crude message to unwary travelers?*
Two hours down the left path, I emerged from a barren, rocky trail to a butte, overlooking an ocean of madness. Where there ought have been greenery, shrubs and daisies, an expanse of meadows and fields and the unwritten poetry of life, there was mere rock, craggy, barren... as desolate as the empty warrens of the incline I'd just traversed. More, as far as my eyes could see, the wasteland extended.
No dust, no remnants, no indication of what had changed. Nothing was left.
I returned down the path, navigating the slope as carefully as I could, dreading what I'd find down the right path, given the evident results of the ominous message. Every stone looked the same, every twist of the path seemed just as lonely, dry and forlorn as the last.
At last, two hours later I came to the spot where I'd entered the path. I turned, looking for the sign which ought to be just around the bend...
... and found another twist in the road. Another gully, another trench, another dry riverbed, empty of life and comfort, sustenance or vibrancy.
*The path was here before, I* know *it, I* **saw** *it.*
I double back, to ensure I didn't miss it or pass it. I search for an hour, and return again to this spot. *The orange moss on the jagged rock to the left. A multicolored sheen in the shade on the right - looks like oil. This is it!*
Realizing five hours of walking through rough terrain is likely to leave anyone weary, I sat for a moment in the shade, a brief reprieve from the sun, but none at all from my own confusion. *Perhaps... it was a bit further on.*
I resolve to push on further, ensuring that I hadn't missed the fork. *And anyway, anywhere would be a welcome sight after this gully.* I take to the path again, determined to find my way out of this twisted maze.
Two hours later, with no passages to either side, still stuck in this blasted gully, I let out a sigh. It's late, and I've certainly been missed at my village by now. Is my village even still there? Is nothing left? Nothing is right.
A scuttling, off to the side. A change in the atmosphere. I hear a lone, familiar voice call my name.
"Hey, Listen!" | - Shit.
Wes cried.
- This kid goes fucking poetic now.
I just nodded without an answer, arms crossed, trying to be hinted by the details. Type and the color of the letters were the same as the previous signs.
- So, is it saying nothing will be left if we go right? Guess we just go left then.
I suggested, hardly realizing what I was meaning.
- Nah, this kid's been literal as fuck. Man we did have to shoot a cat for a fucking 'cathunt'. Seriously. If nothing will be left when we go right, nothing would be right when we choose left. That sounds way too identical for his typical question. This one is not asking what we prefer.
Wes tried to reason. The question indeed looked more of a riddle than a matter of choices, unlike so far.
- Why would he get vague so suddenly?
- Shit's getting over.
- Where do we go then?
Wes turned to me as I asked.
- Look, we're not buying this, friend. If nothing is left is what we get from going right, we just going left and get outta this shit in a wrong way.
I hesitated to answer, looking for more clues from the signs.
- See, I was promised a million for this, and I promised a million for my people too. And you, you're promised freedom after this. Whether you're a rapist or not -
- I'm not.
- I'm saying I DO NOT fucking care!
Wes yelled at me for the first time. I thought of Arie. She still looked fairly cute when I drowned her back in hours. Soaking her to death, I thought I was trying to be free again.
- Come on or not, we ain't got time for this.
He started to move towards left side of the fork. At that moment, I felt powerless and vain. Epinephrine or whatever that has driven me here just faded. I joined for freedom, which was all for watching and touching Arie again. And I just did watch and touch her. I was happy to kill Arie. She was already unconscious and could not even realize herself dying, according to the sign. Who would have wanted to kill a conscious person instead? I was right to make that call, even if I knew it would be Arie I was going to kill. She is technically a betrayer. She made me a criminal. But who could I love more after promised freedom? I could hear Wes swearing at me dimly as he disappeared into the left side. I could not follow him up. He chose to leave. Nothing is left. I read the sign and moved along the right side. | |
[WP] You come to a fork in the road with a sign. The arrow pointing right says “Nothing is left,” and the arrow to the left says “Nothing is right.” | The last road curled like a snake's tongue through the desert, its divergence clear miles away. Sunset hung flat and silver when she finally reached the split. The Jeep's headlights blinked as they caught on a ghost in the dark. Breath caught in her throat and she eased the brake down.
One yard, two, three rolled by before she stopped.
Not a ghost ahead. Not a corpse either. Just a sign with two arrows and two directions. But the paint was dripping like blood and her hand found the Browning at her hip all the same.
The leftward one said:
Nothing is right.
The rightward said:
Nothing is left.
She laughed until her throat hurt. Had it been better days, she would've sent a .45 through each board in the name of criticism. She drove around the sign instead, pressing forward into the dark of no direction.
| - Shit.
Wes cried.
- This kid goes fucking poetic now.
I just nodded without an answer, arms crossed, trying to be hinted by the details. Type and the color of the letters were the same as the previous signs.
- So, is it saying nothing will be left if we go right? Guess we just go left then.
I suggested, hardly realizing what I was meaning.
- Nah, this kid's been literal as fuck. Man we did have to shoot a cat for a fucking 'cathunt'. Seriously. If nothing will be left when we go right, nothing would be right when we choose left. That sounds way too identical for his typical question. This one is not asking what we prefer.
Wes tried to reason. The question indeed looked more of a riddle than a matter of choices, unlike so far.
- Why would he get vague so suddenly?
- Shit's getting over.
- Where do we go then?
Wes turned to me as I asked.
- Look, we're not buying this, friend. If nothing is left is what we get from going right, we just going left and get outta this shit in a wrong way.
I hesitated to answer, looking for more clues from the signs.
- See, I was promised a million for this, and I promised a million for my people too. And you, you're promised freedom after this. Whether you're a rapist or not -
- I'm not.
- I'm saying I DO NOT fucking care!
Wes yelled at me for the first time. I thought of Arie. She still looked fairly cute when I drowned her back in hours. Soaking her to death, I thought I was trying to be free again.
- Come on or not, we ain't got time for this.
He started to move towards left side of the fork. At that moment, I felt powerless and vain. Epinephrine or whatever that has driven me here just faded. I joined for freedom, which was all for watching and touching Arie again. And I just did watch and touch her. I was happy to kill Arie. She was already unconscious and could not even realize herself dying, according to the sign. Who would have wanted to kill a conscious person instead? I was right to make that call, even if I knew it would be Arie I was going to kill. She is technically a betrayer. She made me a criminal. But who could I love more after promised freedom? I could hear Wes swearing at me dimly as he disappeared into the left side. I could not follow him up. He chose to leave. Nothing is left. I read the sign and moved along the right side. | |
[WP] You come to a fork in the road with a sign. The arrow pointing right says “Nothing is left,” and the arrow to the left says “Nothing is right.” | A girl awoke in the middle of a road surrounded by oak trees, woods so thick they choked out the noise of the outside world.
She didn’t remember how she got there, couldn’t even remember her own name. The words were on the tip of her tongue but the more she focused on them the more they seemed to elude her. “I think my name started with an S” the nameless girl said aloud to herself, a hint of pride in her voice. “It’s all about the little victories right? A letter, a memory, a…path?” This last line trailed away from her as she looked ahead at the two diverging roads that lay before her.
A trail marker stood between the two paths, made of the same oak trees that surrounded it. The girl without a name approached it, running her hand along the roughly hewn words in its surface. “The forest of Eciduis” she read out-loud. The sign had two arrows, one pointing left and one right. The arrow pointing to the left read “Nothing is right” while the arrow pointing right said simply “Nothing is left”.
A sharp pang ran through the head of the nameless girl as those words danced in her mind, tossing and twirling as she fell to the ground. The sign was the last thing she saw before she fell into a deep, restless sleep.
Memories flowed back disjointedly as she slept; a joyful smile, a warm embrace, love. These memories made her smile. Then more came, these were not as pleasant. Betrayal, anger, a fight, a slamming door and words she wished she could take back. She wished the nightmare would end but knew it had not yet run its course. There were empty bottles around here, some with the last drops of amber liquid inside of them and the rest now devoid of the pills they once carried. She saw a note, saw her tears falling from her cheeks onto the paper and as her breath shallowed she saw herself writing the last lines she ever would. “Nothing is right, nothing is left”
A girl awoke in the middle of a road surrounded by oak trees, woods so thick they choked out the noise of the outside world.
| "Alice dear," the White Rabbit spoke,
"'Tis the end of the road."
"Whatever do you mean?" Alice asked.
"'Tis interpreted twice, at least," the White Rabbit explained.
"For either Nothing lies left nor right,"
"or upon the left nothing remains,
"and upon the right, all is wrong."
"I wish to see," Alice said, stepping between both signs.
"Alice dear," the White Rabbit spoke gently
"'Tis yet another mad place, this be,"
"wrought from and for insanity."
"Come," the White Rabbit said.
"Let us turn around, quickly, for there are more wonders to see."
"I cannot," Alice disagreed.
"I wish to see," she said, "whether either sign is true of what each portends to be."
"Alice, Alice dear!" the White Rabbit said quickly.
"You should not, please not, explore so hastily!"
"For each road may end in the den of a Jabberwocky!"
Alice picked up her Vorpal Blade, the one that snicker-snacked so delightfully.
"If, by chance, a Jabberwocky lies down each road," Alice spoke
"Then a Jabberwocky I shall smote,"
"for, dear craven White Rabbit, eternal companion of mine down twisted roads,"
"Your dear Alice has grown tired of these Wonderland's games." | |
[WP] You come to a fork in the road with a sign. The arrow pointing right says “Nothing is left,” and the arrow to the left says “Nothing is right.” | How long have I been sitting here?
I don't even remember where I'm from. I'm not sure I remember how to stand, or walk, once I'd made my decision. The path I'd come from was well trodden but between the time I'd come upon the fork and now, not a soul passed me by. Neither from the left nor right paths.
I grumbled and looked at the arrow pointing left. "Nothing is right", it said. "There is nothing on the right. It is barren save for Nothing. Whether a thing, a time or place, there is only Nothing there. Nothing's right here, and there is nothing right here."
I turned to its twin pointing right. "Nothing is left," it said. "There is nothing left here. It has been taken out, until all we are left with is Nothing. Whether a thing, a time or place, there is only Nothing here. There is nothing left, and there is nothing left here."
They did not say as much. But sitting here for as long as I have, that is the essence of my choice.
Was nothing right with me? Was there nothing left of me?
For the first time I considered turning back. I don't remember if I passed by any towns or villages - I must have. I could take shelter there, or perhaps ask for directions.
Somehow, if I did, then the fork would vanish, and they would deny any knowledge of its existence. I knew this with absolute certainty.
Where *was* I going? I don't even remember. What prompted my journey? I don't remember. I have been sitting at this fork in the road for far too long.
At first I thought I imagined the footsteps. Then they grew louder and louder, until I could not have imagined them. I turned; back along the path from which I came, a young man came tramping along atop a magnificent horse. He wore simple robes but even from a distance I saw they were quite clean. His hair, short though it was, waved in the wind, and I saw sitting atop his brow a furrow so deep it could only have been placed there.
He came up to the fork and took no notice of me, instead occupying himself reading the signs. I was about to tell him that it's no good, the signs don't help, when without a moments' hesitation he took the left path.
My jaw hanging open, I stared at his retreating back. How did he know where to go? I managed to cry out, to call out to him, asking "How did you know where to go?"
All he did was turn, fix me with his steely gaze, and turn back and move on.
Left dumbfounded, I sat back down, staring again at the sign pointing left. "Nothing is right", it said. "There is nothing on the right. It is barren save for Nothing. Whether a thing, a time or place, there is only Nothing there. Nothing's right here, and there is nothing right here."
How could he have deduced its meaning so quickly?
The sound of something being dragged along the ground shocked me out of my reverie. I turned to see an old man, or a man appearing to be old, in battered armor dragging what was left of his sword along the ground. As he neared I saw no furrow on his brow, but lines everywhere else on his face. He looked to be my age, if one could erase them. He stared at nothing but the horizon, large dilated eyes seemingly dead to the world.
He stopped to read the signs, ignoring me as the young man had.
Then he smirked.
Dragging his sword along, he went right.
I could not take it anymore. "Hey! Hey!" I called out to him, and started after him - stopping just as the path right started. I could not go with him. Not until I had decided where I was going.
To his credit, he answered, but it was..unsatisfactory. "'geroff," was all he said.
"Please! Tell me, how do you know to go to the right?"
Then he stopped, turned, and held his arms out so that I may see him in his entirety. "LOOK AT ME!" he said, showing where the buckles of his pauldrons had been shorn off, where his shins had been hacked at, where scars were made right in the chinks of his armor. Where the light had gone out of his eyes, which at one time might have made the world shudder to see them.
Then he turned and walked, I none the wiser. I sat back down, and read the sign to the right. "Nothing is left," it said. "There is nothing left here. It has been taken out, until all we are left with is Nothing. Whether a thing, a time or place, there is only Nothing here. There is nothing left, and there is nothing left here." | "Alice dear," the White Rabbit spoke,
"'Tis the end of the road."
"Whatever do you mean?" Alice asked.
"'Tis interpreted twice, at least," the White Rabbit explained.
"For either Nothing lies left nor right,"
"or upon the left nothing remains,
"and upon the right, all is wrong."
"I wish to see," Alice said, stepping between both signs.
"Alice dear," the White Rabbit spoke gently
"'Tis yet another mad place, this be,"
"wrought from and for insanity."
"Come," the White Rabbit said.
"Let us turn around, quickly, for there are more wonders to see."
"I cannot," Alice disagreed.
"I wish to see," she said, "whether either sign is true of what each portends to be."
"Alice, Alice dear!" the White Rabbit said quickly.
"You should not, please not, explore so hastily!"
"For each road may end in the den of a Jabberwocky!"
Alice picked up her Vorpal Blade, the one that snicker-snacked so delightfully.
"If, by chance, a Jabberwocky lies down each road," Alice spoke
"Then a Jabberwocky I shall smote,"
"for, dear craven White Rabbit, eternal companion of mine down twisted roads,"
"Your dear Alice has grown tired of these Wonderland's games." | |
[WP] You come to a fork in the road with a sign. The arrow pointing right says “Nothing is left,” and the arrow to the left says “Nothing is right.” | The arrows taunted the traveller. The road to the right was in disrepair, potholed and worn. The road on the left looked like it had been laid yesterday. Looking toward the rightmost horizon revealed that the road faded away into the wilderness. The leftmost horizon, on the other hand, was pierced by gleaming towers of steel and glass, coming from a city surrounded by a patchwork quilt of well-tended fields.
The traveller was not impressed. He sought to live in the world, not apart from it. Such conspicuous consumption seemed like an affront to nature. For him, life was all about the journey, not the destination. He was already on his journey; he needed nothing. Therefore, he turned right. | "Alice dear," the White Rabbit spoke,
"'Tis the end of the road."
"Whatever do you mean?" Alice asked.
"'Tis interpreted twice, at least," the White Rabbit explained.
"For either Nothing lies left nor right,"
"or upon the left nothing remains,
"and upon the right, all is wrong."
"I wish to see," Alice said, stepping between both signs.
"Alice dear," the White Rabbit spoke gently
"'Tis yet another mad place, this be,"
"wrought from and for insanity."
"Come," the White Rabbit said.
"Let us turn around, quickly, for there are more wonders to see."
"I cannot," Alice disagreed.
"I wish to see," she said, "whether either sign is true of what each portends to be."
"Alice, Alice dear!" the White Rabbit said quickly.
"You should not, please not, explore so hastily!"
"For each road may end in the den of a Jabberwocky!"
Alice picked up her Vorpal Blade, the one that snicker-snacked so delightfully.
"If, by chance, a Jabberwocky lies down each road," Alice spoke
"Then a Jabberwocky I shall smote,"
"for, dear craven White Rabbit, eternal companion of mine down twisted roads,"
"Your dear Alice has grown tired of these Wonderland's games." | |
[WP] You come to a fork in the road with a sign. The arrow pointing right says “Nothing is left,” and the arrow to the left says “Nothing is right.” | I shook my head as I walked. *What could have inspired such a crude message to unwary travelers?*
Two hours down the left path, I emerged from a barren, rocky trail to a butte, overlooking an ocean of madness. Where there ought have been greenery, shrubs and daisies, an expanse of meadows and fields and the unwritten poetry of life, there was mere rock, craggy, barren... as desolate as the empty warrens of the incline I'd just traversed. More, as far as my eyes could see, the wasteland extended.
No dust, no remnants, no indication of what had changed. Nothing was left.
I returned down the path, navigating the slope as carefully as I could, dreading what I'd find down the right path, given the evident results of the ominous message. Every stone looked the same, every twist of the path seemed just as lonely, dry and forlorn as the last.
At last, two hours later I came to the spot where I'd entered the path. I turned, looking for the sign which ought to be just around the bend...
... and found another twist in the road. Another gully, another trench, another dry riverbed, empty of life and comfort, sustenance or vibrancy.
*The path was here before, I* know *it, I* **saw** *it.*
I double back, to ensure I didn't miss it or pass it. I search for an hour, and return again to this spot. *The orange moss on the jagged rock to the left. A multicolored sheen in the shade on the right - looks like oil. This is it!*
Realizing five hours of walking through rough terrain is likely to leave anyone weary, I sat for a moment in the shade, a brief reprieve from the sun, but none at all from my own confusion. *Perhaps... it was a bit further on.*
I resolve to push on further, ensuring that I hadn't missed the fork. *And anyway, anywhere would be a welcome sight after this gully.* I take to the path again, determined to find my way out of this twisted maze.
Two hours later, with no passages to either side, still stuck in this blasted gully, I let out a sigh. It's late, and I've certainly been missed at my village by now. Is my village even still there? Is nothing left? Nothing is right.
A scuttling, off to the side. A change in the atmosphere. I hear a lone, familiar voice call my name.
"Hey, Listen!" | "Alice dear," the White Rabbit spoke,
"'Tis the end of the road."
"Whatever do you mean?" Alice asked.
"'Tis interpreted twice, at least," the White Rabbit explained.
"For either Nothing lies left nor right,"
"or upon the left nothing remains,
"and upon the right, all is wrong."
"I wish to see," Alice said, stepping between both signs.
"Alice dear," the White Rabbit spoke gently
"'Tis yet another mad place, this be,"
"wrought from and for insanity."
"Come," the White Rabbit said.
"Let us turn around, quickly, for there are more wonders to see."
"I cannot," Alice disagreed.
"I wish to see," she said, "whether either sign is true of what each portends to be."
"Alice, Alice dear!" the White Rabbit said quickly.
"You should not, please not, explore so hastily!"
"For each road may end in the den of a Jabberwocky!"
Alice picked up her Vorpal Blade, the one that snicker-snacked so delightfully.
"If, by chance, a Jabberwocky lies down each road," Alice spoke
"Then a Jabberwocky I shall smote,"
"for, dear craven White Rabbit, eternal companion of mine down twisted roads,"
"Your dear Alice has grown tired of these Wonderland's games." | |
[WP] You come to a fork in the road with a sign. The arrow pointing right says “Nothing is left,” and the arrow to the left says “Nothing is right.” | A girl awoke in the middle of a road surrounded by oak trees, woods so thick they choked out the noise of the outside world.
She didn’t remember how she got there, couldn’t even remember her own name. The words were on the tip of her tongue but the more she focused on them the more they seemed to elude her. “I think my name started with an S” the nameless girl said aloud to herself, a hint of pride in her voice. “It’s all about the little victories right? A letter, a memory, a…path?” This last line trailed away from her as she looked ahead at the two diverging roads that lay before her.
A trail marker stood between the two paths, made of the same oak trees that surrounded it. The girl without a name approached it, running her hand along the roughly hewn words in its surface. “The forest of Eciduis” she read out-loud. The sign had two arrows, one pointing left and one right. The arrow pointing to the left read “Nothing is right” while the arrow pointing right said simply “Nothing is left”.
A sharp pang ran through the head of the nameless girl as those words danced in her mind, tossing and twirling as she fell to the ground. The sign was the last thing she saw before she fell into a deep, restless sleep.
Memories flowed back disjointedly as she slept; a joyful smile, a warm embrace, love. These memories made her smile. Then more came, these were not as pleasant. Betrayal, anger, a fight, a slamming door and words she wished she could take back. She wished the nightmare would end but knew it had not yet run its course. There were empty bottles around here, some with the last drops of amber liquid inside of them and the rest now devoid of the pills they once carried. She saw a note, saw her tears falling from her cheeks onto the paper and as her breath shallowed she saw herself writing the last lines she ever would. “Nothing is right, nothing is left”
A girl awoke in the middle of a road surrounded by oak trees, woods so thick they choked out the noise of the outside world.
| Crumpled paper formed miniature mountains as it spilled over the edges of my trashcan. Scratching my head, I read the sentence aloud before hitting the backspace key and starting over. The blank page mocked me, its existence was proof of my failures and it seemed to grow stronger with each passing hour. The chair squeaked under my heft as I threw myself backwards, unleashing an exasperated yell that devolved into a moan as my fingers slid down my face. Thinking back to all that I'd written, I questioned whether I was truly meant for such things, or if I'd be better suited to fade into obscurity. Before the voice in my head could answer the question for me, I lifted myself from the chair and walked out of the house.
Many of my favorite authors and content creators suggested walking as a form of processing thoughts and discovering the path that one's concept should take. Certain that anything would be better than remaining stagnant before the screen in my room, I chose to take them up on their advice. My feet clumsily slapped the asphalt, propelling me forward down the road as I search for answers in the gray areas between the countless stars that stretched along the winding way. This path led to another and another still, spanning a distance as seemingly endless as the night sky itself. Though it was man made, I found some beauty in it and the places that it took me. Without meaningful thought on my direction, I continued along until I found myself lost.
I thought back to my previous steps and attempted to find my way back to a place that I recognized, or at least to something remotely resembling civilization. Amid the overhanging trees and large fields, I felt small, a feeling that I imagined was only further magnified by my lostness. As the overgrowth grew denser, I noticed that the path seemed to veer in two opposing directions, both were roads that I had not taken. Intrigued by this sudden development, I drew closer to the sign that stood between them with an arrow pointing both ways. One arrow said that nothing was left, while the other stated that nothing was right. I stood for a time and considered both signs, finding that neither path seemed worse for wear.
As the sun began to lower behind the trees, I came to a conclusion at last. If nothing was right and left was where the nothing was, then surely I would want to take the left path as I wouldn't want to be wrong. This thought amused me so greatly that I chose to take the left path and discover what lie at its end. As I traveled along this strange road, I found the environment growing brighter and brighter until I awoke at last. Lifting my head from the desk, I gently massaged my aching neck. I looked around my room with a great deal of confusion until the situation worked itself out in my head. Laughing heartily, I took to the keyboard once again to type out the story of my dreams.
-193 | |
[WP] You come to a fork in the road with a sign. The arrow pointing right says “Nothing is left,” and the arrow to the left says “Nothing is right.” | How long have I been sitting here?
I don't even remember where I'm from. I'm not sure I remember how to stand, or walk, once I'd made my decision. The path I'd come from was well trodden but between the time I'd come upon the fork and now, not a soul passed me by. Neither from the left nor right paths.
I grumbled and looked at the arrow pointing left. "Nothing is right", it said. "There is nothing on the right. It is barren save for Nothing. Whether a thing, a time or place, there is only Nothing there. Nothing's right here, and there is nothing right here."
I turned to its twin pointing right. "Nothing is left," it said. "There is nothing left here. It has been taken out, until all we are left with is Nothing. Whether a thing, a time or place, there is only Nothing here. There is nothing left, and there is nothing left here."
They did not say as much. But sitting here for as long as I have, that is the essence of my choice.
Was nothing right with me? Was there nothing left of me?
For the first time I considered turning back. I don't remember if I passed by any towns or villages - I must have. I could take shelter there, or perhaps ask for directions.
Somehow, if I did, then the fork would vanish, and they would deny any knowledge of its existence. I knew this with absolute certainty.
Where *was* I going? I don't even remember. What prompted my journey? I don't remember. I have been sitting at this fork in the road for far too long.
At first I thought I imagined the footsteps. Then they grew louder and louder, until I could not have imagined them. I turned; back along the path from which I came, a young man came tramping along atop a magnificent horse. He wore simple robes but even from a distance I saw they were quite clean. His hair, short though it was, waved in the wind, and I saw sitting atop his brow a furrow so deep it could only have been placed there.
He came up to the fork and took no notice of me, instead occupying himself reading the signs. I was about to tell him that it's no good, the signs don't help, when without a moments' hesitation he took the left path.
My jaw hanging open, I stared at his retreating back. How did he know where to go? I managed to cry out, to call out to him, asking "How did you know where to go?"
All he did was turn, fix me with his steely gaze, and turn back and move on.
Left dumbfounded, I sat back down, staring again at the sign pointing left. "Nothing is right", it said. "There is nothing on the right. It is barren save for Nothing. Whether a thing, a time or place, there is only Nothing there. Nothing's right here, and there is nothing right here."
How could he have deduced its meaning so quickly?
The sound of something being dragged along the ground shocked me out of my reverie. I turned to see an old man, or a man appearing to be old, in battered armor dragging what was left of his sword along the ground. As he neared I saw no furrow on his brow, but lines everywhere else on his face. He looked to be my age, if one could erase them. He stared at nothing but the horizon, large dilated eyes seemingly dead to the world.
He stopped to read the signs, ignoring me as the young man had.
Then he smirked.
Dragging his sword along, he went right.
I could not take it anymore. "Hey! Hey!" I called out to him, and started after him - stopping just as the path right started. I could not go with him. Not until I had decided where I was going.
To his credit, he answered, but it was..unsatisfactory. "'geroff," was all he said.
"Please! Tell me, how do you know to go to the right?"
Then he stopped, turned, and held his arms out so that I may see him in his entirety. "LOOK AT ME!" he said, showing where the buckles of his pauldrons had been shorn off, where his shins had been hacked at, where scars were made right in the chinks of his armor. Where the light had gone out of his eyes, which at one time might have made the world shudder to see them.
Then he turned and walked, I none the wiser. I sat back down, and read the sign to the right. "Nothing is left," it said. "There is nothing left here. It has been taken out, until all we are left with is Nothing. Whether a thing, a time or place, there is only Nothing here. There is nothing left, and there is nothing left here." | Crumpled paper formed miniature mountains as it spilled over the edges of my trashcan. Scratching my head, I read the sentence aloud before hitting the backspace key and starting over. The blank page mocked me, its existence was proof of my failures and it seemed to grow stronger with each passing hour. The chair squeaked under my heft as I threw myself backwards, unleashing an exasperated yell that devolved into a moan as my fingers slid down my face. Thinking back to all that I'd written, I questioned whether I was truly meant for such things, or if I'd be better suited to fade into obscurity. Before the voice in my head could answer the question for me, I lifted myself from the chair and walked out of the house.
Many of my favorite authors and content creators suggested walking as a form of processing thoughts and discovering the path that one's concept should take. Certain that anything would be better than remaining stagnant before the screen in my room, I chose to take them up on their advice. My feet clumsily slapped the asphalt, propelling me forward down the road as I search for answers in the gray areas between the countless stars that stretched along the winding way. This path led to another and another still, spanning a distance as seemingly endless as the night sky itself. Though it was man made, I found some beauty in it and the places that it took me. Without meaningful thought on my direction, I continued along until I found myself lost.
I thought back to my previous steps and attempted to find my way back to a place that I recognized, or at least to something remotely resembling civilization. Amid the overhanging trees and large fields, I felt small, a feeling that I imagined was only further magnified by my lostness. As the overgrowth grew denser, I noticed that the path seemed to veer in two opposing directions, both were roads that I had not taken. Intrigued by this sudden development, I drew closer to the sign that stood between them with an arrow pointing both ways. One arrow said that nothing was left, while the other stated that nothing was right. I stood for a time and considered both signs, finding that neither path seemed worse for wear.
As the sun began to lower behind the trees, I came to a conclusion at last. If nothing was right and left was where the nothing was, then surely I would want to take the left path as I wouldn't want to be wrong. This thought amused me so greatly that I chose to take the left path and discover what lie at its end. As I traveled along this strange road, I found the environment growing brighter and brighter until I awoke at last. Lifting my head from the desk, I gently massaged my aching neck. I looked around my room with a great deal of confusion until the situation worked itself out in my head. Laughing heartily, I took to the keyboard once again to type out the story of my dreams.
-193 | |
[WP] You come to a fork in the road with a sign. The arrow pointing right says “Nothing is left,” and the arrow to the left says “Nothing is right.” | The arrows taunted the traveller. The road to the right was in disrepair, potholed and worn. The road on the left looked like it had been laid yesterday. Looking toward the rightmost horizon revealed that the road faded away into the wilderness. The leftmost horizon, on the other hand, was pierced by gleaming towers of steel and glass, coming from a city surrounded by a patchwork quilt of well-tended fields.
The traveller was not impressed. He sought to live in the world, not apart from it. Such conspicuous consumption seemed like an affront to nature. For him, life was all about the journey, not the destination. He was already on his journey; he needed nothing. Therefore, he turned right. | Crumpled paper formed miniature mountains as it spilled over the edges of my trashcan. Scratching my head, I read the sentence aloud before hitting the backspace key and starting over. The blank page mocked me, its existence was proof of my failures and it seemed to grow stronger with each passing hour. The chair squeaked under my heft as I threw myself backwards, unleashing an exasperated yell that devolved into a moan as my fingers slid down my face. Thinking back to all that I'd written, I questioned whether I was truly meant for such things, or if I'd be better suited to fade into obscurity. Before the voice in my head could answer the question for me, I lifted myself from the chair and walked out of the house.
Many of my favorite authors and content creators suggested walking as a form of processing thoughts and discovering the path that one's concept should take. Certain that anything would be better than remaining stagnant before the screen in my room, I chose to take them up on their advice. My feet clumsily slapped the asphalt, propelling me forward down the road as I search for answers in the gray areas between the countless stars that stretched along the winding way. This path led to another and another still, spanning a distance as seemingly endless as the night sky itself. Though it was man made, I found some beauty in it and the places that it took me. Without meaningful thought on my direction, I continued along until I found myself lost.
I thought back to my previous steps and attempted to find my way back to a place that I recognized, or at least to something remotely resembling civilization. Amid the overhanging trees and large fields, I felt small, a feeling that I imagined was only further magnified by my lostness. As the overgrowth grew denser, I noticed that the path seemed to veer in two opposing directions, both were roads that I had not taken. Intrigued by this sudden development, I drew closer to the sign that stood between them with an arrow pointing both ways. One arrow said that nothing was left, while the other stated that nothing was right. I stood for a time and considered both signs, finding that neither path seemed worse for wear.
As the sun began to lower behind the trees, I came to a conclusion at last. If nothing was right and left was where the nothing was, then surely I would want to take the left path as I wouldn't want to be wrong. This thought amused me so greatly that I chose to take the left path and discover what lie at its end. As I traveled along this strange road, I found the environment growing brighter and brighter until I awoke at last. Lifting my head from the desk, I gently massaged my aching neck. I looked around my room with a great deal of confusion until the situation worked itself out in my head. Laughing heartily, I took to the keyboard once again to type out the story of my dreams.
-193 | |
[WP] You come to a fork in the road with a sign. The arrow pointing right says “Nothing is left,” and the arrow to the left says “Nothing is right.” | I shook my head as I walked. *What could have inspired such a crude message to unwary travelers?*
Two hours down the left path, I emerged from a barren, rocky trail to a butte, overlooking an ocean of madness. Where there ought have been greenery, shrubs and daisies, an expanse of meadows and fields and the unwritten poetry of life, there was mere rock, craggy, barren... as desolate as the empty warrens of the incline I'd just traversed. More, as far as my eyes could see, the wasteland extended.
No dust, no remnants, no indication of what had changed. Nothing was left.
I returned down the path, navigating the slope as carefully as I could, dreading what I'd find down the right path, given the evident results of the ominous message. Every stone looked the same, every twist of the path seemed just as lonely, dry and forlorn as the last.
At last, two hours later I came to the spot where I'd entered the path. I turned, looking for the sign which ought to be just around the bend...
... and found another twist in the road. Another gully, another trench, another dry riverbed, empty of life and comfort, sustenance or vibrancy.
*The path was here before, I* know *it, I* **saw** *it.*
I double back, to ensure I didn't miss it or pass it. I search for an hour, and return again to this spot. *The orange moss on the jagged rock to the left. A multicolored sheen in the shade on the right - looks like oil. This is it!*
Realizing five hours of walking through rough terrain is likely to leave anyone weary, I sat for a moment in the shade, a brief reprieve from the sun, but none at all from my own confusion. *Perhaps... it was a bit further on.*
I resolve to push on further, ensuring that I hadn't missed the fork. *And anyway, anywhere would be a welcome sight after this gully.* I take to the path again, determined to find my way out of this twisted maze.
Two hours later, with no passages to either side, still stuck in this blasted gully, I let out a sigh. It's late, and I've certainly been missed at my village by now. Is my village even still there? Is nothing left? Nothing is right.
A scuttling, off to the side. A change in the atmosphere. I hear a lone, familiar voice call my name.
"Hey, Listen!" | Crumpled paper formed miniature mountains as it spilled over the edges of my trashcan. Scratching my head, I read the sentence aloud before hitting the backspace key and starting over. The blank page mocked me, its existence was proof of my failures and it seemed to grow stronger with each passing hour. The chair squeaked under my heft as I threw myself backwards, unleashing an exasperated yell that devolved into a moan as my fingers slid down my face. Thinking back to all that I'd written, I questioned whether I was truly meant for such things, or if I'd be better suited to fade into obscurity. Before the voice in my head could answer the question for me, I lifted myself from the chair and walked out of the house.
Many of my favorite authors and content creators suggested walking as a form of processing thoughts and discovering the path that one's concept should take. Certain that anything would be better than remaining stagnant before the screen in my room, I chose to take them up on their advice. My feet clumsily slapped the asphalt, propelling me forward down the road as I search for answers in the gray areas between the countless stars that stretched along the winding way. This path led to another and another still, spanning a distance as seemingly endless as the night sky itself. Though it was man made, I found some beauty in it and the places that it took me. Without meaningful thought on my direction, I continued along until I found myself lost.
I thought back to my previous steps and attempted to find my way back to a place that I recognized, or at least to something remotely resembling civilization. Amid the overhanging trees and large fields, I felt small, a feeling that I imagined was only further magnified by my lostness. As the overgrowth grew denser, I noticed that the path seemed to veer in two opposing directions, both were roads that I had not taken. Intrigued by this sudden development, I drew closer to the sign that stood between them with an arrow pointing both ways. One arrow said that nothing was left, while the other stated that nothing was right. I stood for a time and considered both signs, finding that neither path seemed worse for wear.
As the sun began to lower behind the trees, I came to a conclusion at last. If nothing was right and left was where the nothing was, then surely I would want to take the left path as I wouldn't want to be wrong. This thought amused me so greatly that I chose to take the left path and discover what lie at its end. As I traveled along this strange road, I found the environment growing brighter and brighter until I awoke at last. Lifting my head from the desk, I gently massaged my aching neck. I looked around my room with a great deal of confusion until the situation worked itself out in my head. Laughing heartily, I took to the keyboard once again to type out the story of my dreams.
-193 | |
[WP] You come to a fork in the road with a sign. The arrow pointing right says “Nothing is left,” and the arrow to the left says “Nothing is right.” | A girl awoke in the middle of a road surrounded by oak trees, woods so thick they choked out the noise of the outside world.
She didn’t remember how she got there, couldn’t even remember her own name. The words were on the tip of her tongue but the more she focused on them the more they seemed to elude her. “I think my name started with an S” the nameless girl said aloud to herself, a hint of pride in her voice. “It’s all about the little victories right? A letter, a memory, a…path?” This last line trailed away from her as she looked ahead at the two diverging roads that lay before her.
A trail marker stood between the two paths, made of the same oak trees that surrounded it. The girl without a name approached it, running her hand along the roughly hewn words in its surface. “The forest of Eciduis” she read out-loud. The sign had two arrows, one pointing left and one right. The arrow pointing to the left read “Nothing is right” while the arrow pointing right said simply “Nothing is left”.
A sharp pang ran through the head of the nameless girl as those words danced in her mind, tossing and twirling as she fell to the ground. The sign was the last thing she saw before she fell into a deep, restless sleep.
Memories flowed back disjointedly as she slept; a joyful smile, a warm embrace, love. These memories made her smile. Then more came, these were not as pleasant. Betrayal, anger, a fight, a slamming door and words she wished she could take back. She wished the nightmare would end but knew it had not yet run its course. There were empty bottles around here, some with the last drops of amber liquid inside of them and the rest now devoid of the pills they once carried. She saw a note, saw her tears falling from her cheeks onto the paper and as her breath shallowed she saw herself writing the last lines she ever would. “Nothing is right, nothing is left”
A girl awoke in the middle of a road surrounded by oak trees, woods so thick they choked out the noise of the outside world.
| The harsh desert I had traveled for as long as I remember suddenly gave way to a grassy clearing. Immediately before me stood a great oak, barren of leaves but sturdy and old. Upon the oak were two planks inscribed with directions.
"Nothing is Right" exclaimed the one on the left, its crisp wood sharpened so as to point the way left of the tree, enticing me towards its path. Behind it was a cobble road, clean and fresh. Built but never used. Though I could not see the end, it seemed civilization would lie ahead. Much needed rest for the weary.
"Nothing is Left" pronounced the rightward sign. Lying to the right of the great oak was a overgrown forest path. A steady stream of men had once blazed a proper trail here, but now it was ridden with grass and weeds. The path had seen ages without use, abandoned and forgotten. Whatever once laid at the end of this road likely shared the same fate.
I wondered what cruel craftsman had decided to play this paradoxical joke.
"Nothing is Right" may yet be true. whatever kin once used the forest path were most likely gone. Their traditions, accomplishments, morals, all destroyed by the ebb of time.
"Nothing is Left" seemed valid as well. If there was civilization at the end of the cobble road, it was an isolated one. None had ever traveled the road, so there could be nothing worth traveling it for.
Exhausted by my life's journey, I sat and rested against the great oak. Before me I saw the vast expanse of the hot desert where I had spent most of my days. I had no desire to return there, and I felt so close to finding home. Yet the strength that remained me surely would not allow a traversal of both paths.
I surveyed my options once again. The decision I was to make may be my last. To the left was a proper and pure road; ideal but untested. I would gladly follow its path if others had before me, but I dared not be the first to find what lied at its end. To the right, a tried and tested path which surely once had a use. However, something became of it's people for they traveled it no more, and I did not want to meet their same fate.
The oak tree loomed before and above me, as if casting judgement on my final decision. I looked to it for wisdom, and saw that its trunk rose to the clouds. Branches sprawled out above me, reaching every end of the sky. Powerful and wise, if any knew the solution I sought it would be her. Rather than voyage down a path of nothingness, I decided to climb.
The trunk remained thick as I ascended, holding fast and true. As I climbed, the branches obstructed my view. If I was to see what lay at the end of the two paths, I would have to reach the top. The ascent was long and tiresome and I feared that afterwards I would not have strength enough to make it down the correct path, but at least I would know. I climbed what seemed like an eternity, through the dense branches which spread through the sky. As I climbed, the air became fresh and cool. I passed through the clouds and above them. Before long the branches became so thick that I could not see the sun, but I climbed on.
Just as I was worried I would not finish my task, I saw a parting of the branches. Light shone through like a ray from heaven and I soon made my way to the top of the trees. As I emerged from the darkness I was blinded by the radiance of the evening sun. After some time, I could see the paths before me, lit by the orange hue of the approaching sunset.
To the left, the cobble road headed straight for the horizon until it reached the edge. To the right, the forest path weaved a snakelike path towards the setting sun. Directly before me, I saw the two roads meet. Where they met was Nothing. There was no city, no civilization. There were no further paths or alternate routes. The cobble road met the forest path and the forest path met the cobble road. To travel the left would be to travel the right and the end would be the beginning.
I hung awhile at the top of the tree, pondering the hopelessness of the situation before me. Had I truly traveled countless miles for countless years to reach the end in the road? I wallowed in my sadness for some time before it occurred to me to look back upon where I can came. I turned around and behind me lay the vast, empty expanse of the desert wasteland. Empty, except for small figures moving towards me from the horizon. There were others who had traveled my same path and would reach the same destination. The paradoxical riddle which told only truth and led nowhere.
It was then I knew what I must do.
As the sun finished its descent, I began mine. I climbed down the tree as quickly as it would let me and before I knew it, I had reached the ground. I looked once more upon the cryptic puzzle of the oak tree and once more at the paths that laid beyond it. Towards that direction, there was no future. I turned and looked upon the grueling desert where I had once traveled and longed to be free from. There, with the other walkers of that desperate road, lied hope.
I would wait here for the other travelers and here, under the wise and powerful oak tree, we would build a city. I drew my knife from my side and carved into the great oak the solution to the timeless riddle - the new city's name. Let it be known to all that travel here from that this day that:
When
Nothing is Right, Nothing is Left
| |
[WP] You come to a fork in the road with a sign. The arrow pointing right says “Nothing is left,” and the arrow to the left says “Nothing is right.” | How long have I been sitting here?
I don't even remember where I'm from. I'm not sure I remember how to stand, or walk, once I'd made my decision. The path I'd come from was well trodden but between the time I'd come upon the fork and now, not a soul passed me by. Neither from the left nor right paths.
I grumbled and looked at the arrow pointing left. "Nothing is right", it said. "There is nothing on the right. It is barren save for Nothing. Whether a thing, a time or place, there is only Nothing there. Nothing's right here, and there is nothing right here."
I turned to its twin pointing right. "Nothing is left," it said. "There is nothing left here. It has been taken out, until all we are left with is Nothing. Whether a thing, a time or place, there is only Nothing here. There is nothing left, and there is nothing left here."
They did not say as much. But sitting here for as long as I have, that is the essence of my choice.
Was nothing right with me? Was there nothing left of me?
For the first time I considered turning back. I don't remember if I passed by any towns or villages - I must have. I could take shelter there, or perhaps ask for directions.
Somehow, if I did, then the fork would vanish, and they would deny any knowledge of its existence. I knew this with absolute certainty.
Where *was* I going? I don't even remember. What prompted my journey? I don't remember. I have been sitting at this fork in the road for far too long.
At first I thought I imagined the footsteps. Then they grew louder and louder, until I could not have imagined them. I turned; back along the path from which I came, a young man came tramping along atop a magnificent horse. He wore simple robes but even from a distance I saw they were quite clean. His hair, short though it was, waved in the wind, and I saw sitting atop his brow a furrow so deep it could only have been placed there.
He came up to the fork and took no notice of me, instead occupying himself reading the signs. I was about to tell him that it's no good, the signs don't help, when without a moments' hesitation he took the left path.
My jaw hanging open, I stared at his retreating back. How did he know where to go? I managed to cry out, to call out to him, asking "How did you know where to go?"
All he did was turn, fix me with his steely gaze, and turn back and move on.
Left dumbfounded, I sat back down, staring again at the sign pointing left. "Nothing is right", it said. "There is nothing on the right. It is barren save for Nothing. Whether a thing, a time or place, there is only Nothing there. Nothing's right here, and there is nothing right here."
How could he have deduced its meaning so quickly?
The sound of something being dragged along the ground shocked me out of my reverie. I turned to see an old man, or a man appearing to be old, in battered armor dragging what was left of his sword along the ground. As he neared I saw no furrow on his brow, but lines everywhere else on his face. He looked to be my age, if one could erase them. He stared at nothing but the horizon, large dilated eyes seemingly dead to the world.
He stopped to read the signs, ignoring me as the young man had.
Then he smirked.
Dragging his sword along, he went right.
I could not take it anymore. "Hey! Hey!" I called out to him, and started after him - stopping just as the path right started. I could not go with him. Not until I had decided where I was going.
To his credit, he answered, but it was..unsatisfactory. "'geroff," was all he said.
"Please! Tell me, how do you know to go to the right?"
Then he stopped, turned, and held his arms out so that I may see him in his entirety. "LOOK AT ME!" he said, showing where the buckles of his pauldrons had been shorn off, where his shins had been hacked at, where scars were made right in the chinks of his armor. Where the light had gone out of his eyes, which at one time might have made the world shudder to see them.
Then he turned and walked, I none the wiser. I sat back down, and read the sign to the right. "Nothing is left," it said. "There is nothing left here. It has been taken out, until all we are left with is Nothing. Whether a thing, a time or place, there is only Nothing here. There is nothing left, and there is nothing left here." | The harsh desert I had traveled for as long as I remember suddenly gave way to a grassy clearing. Immediately before me stood a great oak, barren of leaves but sturdy and old. Upon the oak were two planks inscribed with directions.
"Nothing is Right" exclaimed the one on the left, its crisp wood sharpened so as to point the way left of the tree, enticing me towards its path. Behind it was a cobble road, clean and fresh. Built but never used. Though I could not see the end, it seemed civilization would lie ahead. Much needed rest for the weary.
"Nothing is Left" pronounced the rightward sign. Lying to the right of the great oak was a overgrown forest path. A steady stream of men had once blazed a proper trail here, but now it was ridden with grass and weeds. The path had seen ages without use, abandoned and forgotten. Whatever once laid at the end of this road likely shared the same fate.
I wondered what cruel craftsman had decided to play this paradoxical joke.
"Nothing is Right" may yet be true. whatever kin once used the forest path were most likely gone. Their traditions, accomplishments, morals, all destroyed by the ebb of time.
"Nothing is Left" seemed valid as well. If there was civilization at the end of the cobble road, it was an isolated one. None had ever traveled the road, so there could be nothing worth traveling it for.
Exhausted by my life's journey, I sat and rested against the great oak. Before me I saw the vast expanse of the hot desert where I had spent most of my days. I had no desire to return there, and I felt so close to finding home. Yet the strength that remained me surely would not allow a traversal of both paths.
I surveyed my options once again. The decision I was to make may be my last. To the left was a proper and pure road; ideal but untested. I would gladly follow its path if others had before me, but I dared not be the first to find what lied at its end. To the right, a tried and tested path which surely once had a use. However, something became of it's people for they traveled it no more, and I did not want to meet their same fate.
The oak tree loomed before and above me, as if casting judgement on my final decision. I looked to it for wisdom, and saw that its trunk rose to the clouds. Branches sprawled out above me, reaching every end of the sky. Powerful and wise, if any knew the solution I sought it would be her. Rather than voyage down a path of nothingness, I decided to climb.
The trunk remained thick as I ascended, holding fast and true. As I climbed, the branches obstructed my view. If I was to see what lay at the end of the two paths, I would have to reach the top. The ascent was long and tiresome and I feared that afterwards I would not have strength enough to make it down the correct path, but at least I would know. I climbed what seemed like an eternity, through the dense branches which spread through the sky. As I climbed, the air became fresh and cool. I passed through the clouds and above them. Before long the branches became so thick that I could not see the sun, but I climbed on.
Just as I was worried I would not finish my task, I saw a parting of the branches. Light shone through like a ray from heaven and I soon made my way to the top of the trees. As I emerged from the darkness I was blinded by the radiance of the evening sun. After some time, I could see the paths before me, lit by the orange hue of the approaching sunset.
To the left, the cobble road headed straight for the horizon until it reached the edge. To the right, the forest path weaved a snakelike path towards the setting sun. Directly before me, I saw the two roads meet. Where they met was Nothing. There was no city, no civilization. There were no further paths or alternate routes. The cobble road met the forest path and the forest path met the cobble road. To travel the left would be to travel the right and the end would be the beginning.
I hung awhile at the top of the tree, pondering the hopelessness of the situation before me. Had I truly traveled countless miles for countless years to reach the end in the road? I wallowed in my sadness for some time before it occurred to me to look back upon where I can came. I turned around and behind me lay the vast, empty expanse of the desert wasteland. Empty, except for small figures moving towards me from the horizon. There were others who had traveled my same path and would reach the same destination. The paradoxical riddle which told only truth and led nowhere.
It was then I knew what I must do.
As the sun finished its descent, I began mine. I climbed down the tree as quickly as it would let me and before I knew it, I had reached the ground. I looked once more upon the cryptic puzzle of the oak tree and once more at the paths that laid beyond it. Towards that direction, there was no future. I turned and looked upon the grueling desert where I had once traveled and longed to be free from. There, with the other walkers of that desperate road, lied hope.
I would wait here for the other travelers and here, under the wise and powerful oak tree, we would build a city. I drew my knife from my side and carved into the great oak the solution to the timeless riddle - the new city's name. Let it be known to all that travel here from that this day that:
When
Nothing is Right, Nothing is Left
| |
[WP] You come to a fork in the road with a sign. The arrow pointing right says “Nothing is left,” and the arrow to the left says “Nothing is right.” | The arrows taunted the traveller. The road to the right was in disrepair, potholed and worn. The road on the left looked like it had been laid yesterday. Looking toward the rightmost horizon revealed that the road faded away into the wilderness. The leftmost horizon, on the other hand, was pierced by gleaming towers of steel and glass, coming from a city surrounded by a patchwork quilt of well-tended fields.
The traveller was not impressed. He sought to live in the world, not apart from it. Such conspicuous consumption seemed like an affront to nature. For him, life was all about the journey, not the destination. He was already on his journey; he needed nothing. Therefore, he turned right. | The harsh desert I had traveled for as long as I remember suddenly gave way to a grassy clearing. Immediately before me stood a great oak, barren of leaves but sturdy and old. Upon the oak were two planks inscribed with directions.
"Nothing is Right" exclaimed the one on the left, its crisp wood sharpened so as to point the way left of the tree, enticing me towards its path. Behind it was a cobble road, clean and fresh. Built but never used. Though I could not see the end, it seemed civilization would lie ahead. Much needed rest for the weary.
"Nothing is Left" pronounced the rightward sign. Lying to the right of the great oak was a overgrown forest path. A steady stream of men had once blazed a proper trail here, but now it was ridden with grass and weeds. The path had seen ages without use, abandoned and forgotten. Whatever once laid at the end of this road likely shared the same fate.
I wondered what cruel craftsman had decided to play this paradoxical joke.
"Nothing is Right" may yet be true. whatever kin once used the forest path were most likely gone. Their traditions, accomplishments, morals, all destroyed by the ebb of time.
"Nothing is Left" seemed valid as well. If there was civilization at the end of the cobble road, it was an isolated one. None had ever traveled the road, so there could be nothing worth traveling it for.
Exhausted by my life's journey, I sat and rested against the great oak. Before me I saw the vast expanse of the hot desert where I had spent most of my days. I had no desire to return there, and I felt so close to finding home. Yet the strength that remained me surely would not allow a traversal of both paths.
I surveyed my options once again. The decision I was to make may be my last. To the left was a proper and pure road; ideal but untested. I would gladly follow its path if others had before me, but I dared not be the first to find what lied at its end. To the right, a tried and tested path which surely once had a use. However, something became of it's people for they traveled it no more, and I did not want to meet their same fate.
The oak tree loomed before and above me, as if casting judgement on my final decision. I looked to it for wisdom, and saw that its trunk rose to the clouds. Branches sprawled out above me, reaching every end of the sky. Powerful and wise, if any knew the solution I sought it would be her. Rather than voyage down a path of nothingness, I decided to climb.
The trunk remained thick as I ascended, holding fast and true. As I climbed, the branches obstructed my view. If I was to see what lay at the end of the two paths, I would have to reach the top. The ascent was long and tiresome and I feared that afterwards I would not have strength enough to make it down the correct path, but at least I would know. I climbed what seemed like an eternity, through the dense branches which spread through the sky. As I climbed, the air became fresh and cool. I passed through the clouds and above them. Before long the branches became so thick that I could not see the sun, but I climbed on.
Just as I was worried I would not finish my task, I saw a parting of the branches. Light shone through like a ray from heaven and I soon made my way to the top of the trees. As I emerged from the darkness I was blinded by the radiance of the evening sun. After some time, I could see the paths before me, lit by the orange hue of the approaching sunset.
To the left, the cobble road headed straight for the horizon until it reached the edge. To the right, the forest path weaved a snakelike path towards the setting sun. Directly before me, I saw the two roads meet. Where they met was Nothing. There was no city, no civilization. There were no further paths or alternate routes. The cobble road met the forest path and the forest path met the cobble road. To travel the left would be to travel the right and the end would be the beginning.
I hung awhile at the top of the tree, pondering the hopelessness of the situation before me. Had I truly traveled countless miles for countless years to reach the end in the road? I wallowed in my sadness for some time before it occurred to me to look back upon where I can came. I turned around and behind me lay the vast, empty expanse of the desert wasteland. Empty, except for small figures moving towards me from the horizon. There were others who had traveled my same path and would reach the same destination. The paradoxical riddle which told only truth and led nowhere.
It was then I knew what I must do.
As the sun finished its descent, I began mine. I climbed down the tree as quickly as it would let me and before I knew it, I had reached the ground. I looked once more upon the cryptic puzzle of the oak tree and once more at the paths that laid beyond it. Towards that direction, there was no future. I turned and looked upon the grueling desert where I had once traveled and longed to be free from. There, with the other walkers of that desperate road, lied hope.
I would wait here for the other travelers and here, under the wise and powerful oak tree, we would build a city. I drew my knife from my side and carved into the great oak the solution to the timeless riddle - the new city's name. Let it be known to all that travel here from that this day that:
When
Nothing is Right, Nothing is Left
| |
[WP] You come to a fork in the road with a sign. The arrow pointing right says “Nothing is left,” and the arrow to the left says “Nothing is right.” | I shook my head as I walked. *What could have inspired such a crude message to unwary travelers?*
Two hours down the left path, I emerged from a barren, rocky trail to a butte, overlooking an ocean of madness. Where there ought have been greenery, shrubs and daisies, an expanse of meadows and fields and the unwritten poetry of life, there was mere rock, craggy, barren... as desolate as the empty warrens of the incline I'd just traversed. More, as far as my eyes could see, the wasteland extended.
No dust, no remnants, no indication of what had changed. Nothing was left.
I returned down the path, navigating the slope as carefully as I could, dreading what I'd find down the right path, given the evident results of the ominous message. Every stone looked the same, every twist of the path seemed just as lonely, dry and forlorn as the last.
At last, two hours later I came to the spot where I'd entered the path. I turned, looking for the sign which ought to be just around the bend...
... and found another twist in the road. Another gully, another trench, another dry riverbed, empty of life and comfort, sustenance or vibrancy.
*The path was here before, I* know *it, I* **saw** *it.*
I double back, to ensure I didn't miss it or pass it. I search for an hour, and return again to this spot. *The orange moss on the jagged rock to the left. A multicolored sheen in the shade on the right - looks like oil. This is it!*
Realizing five hours of walking through rough terrain is likely to leave anyone weary, I sat for a moment in the shade, a brief reprieve from the sun, but none at all from my own confusion. *Perhaps... it was a bit further on.*
I resolve to push on further, ensuring that I hadn't missed the fork. *And anyway, anywhere would be a welcome sight after this gully.* I take to the path again, determined to find my way out of this twisted maze.
Two hours later, with no passages to either side, still stuck in this blasted gully, I let out a sigh. It's late, and I've certainly been missed at my village by now. Is my village even still there? Is nothing left? Nothing is right.
A scuttling, off to the side. A change in the atmosphere. I hear a lone, familiar voice call my name.
"Hey, Listen!" | The harsh desert I had traveled for as long as I remember suddenly gave way to a grassy clearing. Immediately before me stood a great oak, barren of leaves but sturdy and old. Upon the oak were two planks inscribed with directions.
"Nothing is Right" exclaimed the one on the left, its crisp wood sharpened so as to point the way left of the tree, enticing me towards its path. Behind it was a cobble road, clean and fresh. Built but never used. Though I could not see the end, it seemed civilization would lie ahead. Much needed rest for the weary.
"Nothing is Left" pronounced the rightward sign. Lying to the right of the great oak was a overgrown forest path. A steady stream of men had once blazed a proper trail here, but now it was ridden with grass and weeds. The path had seen ages without use, abandoned and forgotten. Whatever once laid at the end of this road likely shared the same fate.
I wondered what cruel craftsman had decided to play this paradoxical joke.
"Nothing is Right" may yet be true. whatever kin once used the forest path were most likely gone. Their traditions, accomplishments, morals, all destroyed by the ebb of time.
"Nothing is Left" seemed valid as well. If there was civilization at the end of the cobble road, it was an isolated one. None had ever traveled the road, so there could be nothing worth traveling it for.
Exhausted by my life's journey, I sat and rested against the great oak. Before me I saw the vast expanse of the hot desert where I had spent most of my days. I had no desire to return there, and I felt so close to finding home. Yet the strength that remained me surely would not allow a traversal of both paths.
I surveyed my options once again. The decision I was to make may be my last. To the left was a proper and pure road; ideal but untested. I would gladly follow its path if others had before me, but I dared not be the first to find what lied at its end. To the right, a tried and tested path which surely once had a use. However, something became of it's people for they traveled it no more, and I did not want to meet their same fate.
The oak tree loomed before and above me, as if casting judgement on my final decision. I looked to it for wisdom, and saw that its trunk rose to the clouds. Branches sprawled out above me, reaching every end of the sky. Powerful and wise, if any knew the solution I sought it would be her. Rather than voyage down a path of nothingness, I decided to climb.
The trunk remained thick as I ascended, holding fast and true. As I climbed, the branches obstructed my view. If I was to see what lay at the end of the two paths, I would have to reach the top. The ascent was long and tiresome and I feared that afterwards I would not have strength enough to make it down the correct path, but at least I would know. I climbed what seemed like an eternity, through the dense branches which spread through the sky. As I climbed, the air became fresh and cool. I passed through the clouds and above them. Before long the branches became so thick that I could not see the sun, but I climbed on.
Just as I was worried I would not finish my task, I saw a parting of the branches. Light shone through like a ray from heaven and I soon made my way to the top of the trees. As I emerged from the darkness I was blinded by the radiance of the evening sun. After some time, I could see the paths before me, lit by the orange hue of the approaching sunset.
To the left, the cobble road headed straight for the horizon until it reached the edge. To the right, the forest path weaved a snakelike path towards the setting sun. Directly before me, I saw the two roads meet. Where they met was Nothing. There was no city, no civilization. There were no further paths or alternate routes. The cobble road met the forest path and the forest path met the cobble road. To travel the left would be to travel the right and the end would be the beginning.
I hung awhile at the top of the tree, pondering the hopelessness of the situation before me. Had I truly traveled countless miles for countless years to reach the end in the road? I wallowed in my sadness for some time before it occurred to me to look back upon where I can came. I turned around and behind me lay the vast, empty expanse of the desert wasteland. Empty, except for small figures moving towards me from the horizon. There were others who had traveled my same path and would reach the same destination. The paradoxical riddle which told only truth and led nowhere.
It was then I knew what I must do.
As the sun finished its descent, I began mine. I climbed down the tree as quickly as it would let me and before I knew it, I had reached the ground. I looked once more upon the cryptic puzzle of the oak tree and once more at the paths that laid beyond it. Towards that direction, there was no future. I turned and looked upon the grueling desert where I had once traveled and longed to be free from. There, with the other walkers of that desperate road, lied hope.
I would wait here for the other travelers and here, under the wise and powerful oak tree, we would build a city. I drew my knife from my side and carved into the great oak the solution to the timeless riddle - the new city's name. Let it be known to all that travel here from that this day that:
When
Nothing is Right, Nothing is Left
| |
[WP] You come to a fork in the road with a sign. The arrow pointing right says “Nothing is left,” and the arrow to the left says “Nothing is right.” | A girl awoke in the middle of a road surrounded by oak trees, woods so thick they choked out the noise of the outside world.
She didn’t remember how she got there, couldn’t even remember her own name. The words were on the tip of her tongue but the more she focused on them the more they seemed to elude her. “I think my name started with an S” the nameless girl said aloud to herself, a hint of pride in her voice. “It’s all about the little victories right? A letter, a memory, a…path?” This last line trailed away from her as she looked ahead at the two diverging roads that lay before her.
A trail marker stood between the two paths, made of the same oak trees that surrounded it. The girl without a name approached it, running her hand along the roughly hewn words in its surface. “The forest of Eciduis” she read out-loud. The sign had two arrows, one pointing left and one right. The arrow pointing to the left read “Nothing is right” while the arrow pointing right said simply “Nothing is left”.
A sharp pang ran through the head of the nameless girl as those words danced in her mind, tossing and twirling as she fell to the ground. The sign was the last thing she saw before she fell into a deep, restless sleep.
Memories flowed back disjointedly as she slept; a joyful smile, a warm embrace, love. These memories made her smile. Then more came, these were not as pleasant. Betrayal, anger, a fight, a slamming door and words she wished she could take back. She wished the nightmare would end but knew it had not yet run its course. There were empty bottles around here, some with the last drops of amber liquid inside of them and the rest now devoid of the pills they once carried. She saw a note, saw her tears falling from her cheeks onto the paper and as her breath shallowed she saw herself writing the last lines she ever would. “Nothing is right, nothing is left”
A girl awoke in the middle of a road surrounded by oak trees, woods so thick they choked out the noise of the outside world.
| Nothing is right, that is true, of course. But why was it posted on the left side?
So, I'd have to consider the alternative. Going for the truth only gets you so far.
Nothing is left, is that true? Is there anything left, any other option? If there is no other option, I'd have to take the right side. Which one would you take? | |
[WP] You come to a fork in the road with a sign. The arrow pointing right says “Nothing is left,” and the arrow to the left says “Nothing is right.” | How long have I been sitting here?
I don't even remember where I'm from. I'm not sure I remember how to stand, or walk, once I'd made my decision. The path I'd come from was well trodden but between the time I'd come upon the fork and now, not a soul passed me by. Neither from the left nor right paths.
I grumbled and looked at the arrow pointing left. "Nothing is right", it said. "There is nothing on the right. It is barren save for Nothing. Whether a thing, a time or place, there is only Nothing there. Nothing's right here, and there is nothing right here."
I turned to its twin pointing right. "Nothing is left," it said. "There is nothing left here. It has been taken out, until all we are left with is Nothing. Whether a thing, a time or place, there is only Nothing here. There is nothing left, and there is nothing left here."
They did not say as much. But sitting here for as long as I have, that is the essence of my choice.
Was nothing right with me? Was there nothing left of me?
For the first time I considered turning back. I don't remember if I passed by any towns or villages - I must have. I could take shelter there, or perhaps ask for directions.
Somehow, if I did, then the fork would vanish, and they would deny any knowledge of its existence. I knew this with absolute certainty.
Where *was* I going? I don't even remember. What prompted my journey? I don't remember. I have been sitting at this fork in the road for far too long.
At first I thought I imagined the footsteps. Then they grew louder and louder, until I could not have imagined them. I turned; back along the path from which I came, a young man came tramping along atop a magnificent horse. He wore simple robes but even from a distance I saw they were quite clean. His hair, short though it was, waved in the wind, and I saw sitting atop his brow a furrow so deep it could only have been placed there.
He came up to the fork and took no notice of me, instead occupying himself reading the signs. I was about to tell him that it's no good, the signs don't help, when without a moments' hesitation he took the left path.
My jaw hanging open, I stared at his retreating back. How did he know where to go? I managed to cry out, to call out to him, asking "How did you know where to go?"
All he did was turn, fix me with his steely gaze, and turn back and move on.
Left dumbfounded, I sat back down, staring again at the sign pointing left. "Nothing is right", it said. "There is nothing on the right. It is barren save for Nothing. Whether a thing, a time or place, there is only Nothing there. Nothing's right here, and there is nothing right here."
How could he have deduced its meaning so quickly?
The sound of something being dragged along the ground shocked me out of my reverie. I turned to see an old man, or a man appearing to be old, in battered armor dragging what was left of his sword along the ground. As he neared I saw no furrow on his brow, but lines everywhere else on his face. He looked to be my age, if one could erase them. He stared at nothing but the horizon, large dilated eyes seemingly dead to the world.
He stopped to read the signs, ignoring me as the young man had.
Then he smirked.
Dragging his sword along, he went right.
I could not take it anymore. "Hey! Hey!" I called out to him, and started after him - stopping just as the path right started. I could not go with him. Not until I had decided where I was going.
To his credit, he answered, but it was..unsatisfactory. "'geroff," was all he said.
"Please! Tell me, how do you know to go to the right?"
Then he stopped, turned, and held his arms out so that I may see him in his entirety. "LOOK AT ME!" he said, showing where the buckles of his pauldrons had been shorn off, where his shins had been hacked at, where scars were made right in the chinks of his armor. Where the light had gone out of his eyes, which at one time might have made the world shudder to see them.
Then he turned and walked, I none the wiser. I sat back down, and read the sign to the right. "Nothing is left," it said. "There is nothing left here. It has been taken out, until all we are left with is Nothing. Whether a thing, a time or place, there is only Nothing here. There is nothing left, and there is nothing left here." | Nothing is right, that is true, of course. But why was it posted on the left side?
So, I'd have to consider the alternative. Going for the truth only gets you so far.
Nothing is left, is that true? Is there anything left, any other option? If there is no other option, I'd have to take the right side. Which one would you take? | |
[WP] You come to a fork in the road with a sign. The arrow pointing right says “Nothing is left,” and the arrow to the left says “Nothing is right.” | The arrows taunted the traveller. The road to the right was in disrepair, potholed and worn. The road on the left looked like it had been laid yesterday. Looking toward the rightmost horizon revealed that the road faded away into the wilderness. The leftmost horizon, on the other hand, was pierced by gleaming towers of steel and glass, coming from a city surrounded by a patchwork quilt of well-tended fields.
The traveller was not impressed. He sought to live in the world, not apart from it. Such conspicuous consumption seemed like an affront to nature. For him, life was all about the journey, not the destination. He was already on his journey; he needed nothing. Therefore, he turned right. | Nothing is right, that is true, of course. But why was it posted on the left side?
So, I'd have to consider the alternative. Going for the truth only gets you so far.
Nothing is left, is that true? Is there anything left, any other option? If there is no other option, I'd have to take the right side. Which one would you take? | |
[WP] You come to a fork in the road with a sign. The arrow pointing right says “Nothing is left,” and the arrow to the left says “Nothing is right.” | I shook my head as I walked. *What could have inspired such a crude message to unwary travelers?*
Two hours down the left path, I emerged from a barren, rocky trail to a butte, overlooking an ocean of madness. Where there ought have been greenery, shrubs and daisies, an expanse of meadows and fields and the unwritten poetry of life, there was mere rock, craggy, barren... as desolate as the empty warrens of the incline I'd just traversed. More, as far as my eyes could see, the wasteland extended.
No dust, no remnants, no indication of what had changed. Nothing was left.
I returned down the path, navigating the slope as carefully as I could, dreading what I'd find down the right path, given the evident results of the ominous message. Every stone looked the same, every twist of the path seemed just as lonely, dry and forlorn as the last.
At last, two hours later I came to the spot where I'd entered the path. I turned, looking for the sign which ought to be just around the bend...
... and found another twist in the road. Another gully, another trench, another dry riverbed, empty of life and comfort, sustenance or vibrancy.
*The path was here before, I* know *it, I* **saw** *it.*
I double back, to ensure I didn't miss it or pass it. I search for an hour, and return again to this spot. *The orange moss on the jagged rock to the left. A multicolored sheen in the shade on the right - looks like oil. This is it!*
Realizing five hours of walking through rough terrain is likely to leave anyone weary, I sat for a moment in the shade, a brief reprieve from the sun, but none at all from my own confusion. *Perhaps... it was a bit further on.*
I resolve to push on further, ensuring that I hadn't missed the fork. *And anyway, anywhere would be a welcome sight after this gully.* I take to the path again, determined to find my way out of this twisted maze.
Two hours later, with no passages to either side, still stuck in this blasted gully, I let out a sigh. It's late, and I've certainly been missed at my village by now. Is my village even still there? Is nothing left? Nothing is right.
A scuttling, off to the side. A change in the atmosphere. I hear a lone, familiar voice call my name.
"Hey, Listen!" | Nothing is right, that is true, of course. But why was it posted on the left side?
So, I'd have to consider the alternative. Going for the truth only gets you so far.
Nothing is left, is that true? Is there anything left, any other option? If there is no other option, I'd have to take the right side. Which one would you take? | |
[WP] You come to a fork in the road with a sign. The arrow pointing right says “Nothing is left,” and the arrow to the left says “Nothing is right.” | I shook my head as I walked. *What could have inspired such a crude message to unwary travelers?*
Two hours down the left path, I emerged from a barren, rocky trail to a butte, overlooking an ocean of madness. Where there ought have been greenery, shrubs and daisies, an expanse of meadows and fields and the unwritten poetry of life, there was mere rock, craggy, barren... as desolate as the empty warrens of the incline I'd just traversed. More, as far as my eyes could see, the wasteland extended.
No dust, no remnants, no indication of what had changed. Nothing was left.
I returned down the path, navigating the slope as carefully as I could, dreading what I'd find down the right path, given the evident results of the ominous message. Every stone looked the same, every twist of the path seemed just as lonely, dry and forlorn as the last.
At last, two hours later I came to the spot where I'd entered the path. I turned, looking for the sign which ought to be just around the bend...
... and found another twist in the road. Another gully, another trench, another dry riverbed, empty of life and comfort, sustenance or vibrancy.
*The path was here before, I* know *it, I* **saw** *it.*
I double back, to ensure I didn't miss it or pass it. I search for an hour, and return again to this spot. *The orange moss on the jagged rock to the left. A multicolored sheen in the shade on the right - looks like oil. This is it!*
Realizing five hours of walking through rough terrain is likely to leave anyone weary, I sat for a moment in the shade, a brief reprieve from the sun, but none at all from my own confusion. *Perhaps... it was a bit further on.*
I resolve to push on further, ensuring that I hadn't missed the fork. *And anyway, anywhere would be a welcome sight after this gully.* I take to the path again, determined to find my way out of this twisted maze.
Two hours later, with no passages to either side, still stuck in this blasted gully, I let out a sigh. It's late, and I've certainly been missed at my village by now. Is my village even still there? Is nothing left? Nothing is right.
A scuttling, off to the side. A change in the atmosphere. I hear a lone, familiar voice call my name.
"Hey, Listen!" | I continued straight and found nothing. I amended the sign to say, "Nothing Lies Ahead." I then turned around a went home, but not before stopping for a breakfast burrito. | |
[WP] You come to a fork in the road with a sign. The arrow pointing right says “Nothing is left,” and the arrow to the left says “Nothing is right.” | I walked down the road, my erstwhile companion bounding alongside me with a spring in his step. His short red hair and piercing blue eyes bother me; I didn't ask for company as I entered the dream ritual, but there he was just the same. His shirt was an eclectic mix of different fabrics sewn together with different threads, and his pants were an ordinary set of denim jeans. The sneakers he wore reminded me of my favorite pair of Converses I'd owned when I was still in high school, black and red. I looked down at the path as I trod along, the small gravel stones feeling smooth and cool on my feet. The trees filtered whispers of the wind far above the forest as I walked, and I soon came to a fork in the road.
"The shaman said that this would be straightforward. She must've made a mistake." I muttered, looking at the ragged and rotting wooden signs before me.
"Oh, really?" My companion asked. "Are you so sure?"
"Evelyn has never guided me into a dream wrong before." I stopped, thinking about the conversation that my companion attempted to start with me before we'd entered the wood. "What did you do?"
"I? Whatever did I do here? This is YOUR dream, not mine." He said, hurt plain to see on his face. "I simply came here to see what you'd do with it." He twirled a simple wooden cane, one that I was absolutely sure he didn't have before, and set his hands upon it as he looked at me with a cocked eyebrow.
"If you're not a part of my dream, then why are you in here with me?" I asked, the anger bubbling up from deep in my gut. Something about this is becoming far too dangerous to have been a simple dream-walking exercise, and I'm beginning to think this person... this thing... knows more than it's letting on. As if he'd heard me talking aloud, he smiled and bowed slightly.
"Indeed I do, my very special friend. So, now comes the choice you must make; the one that I will ensure comes to fruition when you are ready to start." His eyes took on a mischievous glint that was literal. I'm not lying. There was a glint. And it was mischievous.
"Wait, what?" I asked. Looking at the words to the signs, the one pointing to the right stated 'Nothing is left.' On the bottom of the wooden post held the other sign, saying 'Nothing is right' as it pointed toward the left road in the fork ahead of me. I looked at the two, then back at my companion. "What are you?"
"Ah, and now the real question. I was worried you'd never get to that." He said, the glint even more mischievous if that could be possible. "I am the Trickster. Loki, Esu, a thousand names for a thousand words that hold a thousand thousand ways to think and dream and live and die. At your service, for now." He bowed again, and as I watched the glint fell out of his eye and landed on the top of his hands. Carefully tossing it into the air, he caught it with a swipe and held it out to me. "If you'd like, I present a gift of a lie. It has value beyond words, and is equally worthless. Whatever you may need, it can become. And you will need that lie to pass this part of your test."
"I will not lie to myself, Trickster." I said, fuming. The sound of laughter, bubbly and unrestrained, came from the wooden post. Whirling to look, the Trickster laid himself over the top of the signs, guffawed and laughed and bellowed with a mighty humor. He looked up at me, tears running down his face.
"Oh my, you are so good at it already! This is delicious!" He said, the bubbles of laughter creeping out between every few words or so. "I didn't think you'd have it mastered so soon."
"Quit wasting my time here. I have to make a choice, and you're speaking like a lunatic." I looked down the left-hand path, and felt the lie in my hand grow heavier and heavier; thinking about it, I took a few steps in that direction and felt the lie become unbearably heavy. I struggled to get back to where I stood before, as the Trickster watched me intently, his blue eyes still moist with his humorous tears. The bastard probably thought this was funny, too.
"Just a little, my friend. Though, I wonder, what the right-hand path has in store for you. Hmm?" He said, gesturing with the cane toward the opposite path. I started toward that path as well, and the lie began to feel warm; as I brought it nearer and nearer to the path, it's warmth began to radiate in waves. Thinking that this could be the way, I nearly took a serious step onto the path when I'd seen the grass and leaves withering underneath it's heat. I quickly backed away, then looked at the Trickster.
"What kind of game are you playing at, Trickster? I can't stay here forever, you know that." I asked.
"Well said. So, what will you do with that lie, then?" He asked, tipping the bowler hat that I knew he wasn't wearing before. "I don't imagine it's doing much good just sitting there unused." He pointed the cane at the lie in my hand; it sat there, glinting and being a very pretty little lie. I ignored it for the most part.
"There's no value in lies; all they do is cause pain and harm to others." I said. The Trickster nodded his head, clearly agreeing with what I'd said. I felt a bit of a smile come across my face, feeling very intelligent and capable.
"And yet, here you are, participating in a dream-walk with the hopes of undoing a lie you'd told yourself years ago. One that's protected you and shielded you from the most devastating facts of this universe and everything in it. So what makes a lie so important isn't what it's worth, now, does it?" He said. He shouldn't know about that. How does he know about that?
"No." I replied, the smugness of my features blurred away into resignation. "I'm done with lying. I don't want to lie anymore. It hasn't helped me with Morgan. It's killing my relationship, and I don't want to see it die." Suddenly, the lie fell out of my hands and tumbled to the ground, rolling toward the Trickster. Violently, he thrust his cane downward, shattering it with a thunderous pulse of raw force.
"Now, that! That, my dear, is beautiful truth. Real truth. And believe you me, I know a truth when I smell it." He said, his smile both sad and genuinely proud. As I thought about what I'd heard and said, I began to realize what his point here was. Why he was so interested in my dream-walk, and why I needed him here.
"Aw, that's very profound of you, but don't get muddly with emotion on me now. You've got a choice to make. Which do you choose?" I needed no prompting for this, now that I understood. I ran for the left-hand path, knowing what the signs meant finally.
Nothing is right, but it doesn't have to stay that way. Better than having nothing left but a lie to live with. As I began to awaken from my dream, I could hear the Trickster's voice coming to me as it all faded away.
"Nothing that needs a lie to live is really alive." | Which way do you go?
To the land long left behind,
Or a land of death.
| |
[WP] You come to a fork in the road with a sign. The arrow pointing right says “Nothing is left,” and the arrow to the left says “Nothing is right.” | The last road curled like a snake's tongue through the desert, its divergence clear miles away. Sunset hung flat and silver when she finally reached the split. The Jeep's headlights blinked as they caught on a ghost in the dark. Breath caught in her throat and she eased the brake down.
One yard, two, three rolled by before she stopped.
Not a ghost ahead. Not a corpse either. Just a sign with two arrows and two directions. But the paint was dripping like blood and her hand found the Browning at her hip all the same.
The leftward one said:
Nothing is right.
The rightward said:
Nothing is left.
She laughed until her throat hurt. Had it been better days, she would've sent a .45 through each board in the name of criticism. She drove around the sign instead, pressing forward into the dark of no direction.
| Which way do you go?
To the land long left behind,
Or a land of death.
| |
[WP] You are dangerous. Not because you kill, but because you don't. | "*Pollock! My office! Now!*"
As far as words to start the day with, these were not what I'd been wanting to hear. That hasn't stopped them from being woefully common for as long as I can remember.
"What did I do this time, boss?" I ask as I walk in, casually leaning against the door frame.
"Nothing!"
"Good news then, so I'm not in troub--"
"Nothing is the problem, Pollock. You know what we do here?"
"Ensure the safety of the population. Enforce the law. Prevent crime."
"And..?"
"...Eat doughnuts? Sorry boss if you want me to bring them in tomorrow I'm happy to, I just always assumed that Pinkman did it because he was a suck up."
"I don't want you to buy doughnuts, Pollock. That's not what I was talking about! Jeez, if the people up at HQ knew I had to deal with crap like this every day, maybe I'd get a raise and finally be able to take my wife on that cruise she's been asking about.
"No, Pollock. 'Nothing' is the problem. The Board for the Overview of Population Sanctions (BOPS) has tasked us to ensure the survival of the human race. You were at the briefing?"
"Of course, sir."
"Well, you better get yourself on board. It doesn't look pretty. Resources are dwindling. At this rate, we're consuming 20% more resources than we can reproduce. If this keeps going we'll face mass-starvation, as well as a shortage of other essential goods within a decade or two."
"Yes, sir. But--"
"But? But!? What word do we not say around here, Pollock? You know damn well that I could have charges raised and you kicked off of service just for uttering that word! Now get to work!"
*****
I sighed as I left the office. *How did we get ourselves in this position?* Captain Moretti was right, of course. Resources were scarce; even the independent studies performed countless times by agencies outside the influence of the Elites agreed, in twenty years if the human race didn't reduce in population by 30% or more, we would lose sustainability and put the entire population at risk.
What he *didn't* say, or seem to care about, is that the lists we were given for population "sanitization" were drafted by the Elites, and the only Elites who ever showed up on it were the black sheep who none of the rest wanted around. The news was constantly abuzz with the conspiracy, which nobody could prove. Supposedly, the names were drawn by lot. We watched it on TV, just like the lottery: whose number would be picked. Of course, they only picked the number out of the machine. Then they cross referenced the number with a list. Sure enough, each time the number came up, it was one of us. The "Normals."
Every so often an Elite would be selected. The artist nephew who associated too often with the Normals. The entrepreneurial debutante whose personal ambition to sing in Cirque de Soleil embarassed her pompous mother and father. The talented engineer, gone for months on a fishing expedition, only to come home and find his family had written him off and didn't want to deal with the "complications" of regaining his birthright. The craftsman, always working with his hands. I actually pulled that case... he was supposed to meet with a delta P accident during an underwater welding experiment.
He didn't, though I can't speak to the others. See, BOPS (and my agency) want everything to look like an accident. It reduces our liability in case the families seek remedy for the deceased. *Yes, their number was drawn, but look! That accident just happened. It wasn't us. We just predicted the outcome. Everyone knew that someone had to die. Everyone agreed this was the most fair way. We're sorry for your loss.*
People were understandably upset. But, predictably, those who weren't directly affected went on ignoring the world around them, accepting the changes, the losses, the danger they were surrounded by placidly, keeping their heads down and hoping they wouldn't be the next ones to have to start caring. Because by then, it would be too late.
Of course, the thing about accidents is they can go awry. Making something look like an accident involves a certain amount of risk... of failure. Engineering accidents takes a certain finesse, and it was relatively common for it to take 2-3 attempts or more before someone's number was punched. Pardon the pun.
By now it was increasingly common for people experiencing potentially fatal accidents to go into hiding. Disappearing somewhere that police forces like ours were having a very hard time tracking down. We tried, of course. But like the UN found out during their war against Iraq and Afghanistan, small groups were hard to track down. Of course, that group was growing...
Which is why, about a year ago, when I found one, I made no arrests, arranged no accidents, and left it off my report. Another hole in the ground, empty but for rats, misinformation handed off by some crazy hoping for the information reward. That's what my report said. And for good measure, I made sure they moved... in case someone else went looking, trying to verify my work. Sometimes they did that, when accidents didn't go off as planned. Checked up on you, made sure you were doing your job. So I had to be careful. So far, it had been going well.
But today, getting called in like that, questioned... someone was suspecting something, and tipping me off like that was the worst move they could make. See, the problem with the Elites is they didn't produce anything. They consumed, and though they made up less than 20% of the population, they consumed 80% of the resources. The vast majority of the risk the human population faces due to resource scarcity is fielded by the Elites. Take that 20% out, and the other 80% could survive and prosper for much longer.
But they don't want anyone to figure that out. They keep them scared of whether they'll be the next to die, too scared to think. Too scared to resist. They want me to be dangerous to my people, by killing. But I'm dangerous to them, because I don't. Instead, I think. I help. I connect the people I'm supposed to kill with organizations dedicated to preserving life, finding solutions to sustain resources for longer, and funding projects to bring them about.
Instead of living in caves or rat-filled hovels, these people are working in a growing network of individuals who have cast off the blindness of fear and oppression, and seek an answer that means that most of them get to live, and those creating the largest segment of the problem get to be the first to die.
Last week, one of our projects bore fruit. We changed the name, DNA and fingerprints of one of our protected targets. Flushed his system, restructured his face. Propped him up with enough financial backing and electronically-signed legitimacy to be accepted among groups of the Elites. Got him fast-tracked into BOPS, straight into the IT section... incidentally, the section with the most influence over the computers which manage the system which selects the targets.
Lets see how the Elites like it when their names show up. | It kept catching my attention, the bright, lime-green flash of it reflecting every time I passed a window or a mirror. Everyone glanced at it when they saw me-- they averted their gaze immediately after, but it was obvious they looked at it. I could constantly feel the stupid arm band squeezing my bicep, cinched over my jacket sleeve with elastic bands so tight I had to keep checking my fingers to make sure my circulation wasn't cut. My arm was itching like crazy and I could begin to feel the moist sweat sticking to the shirt underneath where it was gripping me. As if it wasn't bad enough, they decided it was worth it "for general safety precautions" to announce my condition to the entire office on top of the already obnoxious advertisement. They warned me about it in the interview... but still, it was more than was necessary.
*Click. Click. Whiiuurrrh.*
The machines behind the squared, foam ceiling above our cubicles snapped into place as the voice began to crackle into focus.
"Yes. Yes. Yes. Testing 1.... 2.... Ok, we're good. Attention all staff!" We could hear the chair squeak against a linoleum floor beside the microphone as the intern cleared the seat for the HR manager to begin his announcement.
With a gurgle, he cleared his throat and began. "Here at ASPD inc, we pride ourselves on maintaining a fair, balanced, and diverse work environment for everyone." I could hear a woman somewhere in the office clearing her throat and begin to mumble something, but the voice from above roared over her again. "As pioneers in new-age hiring practices, we strive to never allow derogatory beliefs to shape our hiring practices, and as such we look for candidates from all walks of life to help fill our team."
There was a small crinkling sound, like a sheet of paper being turned over. "Without naming names, we've been one of the first large-to-medium organization to hire repeat spouses, critics of gun-rights, and now, with great pride, our first pacifist." He took a moment to gather his thoughts, and that brief silence quickly became filled with murmurs.
"A pacifist?" one voice whispered. "The green-band guy?"
"Like, a life-time pacifist, or a reform?"
The ceiling ached with a screech as the voice came back. "I'm certain you are all familiar with the Catharsis Theory... that we all need to let off steam once in a while... to... well, we all have our ways. I realize some of you may have concerns that having a resident without that release might be... dangerous... a time bomb, even."
The murmurs rose up again, louder this time, more bold. Perhaps it was a mistake to even apply here, but there are already so few places willing to accept someone like me.
"I realize your concerns, and we take them all seriously, which is why I'd like to stress the importance of a community. That's what we all are, after all. A big community, that looks after each other... keeps an eye on each other to make sure no one steps out of line. Feel free to report any incidents to us. That is all."
With that, the speakers in the ceiling shifted back off with a click and a whirr, and the noise from above faded away as the chatter in the office sparked up. I could hear bits and pieces amongst the waves of noise.
*"A psycho?"*
*"That's why I always carry my Winchester."*
Getting a bit drunk with embarrassment, I stood up on my desk without thinking about it and cleared my throat above the sea, of 4-foot walls, white shirts, hair bows and ties.
"Hello, everyone," I croaked, trying my best not to let my voice break. I could feel a bead of sweat trailing down my cheek, and watched as hundreds of eyes stared judgmentally at it working it's way down my chin.
It was so quiet I could probably hear the hum of the kitchen fridge from where I was. Two women with headsets started talking quietly to each other a few spaces away.
"Seems nervous," one said. "Looks like he's up to something."
"I think it's anxiety, that kind of stress has to build up."
I did my best to talk over them, to mute the chatter so it wouldn't spread. "My name is Greg, and I realize you all might have some worries about my... condishieeon."
Crap, my voice broke.
I tugged at my arm band-- it was starting to feel like it was choking my arm-- and felt the sweat that soaked into it stick to my fingers. Wiping it quickly on the side of my pants I opened my mouth again, like an idiot.
"I just want you all to know that I'm perfectly fine and not going to kill you all!" Shit.
As I stumbled off my desk and rushed to hide behind my little cubicle wall, I could see the hundreds of dark black eyes growing cold, squinting at me. At least four or five yellow report forms were open at computers at various desks.
Someone was cleaning a pistol, slapping various pieces against their desk, loud enough for me to hear.
*Way to go, Greg.*
I sunk into my seat, laying my chin against the keyboard and creaking my head up to look at the screen. I could see the small red counter of messages from HR building up in the corner of my screen.
*Now it's you versus a room full of killers... again.*
| |
[WP] "What seperates you and death is this piece of paper." | I hand him the paper, locking with his eyes again. I don't speak, because silence is more persuasive right now.
He's always been a weak little boy. You know some kids are just born weak, you can't make them strong, I tried, I failed. He didn't need to be strong, and now, now I love him for being weak. Strong men, strong men say no. Strong men don't feel. Strong men don't love. A strong man would stop, he'd leave and go back to his family, a strong man wouldn't put himself through all the pain, all the horror my son's about to just to give me relief. Strong men are assholes.
I used to be so strong, and now I'm so fucking weak, and I tell you what I'm a much better man now than I ever was.
"Sign it." I beg him, he looks down at the forms, he's crying.
"Sign it." I say again, "Son, I love you."
"I love you to, Dad." He mumbles.
He signs the forms.
The doctor takes the paper from him, "Well now that we have both your signatures, we can begin the procedure."
I'm very old, and in lots of pain.
And now I get to die.
I love you, my brilliant, weak son. | I looked at the slim and flexible page, it's yellow tainted paper inked only with a few words written in the center.
*"What separates you and death is this piece of paper."*
Its creases validating its authenticity. I folded it in perfect halves 3 times and placed it in my pocket, moving on with my daily life. Being wealthy isn't all it's made out to be if I'm being totally honest, you grow a dark suspicion for everyone around you, even those you considered dear before your rise to wealth. Which is why I never expressed my financial status when meeting new people. Things get really lonely when the part of your brain that allows trust for people, especially potential partners, diminishes.
Thankfully I wouldn't have to self-loathe over my incapacity to find a proper partner tonight because a group of my closest friends wanted to spend the night out. Same schedule as usual, poker while we're all sober, pub after and then poker again while we're drunk. It wasn't even the gambling we liked, everyone just loved seeing me lose. Assholes.
Even though I blew a lot of money (relative to them) this time the young and extremely beautiful lady who made my acquaintance the entire night made me feel like a winner. She was gorgeous with amazing golden/blonde hair, dreamy blue eyes that were complimented by her conservative use of black mascara and luscious cherry red lips. I was astounded to say the least. Not so much by her beauty as much as her inclination to embrace in conversation with me. I may be rich but I was definitely the most unattractive of my friends. And she picked me!
After hours of talking at the exclusive pent house bar and pool party I decided to call it a day, thankfully I already had her number and name. The paper was still in my pocket, but I wasn't at all concerned by it.
"Oh you're leaving? But I was just beginning to have fun!" She voiced disappointment in her sexy breathy voice.
"Well I bet you'll have more fun at my place." I replied, it's apparent smoothness concealing the utter chaos of embarrassment originating in my mind.
"So do I." And we left off.
After making it to my house she didn't seem at all surprised, which made me more and more attracted to her. She didn't seem to mind my status and wasn't positively affected. So I prepared her a glass of my most expensive wine, something I don't even do often with myself.
Not even fifteen minutes later and we we're making out on my couch, she pinned me down and embraced her plump red lips with mine. I could feel her hand searching around my body as we were being intimate. Then she stopped.
"What's wrong?" I inquired in confusion. She had a very serious look on her face, her perpetual smile faded into nothing.
I saw that she had the piece of paper in her hand, I looked back at her and she grinned a sinister smile. An eerie giggle following only a few milliseconds after.
"Thanks for keeping this for me, I really needed the money!" She said, she then tore the paper in half vertically. Ripping it up into smaller and smaller pieces before tossing them over her shoulder like it had no more purpose.
I felt a throbbing pain in my heart, my stomach felt as though it would burst any moment. I threw up and lay down writhing in agony, my screams hurting my throat more than they merited. And she stared at me laughing. The pain grew in intensity and I felt myself losing consciousness, the last perception of reality being the fiery burn that pervaded my entire body, diminishing through my fingers.
*What a terrible feeling, to die alone.*
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | He was a firefighter
She was an arsonist
Can I make it any more obvious?
The boning was great
But she couldn’t stay
What more can I say
He wanted her
She’d never tell… secretly she wanted to burn his house down, oh well.
And all of their friends
Knew something was up
When they spotted gasoline cans on his fire truck
He was a firefighter
She said “whoops sorry I dropped this match”
And watched the whole thing burn
With smoke in her face
She walked out of that place
She needed to get some fresh air in her lungs
Ten minutes later
He shows up mad
Watching the fire, he’s all alone
She got arrested
That turned out fine
Turns out arsonists look good in orange
She calls him collect
He contemplates life
And then answers the phone
Edit: formatting | Just like that it was over. Faster than that collapsing building on 12th street that brought us together; our love had ignited and went out in a fiery explosion. I wasn't lamb enough for her, no matter how much I loved her, I was scorned. I sat, weeping in the pew we once prayed in, asking God why he would bring something so precious into my life, only to snatch it up again and drive her from me.
She made my life hell both literally and figuratively before meeting her face to face. The fervor of her fire starting was causing property owners around the city lose their *minds*. I don't blame them, that spectacular chemistry she used, she was unstoppable. Melting foundations, the tarmac a molten sluice, it was violent--but beautiful. Fire so hot that water was just added fuel to it and only made it burn hotter and faster. We could do nothing but let it burn and hope it didn't spread.
Then, just there across the street hiding in the alley of her 12th burning, I saw her. That alabaster angel. The light that played across her beautiful face, as she stood praying for the corrupt souls the fire was meant to cleanse. I knew in that moment, by God and Michael, the archangel, our love was meant to be. But it would not be so. My faith was not strong enough for her and my desires of the flesh too strong, she rebuked me. I had no one again.
I knew I must get her back, so I prayed to God day after day, give me a sign, how might I be her champion again in love and Christ? Then, one fateful night, He delivered.
During evening mass, one of the altar boys tripped up the stairs holding candles, the priest, may God rest his soul, used far too much fabric softener from the bodega up the street for his own good. Everyone thought his smoking would kill him, but instead immolation stole the air from his lungs. As he thrashed on the altar and my congregation panicked, I knew then what God told me I had to do and slipped away.
You see, officer, that's why I have been burning down building after building these last few weeks. I hoped that one of them would draw her in, like a moth to flame, just one last time so she could see how strong my faith was and how I too could cleanse the unclean souls of this city...
END INTERVIEW 3:27:34 AM 7/1995
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | *I miss you so much.*
SSSSSHHHHHHH
*You were everything to me.*
SSSSSHHHHHHH
*It didn't have to be this way.*
SSSSSHHHHHHH
"Captain! We're done hosing this end. Going around back now."
........
*I miss you so much.*
Gasoline pours.
*You were everything to me.*
Match strikes.
*It didn't have to be this way.*
Alarm sounds.
........
"I got this one, guys."
"But Captain, you've been responding all week."
Siren blares.
| Just like that it was over. Faster than that collapsing building on 12th street that brought us together; our love had ignited and went out in a fiery explosion. I wasn't lamb enough for her, no matter how much I loved her, I was scorned. I sat, weeping in the pew we once prayed in, asking God why he would bring something so precious into my life, only to snatch it up again and drive her from me.
She made my life hell both literally and figuratively before meeting her face to face. The fervor of her fire starting was causing property owners around the city lose their *minds*. I don't blame them, that spectacular chemistry she used, she was unstoppable. Melting foundations, the tarmac a molten sluice, it was violent--but beautiful. Fire so hot that water was just added fuel to it and only made it burn hotter and faster. We could do nothing but let it burn and hope it didn't spread.
Then, just there across the street hiding in the alley of her 12th burning, I saw her. That alabaster angel. The light that played across her beautiful face, as she stood praying for the corrupt souls the fire was meant to cleanse. I knew in that moment, by God and Michael, the archangel, our love was meant to be. But it would not be so. My faith was not strong enough for her and my desires of the flesh too strong, she rebuked me. I had no one again.
I knew I must get her back, so I prayed to God day after day, give me a sign, how might I be her champion again in love and Christ? Then, one fateful night, He delivered.
During evening mass, one of the altar boys tripped up the stairs holding candles, the priest, may God rest his soul, used far too much fabric softener from the bodega up the street for his own good. Everyone thought his smoking would kill him, but instead immolation stole the air from his lungs. As he thrashed on the altar and my congregation panicked, I knew then what God told me I had to do and slipped away.
You see, officer, that's why I have been burning down building after building these last few weeks. I hoped that one of them would draw her in, like a moth to flame, just one last time so she could see how strong my faith was and how I too could cleanse the unclean souls of this city...
END INTERVIEW 3:27:34 AM 7/1995
|
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