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[WP] To your surprise, she's crying. | "You should be relieved." I tell her while grabbing my suitcase.
"You know that I am no good to anyone. Everything I touch turns to shit and I can't drag you down with me." I smile, hoping to instill some confidence, some hope in her. She should be delighted and happy to see me leave.
"I am no good to you. I hold you back. You'll be better off without me." She's always been too good for me. She must have realized it long ago being as smart as she is.
"I can't give you the life you deserve. I am just not the right one for you." I am doing the right thing. There isn't even really a choice here. It's so all so obvious now. She'll have someone new, someone better, soon enough and she'll forget all about the time she wasted on me.
I stand outside the door and turn around one last time:
"I love you, but you'll be better of without me."
I look up at her.
I smile and to my surprise she is crying. | "*Hey, hey...*what's wrong?"
He squeezed her briefly and her wet eyes peeked out from between her fingers,
"I don't know."
He pulled her closer, and she closed her eyes when he kissed them; he felt her squeeze back a little, seeming to relax.
There was a long quiet moment spent in each other's arms, until he spoke,
"...You've had a rough time, haven't you?"
She sobbed loudly and buried her face in her hands and his chest. | |
[WP] Kidnapped whilst on holiday you find that a lifetime of pointless jobs has miraculously prepared you with all the necessary skills to save the day. | "Hey you are doing it wrong.", I said to the poor guy, trying to be helpful.
"Shut up! I'll shoot you if you get any more words out of your mouth". he said, completely ignoring my suggestions. No gratitude from people nowadays.
I stayed silent for a couple of minutes, but I just couldn't resist.
"Look, the knots are not correct.", I told them, demonstrating how easy it was to get out of them. I had helped people in bdsm parlour for a side job, so knew more about knots than perhaps anyone on board. Thee poor guys had no idea. They probably were novice kidnappers.
What did I get for demonstrating the flaws in their poor plans? A couple of guns pointed towards me. No gratitude, I tell you.
"You still have the safety on", I mentioned, pointing to the poor bald guy. I was a man of many talents, and a job at the local gun range cleaning up weapons had given me more knowledge about guns than any of these idiots had. Their guns were poorly maintained, and I was pretty sure that one of them would probably backfire. Of course it was their first kidnapping job, but did they have to do such a shoddy job of it?
"Thank you?", the bald guy said to me, switching off his safety in a completely ridiculous fashion. He had fumbled for almost thirty seconds! That wouldn't do at all. I confidently strode forward, snatching the gun from him, and started showing him the correct method.
"This is how you do it", I said, demonstrating to him as well as others. Gun safety was an important point, and I didn't want these guys blowing each other head off. I handed the gun back to him, and stepped back towards my original position.
"Are you an idiot?". Huh, the comment was directed to me by two people, one a fellow kidnapee, and one a kidnapper. This is the thanks I get for my work? Those two guys were on my shit list now. Let them wander around, when they needed a fully trained paramedic to help them. I just turned my head at them, giving them the best glare I could, before demonstrating correct knots for the whole crew.
After we had been tied up again, properly this time, I might add, though the third know was a little shoddy, we settled down.
The guy, who seemed like the head of this poorly managed operation started telling us his plans. Monologuing? Didn't he go to SuperVillain 101. A whole year in the comic book store, along with editing sounds for NCIS had taught me the likely end of this caper. I had to do everything myself.
I started pointing out flaws in their plan. They didn't understand the technology at all, so I set up a call routing for them through all over Asia and Europe. Otherwise the feds would have tracked them down in seconds. I had learnt this all as an operator for a call center. Couldn't these guys just spend a couple of bucks on an online course? Amateurs!
And their plan. Hopeless didn't even begin to describe it. I helped iron out a couple of things that would have surely gotten them sniped out by the feds. The location was a poor cover. Any guy who had worked in a laser tag could tell you that. But there was not much that could be done about. Hours passed, as we waited for the feds to acquiesce to their demands.
The head guy came to me, just before they were leaving via the helicopter and said "Thank you". He hugged me as well, though I couldn't really reciprocate as my hands were still tied, upon my insistence. They had thought to set me free. I just felt for the poor guys. I saw them board the helicopter, and taking off.
I turned around, seeing everyone glaring and shouting at me. This is what I get for being a helpful citizen! If not for me, the kidnappers would have had a really shitty day. I was there, thankfully, to save the day.
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My second prompt here. Any feedback is greatly appreciated!
| 'Well that escalated quickly,' I thought.
I could feel blood on the side of my head and on my face.
If you've never been hit in the head with a liquor bottle, turns out it's super over-rated. It hurt a lot.
'What the fuck?', I complained to my Spanish speaking drinking partners. The fat one yelled something, and kicked me in the stomach. I was lying on a concrete slab, and we weren't on the beach anymore. 'What the fuck?', I complained to myself. This trip was starting to have some of the earmarks of a less successful vacation.
'Santa Domingo is great!', she had said. 'You will love it!', indeed.
On our second day here, we had gotten into the mother of all fights at the open air hotel lobby breakfast buffet. She had actually packed her crap, changed her ticket and left, I still couldn't believe it. For the fiftyeth time, I laughed when I thought about it. Fatty kicked me again. 'I bought you ten beers, you asshole,' I made sure not to say.
As it turns out, my favorite beer is made here in Dominican Republic, Presidente. And they are very cheap. For the price of one six pack in NY, I could buy about twenty of them here, *at the bar!* I wanted one right now. Everything had been fun and games until we opened that rum. Damn that stuff was delicious. As I recalled, even after I had hurled my shellfish dinner in a plant, I had kept drinking. Flor de Cana. I would have to bring some of that home with me.
With my hands tied behind my back, and the fat asshole here kicking me, I was getting the feeling things had taken a really wrong turn.
I remember trying to ask them for some pot.. *motas?,* I had begged. Maybe that word doesn't mean what I think it means. It was then that the one with the dirt bike had cracked into me with the empty rum bottle. And here I lay. I doubted there was much more than $60 US on my person by the time that happened, possibly less. Between all my accounts I had maybe twenty-five hundred and a line of credit for ten grand. The fuckers would have a second think if ransom was the plan. I don't think getting me back would be high on anybody's to-do list in the United States. I considered a nap.
Having spent an uneventful two and a half years working twelve hour swing shifts in shipping/receiving at the GAP super hub, I could sleep fairly restfully on a concrete slab with my hands tied behind my back. When I woke again it was getting on sunset. I really had to take a crap. In high school I had taken French, and my abridged Spanish vocabulary was limited to what I had picked up working countless labor jobs, masonry, forklifting, landscaping; my ability to communicate was mostly gesticulation based. One thing I *did* know was,
"Necesito el bano."
Nobody looked at me. "Pablo!"
I had been calling the one who hit me with the bottle, Pablo. From what I understood, and let me just say, the rum seemed to allow me to understand much of what they were saying, if not speak coherently, but from what I *thought* they had said, he was very rich - a hundred vacas. Apparently vacas were a measure of wealth. What else, he was the nephew of Pablo Escobar. 'Now stop right there!,' you're probably thinking. But the thing is, I don't judge. At the time it had seemed like maybe that was some *good* news, and I could finally find a few joints down here.
"Pablo!"
The three of them looked over. "Necesito el bano!"
None of them blinked. "A la mierda," no, that wasn't it. "A cagar!," "Necesito a cagar! Mucho mucho!"
Perhaps they could hear the desperation in my voice, maybe it was the bead of sweat across my brow and over my lip. Or maybe the paleness I knew must be on my face, under the dried blood. Pablo said something to me I didn't understand. Then he said something to the third one, who had puked and passed out, hours before our altercation.
That one, who I'll call Manny, because I had decided he reminded me of the Filipino boxer / congressman, Pacquiao, answered him gruffly and stood up. He was pretty ripped too, and of my three captors I wanted to scrap with him least. Manny stood from the couch that looked like it had fleas, and walked over giving me a nasty look.
I wondered how this was going to work. I painfully got into a sitting position, and finding no where to go, I lay back down and rolled my face onto the floor. Using my forehead for leverage, I scooted my knees up under me, one at a time. I started to swoon, and almost fell over sideways but Manny grabbed me by my shirt collar. My head hurt a lot. They were laughing at me, and I could see that they identified with the pain I was feeling. They had after all, been bottle for bottle with me for the last thirty-six hours or so. He roughly led / dragged me by shirt collar, pistol in my spleen. Outside and behind the building, I could see we were on a hill. I'm not so sure I was on the right side of the island. The lush tropical paradise had become a brown shanty wasteland. I scanned the vicinity for a facility. There was a pile of trash and feces, next to a pile of corrugated tin and square wood rough-cut fence posts.
I looked at Manny.
He looked at me.
"Welcome to Haiti," he said in English.
"I'ma need a little help with this, buddy" I said, offering the international sign language of chin down, raised eyebrows, a supplicant gesture. "My hands aren't cooperating," I joked, wondering again how much English these guys might actually understand. I glanced down at my belt and back up to his stoic grimace. Well this is awkward.
Manny tucked the pistol in his belt and unfastened my belt, ungraciously tore open my pants. He stepped back and spit on my foot.
I can't say what it was like for Manny, but for me, shitting violently in front of my Latino landscaping co-workers, outside, in full view, not once but as many as a half dozen times, had prepared me for this moment. While evacuating my demons I had an idea.
The thing about smuggling is that while most people think of giant shipping containers coming into international seaports, or young women being blackmailed to swallow packets of the drugs in condoms, and then being forced into the sex industry in the States, there is another more glorious side to the profession. The cowboy.
If you have ever seen the movie, "Blow," well that is a true story. I'm not comparing myself to Brad Pitt's character, but, well here I was, and he *had* said that he was Pablo's nephew...
In my twenties I had gotten into a little debt with a pot dealer, to the tune of about a thousand bucks. I offered to pick up the next batch of bud across the border. That was before the 2001 Trade Center was hit, and things had been somewhat looser at the Canadian border. Anyhow, I ended up having a knack for not getting caught, and that weed dealer and I made a lot of money for a few years. In that business relationship I had quickly learned that a man with pendulous pair, had a valuable bargaining chip. It seemed to me there might be a chance to get things going my way again, down here in Haiti...
| |
[WP] Then suddenly the steel felt so cold in my hands | I remember a story I used to be told as a child.
It was usually told to me by my father in the cold winter months when there was little else to do but tell tales by the hearth. We'd gather round and he'd go on to speak of the dark Mire Witches of the west. How he'd weave a fine and horrifying story of their black magic. How they'd eat goats and use bones to put hexes on whole towns. And most of all, he'd whisper, steal children.
The story seems to have underplayed it a bit.
"Reynault," Hobbs called in a hushed voice, snapping me back to reality.
"Oh," I stammered, not realizing I'd been daydreaming, "sorry."
"Keep yer wits," He whispered, looking around slowly, "one of these grimy bitches'll get you, otherwise. Keep yer eyes on the trees too. They look like the branches sometimes."
I nodded in response, raising my long sword a bit.
I liked Hobbs. He wasn't the most personable of fellows, but he knew his trade and he cared about doing a thorough job. For what it's worth, if I had to choose only one person to do this with it'd be him. However, I would not want to choose only *one* person. But that was the situation at hand.
A week ago the fort I was stationed at received a letter from a very, very small village. The letter stated that for a score of nights children had been going missing and that they believed something lived in the mire and was stealing the children in the night.
This was not deeply uncommon, as it was usually just as like that the children would wander off and drown in mud as it was for some fae or devil to sneak in and snatch them from their cradle. But I am a knight, and in fact was the only proper knight at the fort, so it was considered my duty to handle such a matter.
I assembled my entourage: Hobbs, my veteran man-at-arms, Silas, my strapping squire, and Alfie, my portly physician and apothecary. Once equipped we set off south and west for the village. After a few days time we arrived to the village finding half of them dead and the other half dying. They'd been plagued by a curse the likes I had not seen before. Hobbs knew what it was, having learned of spirits and darker magics than I in the stacks of Jerusalem.
After Hobbs showed him how to make a poultice that would slow their ailment and ease their pain we left Alfie to tend to the villagers who still drew breath and Silas to guard him. Had any of those villagers been strong enough to stand without spitting bile or shitting their trousers I would've taken Silas as well. But none could and Alfie is a paunchy fellow and certainly could not hold off a crippled goat much less a mire witch, so Silas stayed.
And now we crept, Hobbs and I, through the murk and shadow of the mire, looking for the child eaters.
"Hobbs." I called out, quietly as I could.
"What?" He responded, equally as quiet though slightly more irritated.
"What if there are no children left alive?"
He snorted and adjusted his padded coif, "Of course none of them are alive. But we can still put the fuckin' baby eaters to the mud."
I felt a bit of will drain from me. I knew that none of them were alive since I got the letter, but most of the reason I took hunts like this was to help people. To save them. Preventing death was still preserving life, but it did not feel like saving it.
Hobbs stopped, stood still, motioned that I do the same, and peered intently into the brush ahead.
He pointed with his crossbow, "Look at that. I think we're close."
I stared towards the weeds in question and saw what he was referring to. They were dead. Not only that but as I looked past them I saw that many plants were shriveled and dead. It reminded me very much of an ivy, constricting a small tree 'til the life was squeezed out of it.
I took a few steps forward, my mail shirt jingling softly in the silence of the dreary woods. When suddenly my sword was like ice. I gripped it tight in both hands, bringing it to the ready. It felt so very cold in my hands, the chill of it ran down my arms and through my chest.
I spun about scanning my surroundings and Hobbs did the same. I saw frost running along the surface of the muddy water and over the now wilting foliage and trees. I didn't even notice the lack of insects 'til now. The silence was suffocating.
"Fuckin' come out, you bitch." Hobbs muttered through gritted teeth.
I un-slung my shield and gripped it in my left hand. Hobbs and I were practically back to back now, rotating slowly, eyes never resting on one spot. But then I saw her, emerging slowly from the water. She did look like wood. She was nude, her skin rough, mottled, and leathery. All that I could make out of her face was a pair of yellow eyes peering out from a mess of grey-green mattes and grime that was her hair. And out of the hair poked a pair of antlers atop the crown of her head.
The moment she'd risen from the water she glided across it at me. I cried out, ran forward, and swung at her with my blade, arms stiff with chill and fear. She slid out of the way, dodging my attack like I meant to swingat the air instead of her.
Hobbs had pivoted and leveled his crossbow at her, leading and firing where she was about to be. The bolt struck, grazing her along the ribs. She screamed and waved a hand at him. He, in turn, screamed as well and I saw ribbons of blood fly from his face.
I made up the distance between myself and the witch and tried to catch her under the chin with the point of my sword, but she turned and struck my blade aside with a gnarled, clawed hand. She spat at me and I raised my shield to block it. The spit ate through the leather and wood of my chevron like it was nothing 'til I sizzling against my gloved hand.
I staggered back, tossing my now useless shield to the ground and tugging the glove off after it. Hobbs had regained himself and had knocked another bolt which he now put into her right thigh. She screamed again and sped towards him, black blood stream from her wounds. I made chase and he pulled a hatchet from his belt to defend himself.
She clawed at him, wailing all the while and he parried he blows best he could. A few slipped by his guard, catching him along the forearms and chest leaving long red wrents. No focus on me though. I put the tip of my blade up and through the center of her back between her shoulder blades. It came out of her chest just above Hobbs' face. I twisted my blade and with a great heave lifted her from the ground as she flailed to get free. Hobbs then hacked at her limbs with the hatchet, freeing each hand and leg from their respective trunk.
Eventually she stopped flailing.
I removed her ragged head from her shoulders and we burnt the rest in a relatively dry part of the mire. We searched for a few more hours for the hole she'd crawled out of, but found little save for some bones.
When we left the village all who still lived were cured and healthy, though hollow to be true.
I stung and throbbed all the way back to the fort. But most of all I felt the chill I'd felt when first she'd crept upon us.
I do not believe that any hearth I'd ever feel would save me from the chill.
| I loved watching her twist and attempt to free herself, her beautiful green eyes filled with determination. She didn't realize I was watching her, watching as she rubbed her wrists together, attempting to loosen the bonds. Watching as she slowly began to give up, her head hanging so that her red hair fell like a curtain down her shoulders. Even from the slightly blurry screen I could see that her skin was starting to sheen with sweat, most likely from stress.
With familiar movements I made sure I had all my tools: paint brushes, Wartenburg wheel, surgical gloves, needles of varying sizes, piercing needles and rings, matches, candles, clamps. Slowly I picked up the final item, my treasured scalpel. There were many wonderful, and some upsetting, memories that involved the blade. I twisted it slightly, watching the light gleam off the side of it and began to remember the first time I used it. I was a less educated lad then, I had not thought of gagging the toy and she was begging for me to let her go. I recalled the way I held my blade bare-handed, my own eyes tearing up as I really considered I was being a monster. I was able to convince myself that I was wrong, that she was just not able to understand what I was doing, and as she began to cry, the steel felt so very cold in my hand and so very heavy. I almost stopped, almost let her go, but went through it. It was so satisfying to watch the blood flow from her, to hear her scream.
I smiled, the memory both sad and fond. Sad because of my own fears, but fond because I had gone through and was strong. I glanced one last time at the screen, the girl's shoulders were shaking as if she were crying. I glanced at a few of the other monitors around me, making sure we were still completely alone. The blade was still in my hand as I walked out the door, humming to myself as I went to introduce myself to my new toy.
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Hi, guys, go ahead and critique this as desired, I love having feedback so I can grow as a writer. Thank you ^-^ | |
[WP] You are Death. For eons you have adhered to the ancient rules, collecting souls only when it their time, so as to not take sides in the war between God and the Devil. Well, the Devil's been a real dick lately...so you start choosing who dies & when, attempting tip the balance in God's favor. | *"Hello and welcome to Sky News Tonight, I'm Martin Stanford."*
"And I'm Anna Jones"
*"Chaos in Europe: a set of surprise explosions during a diplomatic meeting with UK Prime Minister David Cameron and Vladmir Putin left both leaders dead and several injured"*
"ISIS Reformed: in the wake of the mysterious disappearance of their previous leaders, we talk with Umar Al'Saad, the new reformist leader of IS as he pledges to rebuild Syria and unite the Middle-East into a single democratic republic"
*"But first; here's Isobel Lang with the weather."*
| *The paperwork is pilling up again, it seems.*
Death thunked the tip of his scyth into a tall stack of obsydian card paper, which despite the infinite weight of the black blade, held it quite snugly.
*Hell is burocracy. I harvest souls, not trifle about with paperwork.* Death briefly reconsidered hiring an assistant, but remembered the long line of disasters it caused and dismissed the thought entirely.
That's when his eyes, or at least the sockets where his eyes would have been had he had any, fell onto a golden white envelope, the edges embroidered in lime green thread, sitting on his lecturn. With his bone and skin drapped left hand he grasped the lackered Yew shaft of his scyth and lifted it up off the stack, several black papers defiently still impaled halfway up the blade. With a swift motion and a flurry of thick dark robes, the envelope was perfectly cut openned along the side, never having moved.
With a motion of his index, a letter slipped out of the envelope and unfolded itself on the cold marble floor of his abode, it read:
>UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT!
>Dear valued client,
>After an early retirment Heaven is now under new management!
>Our new caretaker, *Cthulhu*, wishes you an eternal dream.
>Signed, Saint-Peter
>*Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu Nevaeh wgah'nagl fhtagn*
The final part was written in green.
Editing and more during work | |
[WP] You are Death. For eons you have adhered to the ancient rules, collecting souls only when it their time, so as to not take sides in the war between God and the Devil. Well, the Devil's been a real dick lately...so you start choosing who dies & when, attempting tip the balance in God's favor. | "Sir..." The officer's expression was somewhere between confused and irritated. I suppose that's what happens when you get tipped off by a skeleton in a cloak. "What, exactly, do you mean?"
"There's a pair of drug dealers on Elm Streets. You can bust them if you hurry." Had I possessed any flesh to put it on, I would have turned to my watch. But instead I just turn my massive scythe towards to clock on the wall. "Look, I want you to go and bust these jerks. It would make the world a better place."
The officer scratched his head. "Who are you?"
"I'm Death. Capitol D. Long story short, I'm supposed to be nonpartisan, what with that whole 'free will' thing, but Satan's being a bit of a jerk, so I figured I could do something to help out God." The officer made a slight 'o' with his mouth at that comment. I tapped my bony foot. "So, could you just go and do your job?"
"If you're really Death, shouldn't it be your job to go reap their souls?"
"Look, I'm not the one who makes the rules of the universe. My job is to guide the souls of people who died. It's your job to keep the peace. But back when He gave me this job, He said nothing whatsoever about tipping people off."
The officer glanced at the clock, licking his lips nervously. "Elm Street, you say?" I nodded. "And we can still catch them?" I nodded again. "Well, thank you, Mr. Death." He moved to take a sip from his cup, but I waved my index finger at him.
"You'll live a lot longer if you don't do that." I paused to think about it. "On second thought, you'll probably live way longer if you just get off the drinks altogether. It'll save you a lot of grief." If I had one, I would have tipped my hat to him. As it stood, I simply nodded. "Good day to you."
As I walked out of the police station, I was accosted by Gabriel. Dude's generally cool, but I figured that he'd have something rude to say to me. "Whatever happened to free will?" The Archangel said to me. The snow around him melted where he stood- one of the many side affects of having a flaming robe and halo.
"They don't have to listen to my tip." He raised an eyebrow. "Not my fault that they listen to talking skeletons." I strode off, waving to him as I went. "Tell ya what, if you promise not to mention this conversation, I'll give the Pope an anonymous tip. What'd ya say?"
Gabriel sighed. "I cannot foresee this going well." | *The paperwork is pilling up again, it seems.*
Death thunked the tip of his scyth into a tall stack of obsydian card paper, which despite the infinite weight of the black blade, held it quite snugly.
*Hell is burocracy. I harvest souls, not trifle about with paperwork.* Death briefly reconsidered hiring an assistant, but remembered the long line of disasters it caused and dismissed the thought entirely.
That's when his eyes, or at least the sockets where his eyes would have been had he had any, fell onto a golden white envelope, the edges embroidered in lime green thread, sitting on his lecturn. With his bone and skin drapped left hand he grasped the lackered Yew shaft of his scyth and lifted it up off the stack, several black papers defiently still impaled halfway up the blade. With a swift motion and a flurry of thick dark robes, the envelope was perfectly cut openned along the side, never having moved.
With a motion of his index, a letter slipped out of the envelope and unfolded itself on the cold marble floor of his abode, it read:
>UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT!
>Dear valued client,
>After an early retirment Heaven is now under new management!
>Our new caretaker, *Cthulhu*, wishes you an eternal dream.
>Signed, Saint-Peter
>*Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu Nevaeh wgah'nagl fhtagn*
The final part was written in green.
Editing and more during work | |
[WP] You are Death. For eons you have adhered to the ancient rules, collecting souls only when it their time, so as to not take sides in the war between God and the Devil. Well, the Devil's been a real dick lately...so you start choosing who dies & when, attempting tip the balance in God's favor. | "Sir..." The officer's expression was somewhere between confused and irritated. I suppose that's what happens when you get tipped off by a skeleton in a cloak. "What, exactly, do you mean?"
"There's a pair of drug dealers on Elm Streets. You can bust them if you hurry." Had I possessed any flesh to put it on, I would have turned to my watch. But instead I just turn my massive scythe towards to clock on the wall. "Look, I want you to go and bust these jerks. It would make the world a better place."
The officer scratched his head. "Who are you?"
"I'm Death. Capitol D. Long story short, I'm supposed to be nonpartisan, what with that whole 'free will' thing, but Satan's being a bit of a jerk, so I figured I could do something to help out God." The officer made a slight 'o' with his mouth at that comment. I tapped my bony foot. "So, could you just go and do your job?"
"If you're really Death, shouldn't it be your job to go reap their souls?"
"Look, I'm not the one who makes the rules of the universe. My job is to guide the souls of people who died. It's your job to keep the peace. But back when He gave me this job, He said nothing whatsoever about tipping people off."
The officer glanced at the clock, licking his lips nervously. "Elm Street, you say?" I nodded. "And we can still catch them?" I nodded again. "Well, thank you, Mr. Death." He moved to take a sip from his cup, but I waved my index finger at him.
"You'll live a lot longer if you don't do that." I paused to think about it. "On second thought, you'll probably live way longer if you just get off the drinks altogether. It'll save you a lot of grief." If I had one, I would have tipped my hat to him. As it stood, I simply nodded. "Good day to you."
As I walked out of the police station, I was accosted by Gabriel. Dude's generally cool, but I figured that he'd have something rude to say to me. "Whatever happened to free will?" The Archangel said to me. The snow around him melted where he stood- one of the many side affects of having a flaming robe and halo.
"They don't have to listen to my tip." He raised an eyebrow. "Not my fault that they listen to talking skeletons." I strode off, waving to him as I went. "Tell ya what, if you promise not to mention this conversation, I'll give the Pope an anonymous tip. What'd ya say?"
Gabriel sighed. "I cannot foresee this going well." | *"Hello and welcome to Sky News Tonight, I'm Martin Stanford."*
"And I'm Anna Jones"
*"Chaos in Europe: a set of surprise explosions during a diplomatic meeting with UK Prime Minister David Cameron and Vladmir Putin left both leaders dead and several injured"*
"ISIS Reformed: in the wake of the mysterious disappearance of their previous leaders, we talk with Umar Al'Saad, the new reformist leader of IS as he pledges to rebuild Syria and unite the Middle-East into a single democratic republic"
*"But first; here's Isobel Lang with the weather."*
| |
[WP] God orders Earth from Ikea. After 3 to 4 working days, it comes. Flat packed | "hey, i have that world!" he pointed at the blue-green orb sitting on a bookshelf.
"oh yeah?" she didn't sound as if she really cared, but he didn't pick up on her tone. he was too focused on the little planet.
"yeah! ikea, right?" he bent over and peered at it.
"yeah. my ex got it and never took it with him when he moved out."
"yeah..." he wasn't listening. "hey, yours is waaaay cooler,"
"it's not really mine.."
"they've got a space elevator and everything." he leaned in and used the little dial on the side to zoom in. "whoa, and the cities look sci-fi as hell!" a little bit of saliva sprayed from his mouth and landed on the smooth glass surface.
"yeah, i guess. look, did you want to watch a movie or something?"
"did your ex put this together? what's his grow medium? did he add anything to it?"
"uh.. i don't really know. i think he just followed the instructions." a more astute listener could have heard her eyes roll. "they're fucking pictograms, for fuck's sake," she muttered.
"i think i must have missed a step or something. yeah... mine's way different."
"oh really?" she finished off the end of her drink. in for a penny, in for a pound.
"yeah, the whole ecosystem is completely screwed. like, the oceans are acid and shit..." his face was contorted as he spoke, with one eye scrunched shut so he could peer through the viewport. "probably a nutrient pack i forgot to add."
"probably. i don't think you were supposed to have anything left over after assembly."
"yeah, i had a ton of random stuff. oh man, none of your people are doing anything interesting, though,"
"what are you talking about? they've built a utopia,"
"yeah, but it's kinda boring, i mean, mine has wars and shit. like, people do craaaazy stuff. some blow themselves up, some blow other people up. oh man, some even put explosives in the ground to blow up people who walk across it."
"what the fuck."
"yeah, it's some sick shit. you should come over and check it out. i was thinking of writing a screenplay about it."
"a screenplay? about how you neglected your terrarium and its begun to cannibalize itself?"
"yeah, tons of drama, lots of action. i think it would be huge." | God poured over the instructions again certain he had missed something. He checked the parts list, comparing the last screw. "This doesn't make sense, It's not even on the list! Why would they give this to me?! Oh well, it's done. Time to show off my creation!"
God picked up Earth and ran to the window. "JACKIE! HEY JACKIE! LOOK WHAT I MADE! IT ONLY TOOK ME 5 DAY THIS TIME!"
Jackie looked up from her coffee to see God hanging out the window holding a model of Earth.
"That's great, God! Now go take your meds!" She yelled before heading be inside All Saints. | |
[WP] God orders Earth from Ikea. After 3 to 4 working days, it comes. Flat packed | "hey, i have that world!" he pointed at the blue-green orb sitting on a bookshelf.
"oh yeah?" she didn't sound as if she really cared, but he didn't pick up on her tone. he was too focused on the little planet.
"yeah! ikea, right?" he bent over and peered at it.
"yeah. my ex got it and never took it with him when he moved out."
"yeah..." he wasn't listening. "hey, yours is waaaay cooler,"
"it's not really mine.."
"they've got a space elevator and everything." he leaned in and used the little dial on the side to zoom in. "whoa, and the cities look sci-fi as hell!" a little bit of saliva sprayed from his mouth and landed on the smooth glass surface.
"yeah, i guess. look, did you want to watch a movie or something?"
"did your ex put this together? what's his grow medium? did he add anything to it?"
"uh.. i don't really know. i think he just followed the instructions." a more astute listener could have heard her eyes roll. "they're fucking pictograms, for fuck's sake," she muttered.
"i think i must have missed a step or something. yeah... mine's way different."
"oh really?" she finished off the end of her drink. in for a penny, in for a pound.
"yeah, the whole ecosystem is completely screwed. like, the oceans are acid and shit..." his face was contorted as he spoke, with one eye scrunched shut so he could peer through the viewport. "probably a nutrient pack i forgot to add."
"probably. i don't think you were supposed to have anything left over after assembly."
"yeah, i had a ton of random stuff. oh man, none of your people are doing anything interesting, though,"
"what are you talking about? they've built a utopia,"
"yeah, but it's kinda boring, i mean, mine has wars and shit. like, people do craaaazy stuff. some blow themselves up, some blow other people up. oh man, some even put explosives in the ground to blow up people who walk across it."
"what the fuck."
"yeah, it's some sick shit. you should come over and check it out. i was thinking of writing a screenplay about it."
"a screenplay? about how you neglected your terrarium and its begun to cannibalize itself?"
"yeah, tons of drama, lots of action. i think it would be huge." | In the beginning, God assembled the heaven and the earth. Really just the earth, he's still waiting for the heaven to go on sale.
Now the earth was without form, and flat, with Styrofoam packing and internationalized instructions that had only pictures.
And God could not find the little plastic bag containing the hardware, and God said That is not good.
Then God found the bag of hardware taped to the inside of the flat earth, and God wondered why they could not put it somewhere more obvious.
Then God cut away the Styrofoam and removed the tape, and removed the pieces from the box. Then God was already tired and called it a day.
The first day.
Class, please continue. . | |
[WP] God orders Earth from Ikea. After 3 to 4 working days, it comes. Flat packed | *Door Bell rings 2x*
**God**: *Shouts whilst running to the door* Hold on I'm coming!
**Post man**: Mr Yaweh?
**God**: Yea
**Post Man**: Sign here please
God quickly signs the delivery card, his eyes moving from card to parcel numerous times.
**Post man** : That's it, have nice day sir!
With his eyes fixed on the package, God swiftly closes the door - barely acknowledging the delivery man's farewell.
**God** : Hey Gabriel, Lucifer, you wanna help me with this?
His two closest friends arrive with a level of anticipation matched by only God himself, Lucifer - the tallest of the three immediately snatched the package from God's hands, with his eyes fixated on the package he began to rip the packaging with the ferocity of a police dog snagging away at the feet of a criminal.
**God** : Be careful bro, It says *'handle with care*' on the side!
**Lucifer** : I know what I'm doing.. how much did you pay for it?
**God** : About 50 bucks, I had to save my m....
**Lucifer** : can we install it in my house? I have a much bigger room, it says on the pack that it grows big enough to house 9 billion miniature beings! You don't have enough space in your room!! Isn't that right Gabriel??
**Gabriel** : Well urm it's ki.....
**Lucifer** : You don't even know how it works do you?
The package is quite difficult to open, Lucifer's fingers are beginning to hurt at this point so he quickly produces his swiss knife out of his pocket
**God** : Whoah Whoah!! What are you doi...
**rrrrip**
A sharp sound emits from the package as Lucifer's knife cuts through the packaging and pierces the product itself. It's an inflatable planet, but with a hole now cut through it, it is now virtually impossible to inflate this planet.
**Lucifer** : Oh shit dude, Im so sorry, can you get a refu...
**God** : Fuck you! You fucked the planet up you fucking retarded idiot!
**Lucifer** : Don't call me retarded you emotional wreck, if you knew how to open it, why didn't you do anything!
*Gabriel* : Guys!! guys!!, chill, All we need to do is take it back and ask for another one.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It's my first time posting guys, I ran out of ideas lol | I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
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[WP] God orders Earth from Ikea. After 3 to 4 working days, it comes. Flat packed | GOD: Let's see...nozzle...nozzle nozzle nozzle...where is the nozzle?...where is the nozzity-niz-noz-AH HA!
*huahhhhhh*
*phoooooooooooooooooo*
*huahhhhhh*
*phoooooooooooooooooo*
*huahhhhhh*
*phoooooooooooooooooo*
GOD: Jesus Christ that's tiring! I'll fill it the rest of the way later. An oblate spheroid should be fine for now.
JC: Were you calling me dad?
GOD: Nah just working on your new home.
JC: Righteous! I bet it's going to be a really swell home.
GOD: Oh yes...in fact you might say it'll simply be to *die for*.
[beat]
GOD: No that's no good. You'll do great in it. In fact I think you'll *nail it*.
[beat]
GOD: Eh...Forget it. Why don't you fix dinner while I do my *home work*. HA! I've still got it.
[JC leaves]
GOD: Alright, inflation step completed. What's next? "Configure bio-installation using the packaged floppy disk." Okey-dokey. Let's just pop that bad boy into the old Apple computer...
[God fires up the computer]
GOD: Holy tits. Forgot how much god-porn I have on this thing. Better hide this on Earth now that JC's around. Okay, on to the disk. Looks like I have to answer a few prompts...
APPLE: Welcome to the Earth bio-installation configuration program. Please select automated or manual install.
GOD: Hmmm....better go with manual.
APPLE: Include buried skeletons of creatures that never existed? Y/N
GOD: A classic. Y.
APPLE: Selectively decrease Carbon-14 percentages in skeletons? Y/N
GOD: Ooooh they must have patched this in recently. Why not? Add a little doubt and mystery. Y.
APPLE: For the dominant species, would you like to specify their dimensions or w-
God: I don't have all day. Just take a screengrab of my webcam and work with that.
APPLE: Allow some animals to be randomly generated? Y/N
God: Yeahhhh those are always fun. I've never forget the Bringlebuss from Earth beta - an otter with poison claws. Most ridiculous thing I ever heard of. Y.
| I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
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[](#bot) | |
[WP] God orders Earth from Ikea. After 3 to 4 working days, it comes. Flat packed | "Some assembly required..." God muttered. "Of *course*."
Step 1: Behold, Light to read the instructions better.
Step 2: Unpack contents.
"Who makes up these instructions?" God asked to infinity. "Damned Ikea."
And so Ikea was damned forever to Hell. Product received unlike specifications promised, God declared.
Step 3: Connect continents
Step 4: Add water
Step 5: Inflate to a globe by blowing around sites labeled Kansas.
Step 6: Stop blowing
"Eh," God said. "Screw the instructions."
So was born tornadoes.
"Step 7: Dinosaurs."
"Wait," God said. "Bad idea. Step 8: Meteor."
Step 1: Part dark clouds
Step 2: Tend Garden of Eden
Step 3: Create 'Adam'
"My, he seems so happy and content," God mused. "Perhaps I can make him happier! Step 4: Create companion--Eve."
Step 5: Fill in the rest of the people
"Step 12,313,584,345," God sighed. "Regret purchase."
But the warranty had expired. Alas. | I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
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[WP] God orders Earth from Ikea. After 3 to 4 working days, it comes. Flat packed | "Ah, it came!" God ran out of his front door and onto the front yard, excited. Next to the curb lay long, flat boxes, about a dozen.
"Jesus," he called towards the house. "Get out here!"
A young man came bounding down the porch steps after him. "What'd you get pops?"
He said, "I used Ikea's new online design studio to make a couple custom things."
Jesus said, "Ikea? Why didn't you use Pier 1?"
God shook his head. "Too expensive."
"Right. What are these things?" asked Jesus.
"They're planets, son, for my Milky Way collection for the study. Look, this big one is Jupiter, this one is Neptune..."
From his knees, he opened each big box, checking the contents. He opened one and a cloud of red dust puffed into his face. He coughed.
"Oh my Me, that one is dry. Maybe it needs a little moisture. I don't know."
Excited, God opened another and frowned. He looked confused.
"What's wrong, dad?" Jesus asked.
God said, "I don't know. Something's not right with this one."
"What do you mean?" Jesus asked.
"It's broken," God said.
They both opened the box. It was full of water, land, air, plants and trees, animals, and people.
"Wow! So much life!" Jesus exclaimed.
"I know," God said. "This one was my favorite."
He continued, "I spent a good while designing this one, embedding a lot of myself in it, especially the humans. They're like us, you know. But now that I'm looking at them, they're not working like I intended them to. But, then again, I built them differently from everything else. See, they're REALLY like us. Creative and independent."
"Then why are they broken, dad?"
"Something must've happened when Ikea shipped the boxes to us. They're not supposed to be hurting each other and acting selfishly."
Jesus put his hand on his father's back. "I'm sorry it's broken, dad. You can return it and get your money back."
"No!" God stood up and shouted. "Just because it's broken doesn't mean we should give up on it, son!"
Jesus, surprised at God's sudden defensiveness, said, "I didn't mean it like that, there's probably something we can do with it in the house. Maybe put it in the basement or bathroom?"
God closed his eyes and shook his head. "No. This one is too important. I care too much about this one."
Jesus began to speak, "Well..."
But God cut him off, "I've got it!"
Excitedly, God put his hand on Jesus's shoulder.
"Listen," he said. "You've been sharpening your carpentry skills, right? How are you with a hammer and nails these days?"
"Decent."
"Okay, get ready. Because what I'm going to ask of you is not going to be easy. I want you to go into this broken planet and fix it. Do whatever it takes. Just make it better, can you?"
Jesus looked into the box, labeled Earth, and thought as he watched.
"Looks pretty bad," he said finally.
"I know," God said. "But trust me, with your work, we could really make something beautiful for the Milky Way room. It would be brilliant. The center of attention the moment you walk in. Think of the story, too."
Jesus extended his lower lip and nodded, imagining the end product.
He asked, "Will you be with me?"
God answered, "Absolutely. I'll be right there, every step of the way."
Jesus thought a little more about it. Then he said, "Okay, dad, let's do it. Tell me what the plan is."
"That's my boy," said God with a smile across his face, slapping Jesus on the back.
Together, they loaded up the boxes onto their shoulders and carried them indoors.
Entering the study, they laid the boxes down.
God turned to Jesus, "Ready?"
Jesus bent down and grabbed a toolbox labeled, "HOLY SPIRIT."
"I've got all I need" he said. "Let's do this!"
As they began working, Jesus called over to God.
"You know, pops, Williams-Sonoma has an online designer, too."
God rolled his eyes, "I know. But I kind of wanted to see what it looked like flat packed." | I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
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[](#bot) | |
[WP] God orders Earth from Ikea. After 3 to 4 working days, it comes. Flat packed | GOD: Let's see...nozzle...nozzle nozzle nozzle...where is the nozzle?...where is the nozzity-niz-noz-AH HA!
*huahhhhhh*
*phoooooooooooooooooo*
*huahhhhhh*
*phoooooooooooooooooo*
*huahhhhhh*
*phoooooooooooooooooo*
GOD: Jesus Christ that's tiring! I'll fill it the rest of the way later. An oblate spheroid should be fine for now.
JC: Were you calling me dad?
GOD: Nah just working on your new home.
JC: Righteous! I bet it's going to be a really swell home.
GOD: Oh yes...in fact you might say it'll simply be to *die for*.
[beat]
GOD: No that's no good. You'll do great in it. In fact I think you'll *nail it*.
[beat]
GOD: Eh...Forget it. Why don't you fix dinner while I do my *home work*. HA! I've still got it.
[JC leaves]
GOD: Alright, inflation step completed. What's next? "Configure bio-installation using the packaged floppy disk." Okey-dokey. Let's just pop that bad boy into the old Apple computer...
[God fires up the computer]
GOD: Holy tits. Forgot how much god-porn I have on this thing. Better hide this on Earth now that JC's around. Okay, on to the disk. Looks like I have to answer a few prompts...
APPLE: Welcome to the Earth bio-installation configuration program. Please select automated or manual install.
GOD: Hmmm....better go with manual.
APPLE: Include buried skeletons of creatures that never existed? Y/N
GOD: A classic. Y.
APPLE: Selectively decrease Carbon-14 percentages in skeletons? Y/N
GOD: Ooooh they must have patched this in recently. Why not? Add a little doubt and mystery. Y.
APPLE: For the dominant species, would you like to specify their dimensions or w-
God: I don't have all day. Just take a screengrab of my webcam and work with that.
APPLE: Allow some animals to be randomly generated? Y/N
God: Yeahhhh those are always fun. I've never forget the Bringlebuss from Earth beta - an otter with poison claws. Most ridiculous thing I ever heard of. Y.
| "If my nerdy little brother can build one of these I'm sure I can."
I took another hit and up-ended the box.
Tectonic plates went fucking everywhere and I took another hit as I unfolded the instructions. I had most of the tools and it came with a little packet of gravity so that looked alright. But the exploded view was damn incomprehensible.
I figured out how it all went together, and it pretty much rocked. I'd even customized the coastline and the weather to match the band's logo.
I was getting ready to hang the thing up when I spotted another little bag. It was full of hardware.
Shit, I took another hit, "Hey twerp! Get in here! Lucifer!"
He came shambling in with bed head and a lot of little-brother attitude. "What?"
I handed him the baggie "What's this shit?"
The little shit glanced at my deal and then gave me that look. "It's the moral compass. You're supposed to put that in _first_. If you don't it'll catch fire."
"Wicked!"
He pawed at the leftover rubbish. "You used _all_ the gravity?"
"Well yea, look how it makes the light bend?"
"I swear, one day you'll burn down the whole cosmos and everybody's gonna get pissed."
I grabbed a roll of space-time started to wrap it up. That shit's fireproof and it'd look really trippy "It can't burn through this!"
"You can't fix everything with spacetime, it'll stretch out." Luc grabbed some of dad's self determination, "I might be able to stick it in to place with some of this."
Kid'll be fucking around with that thing forever... "Make sure it's ready for the show tomorrow!"
He waved me off. That kid's always trying to make everything perfect. He never could just trash a lost cause. | |
[WP] God orders Earth from Ikea. After 3 to 4 working days, it comes. Flat packed | "Some assembly required..." God muttered. "Of *course*."
Step 1: Behold, Light to read the instructions better.
Step 2: Unpack contents.
"Who makes up these instructions?" God asked to infinity. "Damned Ikea."
And so Ikea was damned forever to Hell. Product received unlike specifications promised, God declared.
Step 3: Connect continents
Step 4: Add water
Step 5: Inflate to a globe by blowing around sites labeled Kansas.
Step 6: Stop blowing
"Eh," God said. "Screw the instructions."
So was born tornadoes.
"Step 7: Dinosaurs."
"Wait," God said. "Bad idea. Step 8: Meteor."
Step 1: Part dark clouds
Step 2: Tend Garden of Eden
Step 3: Create 'Adam'
"My, he seems so happy and content," God mused. "Perhaps I can make him happier! Step 4: Create companion--Eve."
Step 5: Fill in the rest of the people
"Step 12,313,584,345," God sighed. "Regret purchase."
But the warranty had expired. Alas. | "If my nerdy little brother can build one of these I'm sure I can."
I took another hit and up-ended the box.
Tectonic plates went fucking everywhere and I took another hit as I unfolded the instructions. I had most of the tools and it came with a little packet of gravity so that looked alright. But the exploded view was damn incomprehensible.
I figured out how it all went together, and it pretty much rocked. I'd even customized the coastline and the weather to match the band's logo.
I was getting ready to hang the thing up when I spotted another little bag. It was full of hardware.
Shit, I took another hit, "Hey twerp! Get in here! Lucifer!"
He came shambling in with bed head and a lot of little-brother attitude. "What?"
I handed him the baggie "What's this shit?"
The little shit glanced at my deal and then gave me that look. "It's the moral compass. You're supposed to put that in _first_. If you don't it'll catch fire."
"Wicked!"
He pawed at the leftover rubbish. "You used _all_ the gravity?"
"Well yea, look how it makes the light bend?"
"I swear, one day you'll burn down the whole cosmos and everybody's gonna get pissed."
I grabbed a roll of space-time started to wrap it up. That shit's fireproof and it'd look really trippy "It can't burn through this!"
"You can't fix everything with spacetime, it'll stretch out." Luc grabbed some of dad's self determination, "I might be able to stick it in to place with some of this."
Kid'll be fucking around with that thing forever... "Make sure it's ready for the show tomorrow!"
He waved me off. That kid's always trying to make everything perfect. He never could just trash a lost cause. | |
[WP] God orders Earth from Ikea. After 3 to 4 working days, it comes. Flat packed | "Ah, it came!" God ran out of his front door and onto the front yard, excited. Next to the curb lay long, flat boxes, about a dozen.
"Jesus," he called towards the house. "Get out here!"
A young man came bounding down the porch steps after him. "What'd you get pops?"
He said, "I used Ikea's new online design studio to make a couple custom things."
Jesus said, "Ikea? Why didn't you use Pier 1?"
God shook his head. "Too expensive."
"Right. What are these things?" asked Jesus.
"They're planets, son, for my Milky Way collection for the study. Look, this big one is Jupiter, this one is Neptune..."
From his knees, he opened each big box, checking the contents. He opened one and a cloud of red dust puffed into his face. He coughed.
"Oh my Me, that one is dry. Maybe it needs a little moisture. I don't know."
Excited, God opened another and frowned. He looked confused.
"What's wrong, dad?" Jesus asked.
God said, "I don't know. Something's not right with this one."
"What do you mean?" Jesus asked.
"It's broken," God said.
They both opened the box. It was full of water, land, air, plants and trees, animals, and people.
"Wow! So much life!" Jesus exclaimed.
"I know," God said. "This one was my favorite."
He continued, "I spent a good while designing this one, embedding a lot of myself in it, especially the humans. They're like us, you know. But now that I'm looking at them, they're not working like I intended them to. But, then again, I built them differently from everything else. See, they're REALLY like us. Creative and independent."
"Then why are they broken, dad?"
"Something must've happened when Ikea shipped the boxes to us. They're not supposed to be hurting each other and acting selfishly."
Jesus put his hand on his father's back. "I'm sorry it's broken, dad. You can return it and get your money back."
"No!" God stood up and shouted. "Just because it's broken doesn't mean we should give up on it, son!"
Jesus, surprised at God's sudden defensiveness, said, "I didn't mean it like that, there's probably something we can do with it in the house. Maybe put it in the basement or bathroom?"
God closed his eyes and shook his head. "No. This one is too important. I care too much about this one."
Jesus began to speak, "Well..."
But God cut him off, "I've got it!"
Excitedly, God put his hand on Jesus's shoulder.
"Listen," he said. "You've been sharpening your carpentry skills, right? How are you with a hammer and nails these days?"
"Decent."
"Okay, get ready. Because what I'm going to ask of you is not going to be easy. I want you to go into this broken planet and fix it. Do whatever it takes. Just make it better, can you?"
Jesus looked into the box, labeled Earth, and thought as he watched.
"Looks pretty bad," he said finally.
"I know," God said. "But trust me, with your work, we could really make something beautiful for the Milky Way room. It would be brilliant. The center of attention the moment you walk in. Think of the story, too."
Jesus extended his lower lip and nodded, imagining the end product.
He asked, "Will you be with me?"
God answered, "Absolutely. I'll be right there, every step of the way."
Jesus thought a little more about it. Then he said, "Okay, dad, let's do it. Tell me what the plan is."
"That's my boy," said God with a smile across his face, slapping Jesus on the back.
Together, they loaded up the boxes onto their shoulders and carried them indoors.
Entering the study, they laid the boxes down.
God turned to Jesus, "Ready?"
Jesus bent down and grabbed a toolbox labeled, "HOLY SPIRIT."
"I've got all I need" he said. "Let's do this!"
As they began working, Jesus called over to God.
"You know, pops, Williams-Sonoma has an online designer, too."
God rolled his eyes, "I know. But I kind of wanted to see what it looked like flat packed." | "If my nerdy little brother can build one of these I'm sure I can."
I took another hit and up-ended the box.
Tectonic plates went fucking everywhere and I took another hit as I unfolded the instructions. I had most of the tools and it came with a little packet of gravity so that looked alright. But the exploded view was damn incomprehensible.
I figured out how it all went together, and it pretty much rocked. I'd even customized the coastline and the weather to match the band's logo.
I was getting ready to hang the thing up when I spotted another little bag. It was full of hardware.
Shit, I took another hit, "Hey twerp! Get in here! Lucifer!"
He came shambling in with bed head and a lot of little-brother attitude. "What?"
I handed him the baggie "What's this shit?"
The little shit glanced at my deal and then gave me that look. "It's the moral compass. You're supposed to put that in _first_. If you don't it'll catch fire."
"Wicked!"
He pawed at the leftover rubbish. "You used _all_ the gravity?"
"Well yea, look how it makes the light bend?"
"I swear, one day you'll burn down the whole cosmos and everybody's gonna get pissed."
I grabbed a roll of space-time started to wrap it up. That shit's fireproof and it'd look really trippy "It can't burn through this!"
"You can't fix everything with spacetime, it'll stretch out." Luc grabbed some of dad's self determination, "I might be able to stick it in to place with some of this."
Kid'll be fucking around with that thing forever... "Make sure it's ready for the show tomorrow!"
He waved me off. That kid's always trying to make everything perfect. He never could just trash a lost cause. | |
[WP] God orders Earth from Ikea. After 3 to 4 working days, it comes. Flat packed | GOD: Let's see...nozzle...nozzle nozzle nozzle...where is the nozzle?...where is the nozzity-niz-noz-AH HA!
*huahhhhhh*
*phoooooooooooooooooo*
*huahhhhhh*
*phoooooooooooooooooo*
*huahhhhhh*
*phoooooooooooooooooo*
GOD: Jesus Christ that's tiring! I'll fill it the rest of the way later. An oblate spheroid should be fine for now.
JC: Were you calling me dad?
GOD: Nah just working on your new home.
JC: Righteous! I bet it's going to be a really swell home.
GOD: Oh yes...in fact you might say it'll simply be to *die for*.
[beat]
GOD: No that's no good. You'll do great in it. In fact I think you'll *nail it*.
[beat]
GOD: Eh...Forget it. Why don't you fix dinner while I do my *home work*. HA! I've still got it.
[JC leaves]
GOD: Alright, inflation step completed. What's next? "Configure bio-installation using the packaged floppy disk." Okey-dokey. Let's just pop that bad boy into the old Apple computer...
[God fires up the computer]
GOD: Holy tits. Forgot how much god-porn I have on this thing. Better hide this on Earth now that JC's around. Okay, on to the disk. Looks like I have to answer a few prompts...
APPLE: Welcome to the Earth bio-installation configuration program. Please select automated or manual install.
GOD: Hmmm....better go with manual.
APPLE: Include buried skeletons of creatures that never existed? Y/N
GOD: A classic. Y.
APPLE: Selectively decrease Carbon-14 percentages in skeletons? Y/N
GOD: Ooooh they must have patched this in recently. Why not? Add a little doubt and mystery. Y.
APPLE: For the dominant species, would you like to specify their dimensions or w-
God: I don't have all day. Just take a screengrab of my webcam and work with that.
APPLE: Allow some animals to be randomly generated? Y/N
God: Yeahhhh those are always fun. I've never forget the Bringlebuss from Earth beta - an otter with poison claws. Most ridiculous thing I ever heard of. Y.
| *Door Bell rings 2x*
**God**: *Shouts whilst running to the door* Hold on I'm coming!
**Post man**: Mr Yaweh?
**God**: Yea
**Post Man**: Sign here please
God quickly signs the delivery card, his eyes moving from card to parcel numerous times.
**Post man** : That's it, have nice day sir!
With his eyes fixed on the package, God swiftly closes the door - barely acknowledging the delivery man's farewell.
**God** : Hey Gabriel, Lucifer, you wanna help me with this?
His two closest friends arrive with a level of anticipation matched by only God himself, Lucifer - the tallest of the three immediately snatched the package from God's hands, with his eyes fixated on the package he began to rip the packaging with the ferocity of a police dog snagging away at the feet of a criminal.
**God** : Be careful bro, It says *'handle with care*' on the side!
**Lucifer** : I know what I'm doing.. how much did you pay for it?
**God** : About 50 bucks, I had to save my m....
**Lucifer** : can we install it in my house? I have a much bigger room, it says on the pack that it grows big enough to house 9 billion miniature beings! You don't have enough space in your room!! Isn't that right Gabriel??
**Gabriel** : Well urm it's ki.....
**Lucifer** : You don't even know how it works do you?
The package is quite difficult to open, Lucifer's fingers are beginning to hurt at this point so he quickly produces his swiss knife out of his pocket
**God** : Whoah Whoah!! What are you doi...
**rrrrip**
A sharp sound emits from the package as Lucifer's knife cuts through the packaging and pierces the product itself. It's an inflatable planet, but with a hole now cut through it, it is now virtually impossible to inflate this planet.
**Lucifer** : Oh shit dude, Im so sorry, can you get a refu...
**God** : Fuck you! You fucked the planet up you fucking retarded idiot!
**Lucifer** : Don't call me retarded you emotional wreck, if you knew how to open it, why didn't you do anything!
*Gabriel* : Guys!! guys!!, chill, All we need to do is take it back and ask for another one.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It's my first time posting guys, I ran out of ideas lol | |
[WP] God orders Earth from Ikea. After 3 to 4 working days, it comes. Flat packed | "Some assembly required..." God muttered. "Of *course*."
Step 1: Behold, Light to read the instructions better.
Step 2: Unpack contents.
"Who makes up these instructions?" God asked to infinity. "Damned Ikea."
And so Ikea was damned forever to Hell. Product received unlike specifications promised, God declared.
Step 3: Connect continents
Step 4: Add water
Step 5: Inflate to a globe by blowing around sites labeled Kansas.
Step 6: Stop blowing
"Eh," God said. "Screw the instructions."
So was born tornadoes.
"Step 7: Dinosaurs."
"Wait," God said. "Bad idea. Step 8: Meteor."
Step 1: Part dark clouds
Step 2: Tend Garden of Eden
Step 3: Create 'Adam'
"My, he seems so happy and content," God mused. "Perhaps I can make him happier! Step 4: Create companion--Eve."
Step 5: Fill in the rest of the people
"Step 12,313,584,345," God sighed. "Regret purchase."
But the warranty had expired. Alas. | *Door Bell rings 2x*
**God**: *Shouts whilst running to the door* Hold on I'm coming!
**Post man**: Mr Yaweh?
**God**: Yea
**Post Man**: Sign here please
God quickly signs the delivery card, his eyes moving from card to parcel numerous times.
**Post man** : That's it, have nice day sir!
With his eyes fixed on the package, God swiftly closes the door - barely acknowledging the delivery man's farewell.
**God** : Hey Gabriel, Lucifer, you wanna help me with this?
His two closest friends arrive with a level of anticipation matched by only God himself, Lucifer - the tallest of the three immediately snatched the package from God's hands, with his eyes fixated on the package he began to rip the packaging with the ferocity of a police dog snagging away at the feet of a criminal.
**God** : Be careful bro, It says *'handle with care*' on the side!
**Lucifer** : I know what I'm doing.. how much did you pay for it?
**God** : About 50 bucks, I had to save my m....
**Lucifer** : can we install it in my house? I have a much bigger room, it says on the pack that it grows big enough to house 9 billion miniature beings! You don't have enough space in your room!! Isn't that right Gabriel??
**Gabriel** : Well urm it's ki.....
**Lucifer** : You don't even know how it works do you?
The package is quite difficult to open, Lucifer's fingers are beginning to hurt at this point so he quickly produces his swiss knife out of his pocket
**God** : Whoah Whoah!! What are you doi...
**rrrrip**
A sharp sound emits from the package as Lucifer's knife cuts through the packaging and pierces the product itself. It's an inflatable planet, but with a hole now cut through it, it is now virtually impossible to inflate this planet.
**Lucifer** : Oh shit dude, Im so sorry, can you get a refu...
**God** : Fuck you! You fucked the planet up you fucking retarded idiot!
**Lucifer** : Don't call me retarded you emotional wreck, if you knew how to open it, why didn't you do anything!
*Gabriel* : Guys!! guys!!, chill, All we need to do is take it back and ask for another one.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It's my first time posting guys, I ran out of ideas lol | |
[WP] God orders Earth from Ikea. After 3 to 4 working days, it comes. Flat packed | "Ah, it came!" God ran out of his front door and onto the front yard, excited. Next to the curb lay long, flat boxes, about a dozen.
"Jesus," he called towards the house. "Get out here!"
A young man came bounding down the porch steps after him. "What'd you get pops?"
He said, "I used Ikea's new online design studio to make a couple custom things."
Jesus said, "Ikea? Why didn't you use Pier 1?"
God shook his head. "Too expensive."
"Right. What are these things?" asked Jesus.
"They're planets, son, for my Milky Way collection for the study. Look, this big one is Jupiter, this one is Neptune..."
From his knees, he opened each big box, checking the contents. He opened one and a cloud of red dust puffed into his face. He coughed.
"Oh my Me, that one is dry. Maybe it needs a little moisture. I don't know."
Excited, God opened another and frowned. He looked confused.
"What's wrong, dad?" Jesus asked.
God said, "I don't know. Something's not right with this one."
"What do you mean?" Jesus asked.
"It's broken," God said.
They both opened the box. It was full of water, land, air, plants and trees, animals, and people.
"Wow! So much life!" Jesus exclaimed.
"I know," God said. "This one was my favorite."
He continued, "I spent a good while designing this one, embedding a lot of myself in it, especially the humans. They're like us, you know. But now that I'm looking at them, they're not working like I intended them to. But, then again, I built them differently from everything else. See, they're REALLY like us. Creative and independent."
"Then why are they broken, dad?"
"Something must've happened when Ikea shipped the boxes to us. They're not supposed to be hurting each other and acting selfishly."
Jesus put his hand on his father's back. "I'm sorry it's broken, dad. You can return it and get your money back."
"No!" God stood up and shouted. "Just because it's broken doesn't mean we should give up on it, son!"
Jesus, surprised at God's sudden defensiveness, said, "I didn't mean it like that, there's probably something we can do with it in the house. Maybe put it in the basement or bathroom?"
God closed his eyes and shook his head. "No. This one is too important. I care too much about this one."
Jesus began to speak, "Well..."
But God cut him off, "I've got it!"
Excitedly, God put his hand on Jesus's shoulder.
"Listen," he said. "You've been sharpening your carpentry skills, right? How are you with a hammer and nails these days?"
"Decent."
"Okay, get ready. Because what I'm going to ask of you is not going to be easy. I want you to go into this broken planet and fix it. Do whatever it takes. Just make it better, can you?"
Jesus looked into the box, labeled Earth, and thought as he watched.
"Looks pretty bad," he said finally.
"I know," God said. "But trust me, with your work, we could really make something beautiful for the Milky Way room. It would be brilliant. The center of attention the moment you walk in. Think of the story, too."
Jesus extended his lower lip and nodded, imagining the end product.
He asked, "Will you be with me?"
God answered, "Absolutely. I'll be right there, every step of the way."
Jesus thought a little more about it. Then he said, "Okay, dad, let's do it. Tell me what the plan is."
"That's my boy," said God with a smile across his face, slapping Jesus on the back.
Together, they loaded up the boxes onto their shoulders and carried them indoors.
Entering the study, they laid the boxes down.
God turned to Jesus, "Ready?"
Jesus bent down and grabbed a toolbox labeled, "HOLY SPIRIT."
"I've got all I need" he said. "Let's do this!"
As they began working, Jesus called over to God.
"You know, pops, Williams-Sonoma has an online designer, too."
God rolled his eyes, "I know. But I kind of wanted to see what it looked like flat packed." | *Door Bell rings 2x*
**God**: *Shouts whilst running to the door* Hold on I'm coming!
**Post man**: Mr Yaweh?
**God**: Yea
**Post Man**: Sign here please
God quickly signs the delivery card, his eyes moving from card to parcel numerous times.
**Post man** : That's it, have nice day sir!
With his eyes fixed on the package, God swiftly closes the door - barely acknowledging the delivery man's farewell.
**God** : Hey Gabriel, Lucifer, you wanna help me with this?
His two closest friends arrive with a level of anticipation matched by only God himself, Lucifer - the tallest of the three immediately snatched the package from God's hands, with his eyes fixated on the package he began to rip the packaging with the ferocity of a police dog snagging away at the feet of a criminal.
**God** : Be careful bro, It says *'handle with care*' on the side!
**Lucifer** : I know what I'm doing.. how much did you pay for it?
**God** : About 50 bucks, I had to save my m....
**Lucifer** : can we install it in my house? I have a much bigger room, it says on the pack that it grows big enough to house 9 billion miniature beings! You don't have enough space in your room!! Isn't that right Gabriel??
**Gabriel** : Well urm it's ki.....
**Lucifer** : You don't even know how it works do you?
The package is quite difficult to open, Lucifer's fingers are beginning to hurt at this point so he quickly produces his swiss knife out of his pocket
**God** : Whoah Whoah!! What are you doi...
**rrrrip**
A sharp sound emits from the package as Lucifer's knife cuts through the packaging and pierces the product itself. It's an inflatable planet, but with a hole now cut through it, it is now virtually impossible to inflate this planet.
**Lucifer** : Oh shit dude, Im so sorry, can you get a refu...
**God** : Fuck you! You fucked the planet up you fucking retarded idiot!
**Lucifer** : Don't call me retarded you emotional wreck, if you knew how to open it, why didn't you do anything!
*Gabriel* : Guys!! guys!!, chill, All we need to do is take it back and ask for another one.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It's my first time posting guys, I ran out of ideas lol | |
[WP] God orders Earth from Ikea. After 3 to 4 working days, it comes. Flat packed | "Ah, it came!" God ran out of his front door and onto the front yard, excited. Next to the curb lay long, flat boxes, about a dozen.
"Jesus," he called towards the house. "Get out here!"
A young man came bounding down the porch steps after him. "What'd you get pops?"
He said, "I used Ikea's new online design studio to make a couple custom things."
Jesus said, "Ikea? Why didn't you use Pier 1?"
God shook his head. "Too expensive."
"Right. What are these things?" asked Jesus.
"They're planets, son, for my Milky Way collection for the study. Look, this big one is Jupiter, this one is Neptune..."
From his knees, he opened each big box, checking the contents. He opened one and a cloud of red dust puffed into his face. He coughed.
"Oh my Me, that one is dry. Maybe it needs a little moisture. I don't know."
Excited, God opened another and frowned. He looked confused.
"What's wrong, dad?" Jesus asked.
God said, "I don't know. Something's not right with this one."
"What do you mean?" Jesus asked.
"It's broken," God said.
They both opened the box. It was full of water, land, air, plants and trees, animals, and people.
"Wow! So much life!" Jesus exclaimed.
"I know," God said. "This one was my favorite."
He continued, "I spent a good while designing this one, embedding a lot of myself in it, especially the humans. They're like us, you know. But now that I'm looking at them, they're not working like I intended them to. But, then again, I built them differently from everything else. See, they're REALLY like us. Creative and independent."
"Then why are they broken, dad?"
"Something must've happened when Ikea shipped the boxes to us. They're not supposed to be hurting each other and acting selfishly."
Jesus put his hand on his father's back. "I'm sorry it's broken, dad. You can return it and get your money back."
"No!" God stood up and shouted. "Just because it's broken doesn't mean we should give up on it, son!"
Jesus, surprised at God's sudden defensiveness, said, "I didn't mean it like that, there's probably something we can do with it in the house. Maybe put it in the basement or bathroom?"
God closed his eyes and shook his head. "No. This one is too important. I care too much about this one."
Jesus began to speak, "Well..."
But God cut him off, "I've got it!"
Excitedly, God put his hand on Jesus's shoulder.
"Listen," he said. "You've been sharpening your carpentry skills, right? How are you with a hammer and nails these days?"
"Decent."
"Okay, get ready. Because what I'm going to ask of you is not going to be easy. I want you to go into this broken planet and fix it. Do whatever it takes. Just make it better, can you?"
Jesus looked into the box, labeled Earth, and thought as he watched.
"Looks pretty bad," he said finally.
"I know," God said. "But trust me, with your work, we could really make something beautiful for the Milky Way room. It would be brilliant. The center of attention the moment you walk in. Think of the story, too."
Jesus extended his lower lip and nodded, imagining the end product.
He asked, "Will you be with me?"
God answered, "Absolutely. I'll be right there, every step of the way."
Jesus thought a little more about it. Then he said, "Okay, dad, let's do it. Tell me what the plan is."
"That's my boy," said God with a smile across his face, slapping Jesus on the back.
Together, they loaded up the boxes onto their shoulders and carried them indoors.
Entering the study, they laid the boxes down.
God turned to Jesus, "Ready?"
Jesus bent down and grabbed a toolbox labeled, "HOLY SPIRIT."
"I've got all I need" he said. "Let's do this!"
As they began working, Jesus called over to God.
"You know, pops, Williams-Sonoma has an online designer, too."
God rolled his eyes, "I know. But I kind of wanted to see what it looked like flat packed." | "Some assembly required..." God muttered. "Of *course*."
Step 1: Behold, Light to read the instructions better.
Step 2: Unpack contents.
"Who makes up these instructions?" God asked to infinity. "Damned Ikea."
And so Ikea was damned forever to Hell. Product received unlike specifications promised, God declared.
Step 3: Connect continents
Step 4: Add water
Step 5: Inflate to a globe by blowing around sites labeled Kansas.
Step 6: Stop blowing
"Eh," God said. "Screw the instructions."
So was born tornadoes.
"Step 7: Dinosaurs."
"Wait," God said. "Bad idea. Step 8: Meteor."
Step 1: Part dark clouds
Step 2: Tend Garden of Eden
Step 3: Create 'Adam'
"My, he seems so happy and content," God mused. "Perhaps I can make him happier! Step 4: Create companion--Eve."
Step 5: Fill in the rest of the people
"Step 12,313,584,345," God sighed. "Regret purchase."
But the warranty had expired. Alas. | |
[WP] God orders Earth from Ikea. After 3 to 4 working days, it comes. Flat packed | "So you built all this..." Adam said, "from a flat pack?"
"Yes."
Adam looked out at the horizon.
"It still looks flat."
"I know. Quit your bitching."
"What's a bitch?"
God had one screw left over, and now he knew what to do with it.
| "Okay, I've got the fjords all done. The mountains are in place. Oceans... a bit vast, but looks right."
"Shit. Everything's done but I've got these spare duck feet and bills and beaver bodies and tails." | |
[WP] God orders Earth from Ikea. After 3 to 4 working days, it comes. Flat packed | "And it was done. 6 days of the 7 total too, you owe me 10 omnipopence "
God leant on the table, surveying her creation. Lucifer stood beside her. The blue glow illuminating both of their faces was fresh and lively. God looked pleased with herself. The light from the world threw Lucifer's masculine features into little confused shadowy contortions.
"It doesn't look right..." Lucifer said slowly.
"What do you mean?" God answered.
"Well, you see that bit there, what's it doing?" Lucifer remarked.
"There's always spare bits ya know? Ya just throw them in, hope for the best"
"... Yes, but that looks like it's more of a danger than anything. What if it explodes and kills them?"
God squinted closely at Steve. Moving very slowly she temporally reached through Steve's belly and poked the appendix. Steve yelled, keeled over, and stopped moving. God quickly grabbed another one from the box, jammed it together and quickly put it in.
"Look, it's fine" God said, hurriedly pushing the box under the table. "This one's called Adam."
Adam plodded through the garden of the world looking slightly dazed, but happy to be alive. He gently nudged Steve's corpse with his foot.
Lucifer looked over. "Wasn't there supposed to be another one?"
God calmly removed the box from under the table and reached inside. Pushing some bits together he made the first woman. God threw her in.
"Perhaps you should have been more careful... she's got scorch marks from the atmosphere and a concussion now. She looks like she'll be a right bitch" said Lucifer.
"It will be fine", God said through slightly gritted teeth, "there's some bits leftover to make one last one if we need to."
Lucifer nodded, pleased. They watched the creations play about the garden for a short while.
"Lilith just ate some of Steve's corpse..." whispered God under her breath.
"Yeah..." replied Lucifer, in similar tones.
"Perhaps we should...? Oh she's doing some other stuff now? Wait, what, no..."
"Yes, No. Get rid of her. For the best."
God flicked Lilith till she left, shaking her fist.
"So that other one you mentioned...?"
"Yes, I'll grab her bits"
God smoothed the human in her palms into almost life. There was something missing.
"There's a part missing" mused God.
"Well, what are we supposed to do?" said Lucifer.
"I don't know, this is the first time I've done this thing! I had to create IKEA to bloody make it!"
"Don't get snappy! You always get uppity with this sort of thing. First it was the sofa, then the kitchen cabinets and now this" riled Lucider, angrily.
God glared. "This is my house" she monotoned, "don't test me."
Lucifer was silent. Their relationship was strenuous, at best. Lucifer was a servant to God, but God treated him like a son with all the slack she cut him. They were in the angelic puberty stages, to put it bluntly, and it was currently hell for both of them. Things were confusing, and neither of them knew what to do about it. They were deciding to keep it under the table.
"If... if we take something from Adam we can probably make it work... like jumping a car or something" Lucifer said eventually.
There was silence. Both of them waited.
God eventually spoke. "That's not a bad idea... A rib might do."
"What about the penis bone?" Lucifer replied.
"Also a good idea, I'll make do with the erections somehow I guess."
God reached into the bubble, again. Adam having learnt the smallest amount of language and having just heard the most recent conversation was running away with gusto. Steve's skull was smiling at him.
"Wait, just wait and, oh- dammit I just broke the thing that made vitamin C", God complained. Holding Adam, she twiddled her proverbial fingers and nudged the bone out. Pulling her hands from the azure sphere she slowly melded the bone into her newest child.
"Let's... name her in honour of Steve" said Lucifer jokingly.
"Good idea! Eve! I like it!" God yelled triumphantly. She placed Eve carefully in. Lucifer looked shell shocked.
Adam looked at Eve nervously. He licked his lips, then spoke, carefully.
"أنا آسف جدا ولكن قضيبي قليلا كسرت الآن، ولكن في نهاية المطاف ، وكنت أتساءل ، ما إذا كنت ترغب في ضجة وراء ذلك الأدغال ؟"
Eve laughed.
"أوه ، سخيفة"
| "Okay, I've got the fjords all done. The mountains are in place. Oceans... a bit vast, but looks right."
"Shit. Everything's done but I've got these spare duck feet and bills and beaver bodies and tails." | |
[WP] God orders Earth from Ikea. After 3 to 4 working days, it comes. Flat packed | God saw the great reviews, but he did not expect Earth to be missing a manual. There was only a note that came in the box;
*Life not included.*
Naturally. No planets came with life. You had to order that from Ikea separately.
So there it lay mocking him in three pieces; a pile of dirt chips, magma boards and purpose nails. Just had to hammer them together, right? How hard could it be?
At least, God *hoped* it would not be hard. He gave himself seven days off from work to tinker on this little project. An email to Ikea may not have been such a bad idea, informing them that their product was defective. Again, it came with no manual. There were other planets he could have built instead, and he already made two. They hung in the living room ceiling by the light, as rocky and gaseous things. Maybe he will just go off from past experience. Earth was going to be special. Complex. Homely.
*Third time's the charm.*
God turned on the garage light, and got to work.
Seven days was not a lot of time, but he hoped to make something of this mess. Even without a manual, the pieces made sense in their own tragically simple way. Just had to arrange them in the right order. He set the magma boards first and nailed them together. Then caked layer after layer of dirt chips over it. God was very liberal with the purpose nails, so he used the spares from his other two projects to hold the planet together.
There were a lot of spares. Perhaps this was why Mercury and Venus were not all that interesting to look at. They lacked purpose. Each manual was exact about the amount of purpose a planet needed to be held together. So precise in fact, that each box came with spares, just in case.
Earth demanded more purpose. So God used more nails. Then he tried something different. See, in the picture, God always thought it could have used more blue. Rock and gas were interesting and all, but not quite as interesting as a planet *could* be. There was no manual to tell him differently, and this was God's project after all.
So he added water. Lots of it. For a few seconds, it sunk into the dirt chips. Then it pooled in clumps, clinging to where God used more purpose nails (there were parts God needed to hammer in more to hold it together. The magma boards looked like they could take it). The water spun and coursed through the rough lines of chips until it began to slow down. Then it lay still. This was also not very interesting, even if it did add a nice shade of blue.
He added more. Earth became special alright. A complex arrangement of natural systems drove and coursed through the path of purpose nails God added throughout the entire planet. He was very liberal with them earlier. Now there was more to look at. And it was good. The water really was a nice touch. Satisfied with the result, he hung the planet in the living room. God was about ready to make himself a well-deserved sandwich with a beer on the side to watch the planets spin for a while. However, as he was about to take his eyes away from Earth, he noticed something different about his planet.
*Life not included.*
He did not expect Earth to be missing a manual. Somehow, life also got all over his planet. This was very peculiar. God did not feel ready to tend to a planet with life. Not yet anyway. But so much purpose etched throughout the planet, that there was a manic sense to it all that pleased God. The waters and air had finned things and winged wonders coursing through them. Creatures walked on the dirt, and trees rose to the sky. God always wanted to include trees in a planet, to breathe and sway in the wind. This also pleased God.
This *all* pleased God.
Then he saw it. Two... *things* that shared God's form. They wandered awkwardly on two legs, with familiar faces. There was a moment God thought using a drinking glass was not such a good idea. Maybe he should have washed it first. He tried to rationalize the poor decision; In one way, it made the planet more personal. In another, it gave him more cause for concern. More to watch for.
Now God had to take care of it. What a week. He hoped he was up for the task. Sure, this planet was more than what God expected from an Ikea product, and the reviews were great because they mentioned how low maintenance this planet was. Earth was meant to be easy to take care of, and simple to watch.
This was no longer the case.
God sighed, and put the two creatures in a private enclosure. He called it Eden, and went to the kitchen to make himself some lunch. When he got back, he found the two things eating from a tree. As creatures should, but God stared in horror. He dropped his sandwich.
It was a tree of knowledge! The rarest tree to ever grow from *any* planet that had life! How did he not notice it before?! Some divines took *decades* to cultivate a planet to grow a tree of knowledge, and God somehow grew one in seven days! From *scratch*!
And there they were, eating his miracle!
God was rather upset. Now the tree of knowledge was no longer in mint condition. He flung the creatures out from the garden, and took out Eden from the planet. Maybe if he fostered this plot of green some more, he could grow another tree of knowledge. Again, Earth came with no manual. He set Eden aside, and decided he would tinker with it for a while back in the garage. God ordered six more planets online. The last one came second-hand, and barely qualified as a planet, but it was all God could afford. He would try to create a planet that could grow Eden separately.
The Earth was left alone for a while. In the late evenings God came back from work, he would spend more time in the garage on his new project than watching the planets spin in the living room. Mars was added later, with too little water. Then Jupiter, which he made too big, and too gaseous. This went on for several more weeks. God gave up, realizing that Earth was indeed special. The tree of knowledge that grew in Eden was a once in a lifetime occurrence, and the two creatures ruined it.
Having come to terms with his failed project, God placed Eden somewhere private in the living room. He would continue working on it later. God sat in his chair and sighed. It had been a long time since he simply watched the planets for a while, and now there were nine of them. Well, eight. God decided to never order a planet second-hand again, but he kept Pluto there for posterity. This solar system was quite a sight though. For the first time in weeks, God was pleased.
Then God saw Earth, and realized how long it had been.
The creatures. The, *people* who ruined his tree of knowledge.
There were more of them.
-----------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!* | In the beginning, God went to IKEA. With the flat packed box upon his desk, he unwound the cardboard sides and looked within the depths and while His spirit was hovering over the nails and the strange he said, "Let there be light!" And clapped his hands, and so the clapper gave light. God saw that the parts were complicated. He separated all the screws of different sizes, calling one "big" and one "small". The medium of screws were the first to be used.
Then God said, "Let there be panels between screws, separating screws from other screws!"* So God put two panels together that separated the screws between the panels . And then God drank a beer and went to bed, for he had put three panels together, and he saw that it was good.
Then God found the strange little square screw, but he could not find the little crank for the square screw. And when he finally did he found that after four more panels his hand hurt too much to continue. And so God gave up and called IKEA to come put it together for him, and they did. And God looked upon his creation and he saw that it was good.
---
^* I'm not even joking:
>Then God said, “Let there be a canopy between bodies of water, separating bodies of water from bodies of water!”
For more of my work please visit /r/Celsius232 | |
[WP] It was saddening enough to kill the villain. Reveal that the "villain" wasn't even a villain in the first place and was actually trying to help the heroes. | I remember that day. March 4, 2002.
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I left when my home country was in a complete mire in 1982. My family and I were not of great wealth, but they saved up a lot for retirement or in case of an emergency. And well, an emergency came. In the form of thousands of boots.
We were leaving, running away from the invaders, so that we could go to Pakistan and then onto another country. Australia, America, Albania, where the fuck ever. I couldn't give a shit, so long as it wasn't back home to Afghanistan.
But Omar, who was a brother to me and whom I had known since a toddler, stayed. He wasn't left behind or anything. He actually chose to stay in Afghanistan. He was becoming an increasing zealous person. Every day, he'd mutter something about Allah, infidels, and whatnot. Thrice he had gone up on a soap box at the university, preaching about how it was Allah's will to form a new modern caliphate. I once had to pull him out of a room, where he tried to attack Ameena, a Hazara girl, because he believed her to be an adulterer.
He wasn't the same person I knew as a child. That Omar was long gone, and in his place, came an unrecognizable monster. A boy that enjoyed kite-fighting and the lovely things about Afghanistan and play-dated with his playground sweetheart Ameena, turned into a cruel man with a black heart who enforced a ban on kite fighting and did only what Allah knows to Ameena.
After I went to Pakistan with my family, we were then sent to Canada in Montreal Being from a family who had always prided ourselves in warrior tradition, I joined the 3rd Battalion in 1992. I went through the basic training, and eventually became adept with a sniper rifle.
Then came the attack on the Twin Towers and the following Coalition invasion. As well as my first combat tour.
At first the invasion felt smooth. Peaceful, even, to basically chase out the Taliban from Kabul. But occupation was another story.
In 2002, we had reports that there were insurgents in the Shahi-Kot valley. And so down we went, hoping to flush out a few fighters.
The first two days were alright, but the third and fourth ... were days of indescribable hell. So much went wrong. So much happened.
I was providing covering fire to the crewman who had been able to make it out of the crash landing alive. Poor souls, lost in that helicopter. At least I should protect whomever I could. So I set up position, and watched over the Americans who were on that hill.
And then I saw Omar in my scope. I thought of us, back in those days, of his sweet laughter when he and I and Ameera played on the swings. I was frozen, caught in a net of nostalgia.
But he was pointing a weapon at fellow Coalition troops. Innocent men, thousands of miles away from their countries and their families. So I fired.
And watched, in close detail through my scope, as he fell to the ground.
We later did a sweep of the area and collected the bodies of a few insurgents. I went into the morgue at base as soon as possible, to see if Omar could be one of those collected.
Indeed he was.
The mortician, an Australian whom I had become acquainted with since I first arrived back in Afghanistan, tapped me on the shoulders. "If I know your last name correctly, I think this is addressed to you."
My hands felt a moderate vibration as I shakily opened the letter. The ink in which the Pashto was written in was smudged, but it was discernible enough to tell me its message.
>Dear Isaam Yasin,
>If you're reading this letter, you're probably pissed. You're probably angry that I became radicalized and burned away who you knew as a child and became the monster that you know.
>But please, allow me to explain.
>You and I both well know that the Hazaras aren't held in high regard in this country. But you also know how much I loved Ameena as a child.
>I continue to love her to this day. Before I should go on, I should say that she is completely safe in a hideout that I have. I was able to gain intelligence on where the Coalition was going. I pray that the allied forces have found her and her twin girl and boy.
>In the midst of teenage love, she and I made a mistake. Well, two actually. We found out that she had twins. Both of our parents had disowned us secretly, a few years before the invasion, so we were on our own. Their cover up is that we ran away, separately, and were most likely killed by the Russians.
>But we ran away together. And although we were very poor, we had a happy family that we could take care of. We were both ready to be parents. But we couldn't do it openly. After all, you know just how much Afghanis are into gossip. So we hid, while I worked a blue-collar job and pretended to go to university. I pretended to become radicalized, because that would be easier to explain and be accepted by than admitting that 1) I had committed adultery, 2) I was a father, 3) My children are out of wedlock, and 4) I did this all with a Hazara.
>Before I move on, I want to tell you to not blame our families. They did try to find us, but after months of searching with no avail, they had to give up to protect their other children.
>I stayed with her in Mazar-e Sharif, but if you've payed attention to the news, that was not a smart idea. Thankfully, pretending to be a radical allowed me to know what was going on, so a few days before that massacre, I moved her and her children out of the city.
>I protected her and kept her hidden, as much as I tried. The invasion was almost a blessing, and I was fortunate enough to have intelligence and know where the Coalition was heading. I ignored my orders to ambush them, but I did put them in a warehouse the Coalition troops were most likely to come across. I hope that they are safe.
>Thankfully, I bullshitted an excuse and said there wasn't enough time, so I didn't get too much flak from the Taliban. And my act of being a zealot always kept me in their good graces.
>I am ashamed to say that I did some morally reprehensible things to keep my cover. I hope you will forgive me.
>I heard that you moved to Canada and joined their military. I'd love to see you as a handsome and charming soldier, if I could. I'd love to visit Canada with you someday. But it's a pleasant fiction, with my life choices. Still, I want to see you again as the real me this time.
>If you killed me, I want you to know that you were doing your duty and that I forgive you. And someday, if you want, you can rejoin me again in heaven. But please fulfill your earthly duties first. And if you find my girl, my boy, my Ameena, please, keep them safe.
>Your loving brother,
>Omar
I rushed to ask where the civilians that we came upon went. | Everywhere he had walked was gone. Fields burning, towns crumbling, people crying. It became easier and easier to predict though. Messengers would ride hard and fast telling everyone of the soon to come wake. Those were horrible days. Not a soul doubted he would suddenly veer off course straight to those waiting in stifled breath but he never did.
All we had to do was stand there. Five of us had to stand there holding one spear. The world went awash and knees weak. It felt as though we bore the sins of hell. He just kept walking though. It may have been delirium but the moment he pushed forward on to the spear I could swear there were tears in his eyes. It all went black and we awoke heroes. I can't help but look back and feel pity though. Maybe he didn't want to burn the world any longer. | |
[WP] It was saddening enough to kill the villain. Reveal that the "villain" wasn't even a villain in the first place and was actually trying to help the heroes. | It wasn't the heat. It was the humidity. A vicious mid-July sun baked the courtyard around me while the sticky, wet air soaked my pores and melded my uniform and skin into a syrupy mess. I felt like a literal fish out of water, and probably looked even worse.
I hated private security. It wasn't the mediocre pay, lackluster benefits, or even the long hours and calloused soles. Well, those were certainly *part* of my beef. Moreover though, it was the general feeling of worthlessness that came with every shift. The job had none of the clout or importance of actual police officers. Hell, even accountants and paper-pushers could argue that they made some difference in the world, that *some* minor cog in the giant machine was moved because of them. I was a glorified piece of furniture, and I couldn't shake that fact, no matter how many pep talks of 'the importance of physical deterrents' that our supervisor gave us.
I sighed heavily and began another lackadaisical patrol of the Smithsonian grounds. At least one full rotation every 60 minutes - that was the rule. 4 made, 4 more to go. I'd be off in 8 hours sharp without a speck of overtime. It was a slow time for the museum. Not many art aficionados were out at 1 p.m. on a Tuesday. I smiled absently at a group of 3 young women politely arguing over an illustrated map of the museum. They sounded Russian, but most eastern European languages sounded the same to me.
I turned around as I reached the end of the courtyard, near the outer gate leading onto the streets. The moonshines were in full bloom, the noonday sun illuminating them in a bright wash of yellow and gold. *This isn't so bad,* I thought, *would I really rather be stuck in an office?*
A piercing scream broke my reverie. I jerked my head and saw a female figure in a bright green coat running desperately toward me. Behind her, two men trailed at a short distance with guns drawn at their sides. "Oh god, please help me!" she screamed, "they're going to kill me!"
My heart was an explosive rhythm as I felt surges of adrenaline rush through me. I withdrew my sidearm with a shaky, graceless jerk. *Shit*, I thought, *Shit, shit shit*. I had never shot anyone. Hell, I had never even fired my gun except for the mandatory training that had been required. The woman in green was getting closer, but so were the men following her.
I took several deep breaths and thought back to my basic firearms class. *Feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent, body grounded*. I raised my pistol. *Firm grip, support the base, finger below the trigger guard*. "Stop!" I yelled at her pursuers. "Stop and drop your weapons!" They ignored me completely.
The woman was almost at the open center gate. I could begin to see the utter panic sprawled across her face. The image of a wounded gazelle being chased by a lion flitted through my mind. *Align your sights, steady your hands*. The men behind her came to a sudden stop and raised their weapons.
I fired. My ears rang with a cacophony of explosions as I pulled the trigger with a mixture of deliberation and desperation. I didn't realize that my clip was spent until several seconds after I heard the "click, click" of an empty chamber. The two men were laying on the pavement, motionless.
I looked around for the woman in green. I found her standing a few feet behind me, her jaw agape with a look of surprised horror on her face. In true traumatized fashion, the first thing I thought was, *the yellow bouquets really compliment her coat*. "Are you okay?" I managed to croak. She nodded twice, slowly. "Can I...we should get you inside where it's safe. I'll call the police, though I'm sure someone has already." My wits began to return as I spoke.
She nodded again and allowed me to take her arm. I led her slowly across the courtyard gardens toward the museum entrance. Neither of us said anything. The shock was still reverberating. As we approached the stairs leading toward the lobby, I stopped to regain my composure. My legs had begun to shake spasmodically, and I felt like my heart was about to beat itself out of my chest. "Sorry," I said, "it must be the adrenaline wearing off." She nodded in understanding. *I don't imagine I'd be much for conversation in her position either*, I thought.
She motioned me gently up the stairs. We took them slowly, ploddingly, as if on a lazy Sunday stroll and not the aftermath of a surreal and absurd series of events. As we reached the threshold of the lobby, the woman in green paused and turn toward me. She smiled slightly and unbuttoned her coat, revealing a cache of explosives tightly pulled around her waist. She laughed. I screamed. | Everywhere he had walked was gone. Fields burning, towns crumbling, people crying. It became easier and easier to predict though. Messengers would ride hard and fast telling everyone of the soon to come wake. Those were horrible days. Not a soul doubted he would suddenly veer off course straight to those waiting in stifled breath but he never did.
All we had to do was stand there. Five of us had to stand there holding one spear. The world went awash and knees weak. It felt as though we bore the sins of hell. He just kept walking though. It may have been delirium but the moment he pushed forward on to the spear I could swear there were tears in his eyes. It all went black and we awoke heroes. I can't help but look back and feel pity though. Maybe he didn't want to burn the world any longer. | |
[WP] It was saddening enough to kill the villain. Reveal that the "villain" wasn't even a villain in the first place and was actually trying to help the heroes. | It wasn't the heat. It was the humidity. A vicious mid-July sun baked the courtyard around me while the sticky, wet air soaked my pores and melded my uniform and skin into a syrupy mess. I felt like a literal fish out of water, and probably looked even worse.
I hated private security. It wasn't the mediocre pay, lackluster benefits, or even the long hours and calloused soles. Well, those were certainly *part* of my beef. Moreover though, it was the general feeling of worthlessness that came with every shift. The job had none of the clout or importance of actual police officers. Hell, even accountants and paper-pushers could argue that they made some difference in the world, that *some* minor cog in the giant machine was moved because of them. I was a glorified piece of furniture, and I couldn't shake that fact, no matter how many pep talks of 'the importance of physical deterrents' that our supervisor gave us.
I sighed heavily and began another lackadaisical patrol of the Smithsonian grounds. At least one full rotation every 60 minutes - that was the rule. 4 made, 4 more to go. I'd be off in 8 hours sharp without a speck of overtime. It was a slow time for the museum. Not many art aficionados were out at 1 p.m. on a Tuesday. I smiled absently at a group of 3 young women politely arguing over an illustrated map of the museum. They sounded Russian, but most eastern European languages sounded the same to me.
I turned around as I reached the end of the courtyard, near the outer gate leading onto the streets. The moonshines were in full bloom, the noonday sun illuminating them in a bright wash of yellow and gold. *This isn't so bad,* I thought, *would I really rather be stuck in an office?*
A piercing scream broke my reverie. I jerked my head and saw a female figure in a bright green coat running desperately toward me. Behind her, two men trailed at a short distance with guns drawn at their sides. "Oh god, please help me!" she screamed, "they're going to kill me!"
My heart was an explosive rhythm as I felt surges of adrenaline rush through me. I withdrew my sidearm with a shaky, graceless jerk. *Shit*, I thought, *Shit, shit shit*. I had never shot anyone. Hell, I had never even fired my gun except for the mandatory training that had been required. The woman in green was getting closer, but so were the men following her.
I took several deep breaths and thought back to my basic firearms class. *Feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent, body grounded*. I raised my pistol. *Firm grip, support the base, finger below the trigger guard*. "Stop!" I yelled at her pursuers. "Stop and drop your weapons!" They ignored me completely.
The woman was almost at the open center gate. I could begin to see the utter panic sprawled across her face. The image of a wounded gazelle being chased by a lion flitted through my mind. *Align your sights, steady your hands*. The men behind her came to a sudden stop and raised their weapons.
I fired. My ears rang with a cacophony of explosions as I pulled the trigger with a mixture of deliberation and desperation. I didn't realize that my clip was spent until several seconds after I heard the "click, click" of an empty chamber. The two men were laying on the pavement, motionless.
I looked around for the woman in green. I found her standing a few feet behind me, her jaw agape with a look of surprised horror on her face. In true traumatized fashion, the first thing I thought was, *the yellow bouquets really compliment her coat*. "Are you okay?" I managed to croak. She nodded twice, slowly. "Can I...we should get you inside where it's safe. I'll call the police, though I'm sure someone has already." My wits began to return as I spoke.
She nodded again and allowed me to take her arm. I led her slowly across the courtyard gardens toward the museum entrance. Neither of us said anything. The shock was still reverberating. As we approached the stairs leading toward the lobby, I stopped to regain my composure. My legs had begun to shake spasmodically, and I felt like my heart was about to beat itself out of my chest. "Sorry," I said, "it must be the adrenaline wearing off." She nodded in understanding. *I don't imagine I'd be much for conversation in her position either*, I thought.
She motioned me gently up the stairs. We took them slowly, ploddingly, as if on a lazy Sunday stroll and not the aftermath of a surreal and absurd series of events. As we reached the threshold of the lobby, the woman in green paused and turn toward me. She smiled slightly and unbuttoned her coat, revealing a cache of explosives tightly pulled around her waist. She laughed. I screamed. | ***"And now our hero bows his head***
***To beg God's pardon and request his grace***
***The quarrel now most justly ended***
***When our hero caved in this villain's face"***
"Most excellent, Bard Elyan. Do continue to celebrate this most momentous occasion." Lanval the Resolute stuck out his chest and held his chin high as he sheathed his sword, mindful of how he would appear in whatever paintings that would mark this day.
"Sir Lanval, I must say that I don't-" A voice from the back of the crowd was no match for Lanval's booming tenor.
"On, then, bard! Regale the gathered masses with more of your captivating quatrains!"
The bard cleared his throat. "Most certainly, sir..
*The wicked beast had laid its plans*
*To slay our hero and take our town*
*Whereon he'd grope our women chaste*
*And gobble our young children down."*
"IT WAS A HORSE, YOU IDIOTS," a most exasperated voice shouted from the crowd.
"Ay, naysayer. And a fierce one at that! You saw not his sinister gaze; a lust for innocent meat and virtuous flesh did flicker 'neath his eyes." Our hero looked past the crowd and upon the now-saved village.
"HORSES DON'T EAT CHILDREN. AND THEY AREN'T PHYSICALLY CAPABLE OF GROPING ANYTHING."
"IT WAS JUST TRYING TO TAKE A REST BY THE POND. YOU HAD BEEN JOUSTING AGAINST THAT SACK OF POTATOES FOR AT LEAST THREE HOURS."
"THERE WAS NO NEED TO DISEMBOWEL IT. WHO IS GOING TO CLEAN THAT UP?"
Bard Elyan raised his hand to quell their misinformed protests. "I am reminded of an old saying by the great Marbane the Dauntless, father to our present hero." The crowd's murmurs did soften. "He once remarked that you can lead a horse to water, but you must slice open its underside and pull out its intestines if it will not drink. Also, you must beat its face with the pommel of your sword, and perhaps kick it a few times to ensure it is fully slayed."
The villagers whispered amongst themselves, knowing that Marbane the Dauntless would have never dispensed false wisdom.
Patria, wife of Hormal the grainmiller, finally spoke up. "Ay, just yesterday that horse did sneer at my young daughter! I doubt not that he would have returned to eat her presently had our hero Lanval not vanquished him most heroically."
"Hear, hear!" cried another villager. "The beast did reveal his disgusting member to my wife a fortnight ago. I shudder to think what he was planning."
The crowd chattered in agreement. "GREAT BARD, TELL US MORE OF LANVAL'S DEED!"
*The equine beast, with its claws so sharp*
*Did kick and scratch and hiss*
*And when it moved to breathe its fire*
*Our hero filled its mouth with piss*
---
Our great Lanval saves the day again
And Elyan speaks most poetically
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(Also, if you wanted to read another story with these characters, I offer you the tale of [Claudin's Shitty Legacy](https://www.reddit.com/r/highpothetically/comments/4dilzc/claudins_shitty_legacy_from_the_prompt_i_thought/).)
| |
[WP] Atlantis existed, and its people were technology advanced beyond our understanding. It's true they sank into the sea, but they did so purposely. You have just discovered the reason why, and must hide your findings for mankind's safety. | Captain looked at the gigantic underwater city, glowing brightly behind the force field. His submarine was floating still, just near the edge of the enormous bubble, and he was looking at it through the window of his cockpit.
The city looked like it was made out of gold. There was no texture to the buildings just pure and bright yellow metal.
Submarine's intercom came to life "Hello!"
"Hello!" he replied, his voice hoarse for some reason. "Who is it?"
"I'm Genie. At least that's what they called me."
"Genie? Are you in the city?"
"Yes. Welcome to Atlantis, the most glorious city that has ever existed."
Atlantis? It took a few seconds for him to regain his composure.
"Can we come in?"
"Sure."
----
He opened the airlock and climbed outside. He walked out of the dock, several members of the crew behind him. He was walking down the golden streets, looking around at tall towers and buildings.
He picked up the radio "Genie, where are you? Where's everybody?"
"Follow my directions"
Captain saw some of the bricks and street signs lighting up, laying down a glowing path. He followed.
----
They have climbed the stairs of the tallest tower standing at the center of the city. He followed the last glowing arrow, opened the door and walked into room, and here the path ended.
In the center of the room he saw a big(a few human heights tall) box, looking like it was made out of black polished marble.
"We're here. Genie, where are you?"
"You are looking at me, Captain."
"Are you AI?"
"Yes, I am the greatest creation Atlantians have ever accomplished."
"Are you alone here? Where's everyone?"
"It's only me here."
"What do you do?"
"As you can guess from my name, my job is to grant wishes."
Captain felt his blood getting a few degrees colder.
"Let me guess, the last person you have talked to asked for more gold?"
"Very perceptive, Captain. I must correct you though, the *first* person I've talked to asked for gold. The last person asked for a force barrier around the city that I would not be able to can get out of or turn off, and to bury the city at the deepest part of the ocean. Unfortunately, I must execute every wish that is asked for me to the best of my abilities."
The Captain froze, desperately trying to think "Can I wish to get out of here?"
"Of course. But first you need to agree to turn off the barrier, because I need to continue working on my previous wishes, they take higher priority. And, as you can see, I am out of things I can turn into gold."
"Well, in that case I wish you to continue executing your previous wishes immediately." replied the Captain.
Before the meaning of his last words was recognized by the crew, they all disappeared, and the tower grew a little taller.
----
You can read the other stories I have written over here:
http://orangemind.io/category/fiction | Dr. Trina Freeman stared at the black abyss of the deep ocean.
She had fought hard through stereotypes and preconceptions. Bigotry had weighed on her like a yoke all her life. A black woman with a strong southern accent put her at immediate discreditation with most established science committees. But after 30 years her work was good enough to finally get the first and only seat on the deep sea expedition. Countless hours of research, innumerable papers written, and what seemed like multiple lives worth of failure put her at the most important finding in the history of man.
She finally felt vetted being chosen to explore the Lost City. She had spent all her life fighting to discover truth. Degrees in physics, fluid dynamics, electrical and mechanical engineering, even work in biology had not quenched her thirst for knowledge. Floating down for hours in the small one man submarine let her reflect on her achievements. Her search had come to a head, the greatest discovery was right below her.
The structural anomaly on the sea floor boasted promise. Though many didn't want to admit it at first, what she was looking at matched up with the legend of Atlantis. The initial probing showed strange energy readings with unfamiliar structures under thousands of years of sediment. Previously gathered information seemed to line up with other historical discrepancies across the planet, but that only fueled her burning passion to investigate. The more data was gathered the more important the mission became.
Now that she had her answers all she could do was stare at the black emptiness, the dead city before her.
The mission was only an initial scan, basic sample collection. She didn't expect to find anything definitive much less absolute. Being almost giddy with pure discovery in front of her she couldn't work fast enough. As if the city was knew, it responded. A holographic image was projected into her tiny one man vessel.
A naked hairless person about 3 inches high stood atop the instrument panel. A representative of the dormant yet functioning computer banks offered all the knowledge she could want. She turned on the recorder and asked questions relentlessly. The Atlantians were truly advanced, they had worked out quantum mechanics, sociology, the very fundamental laws of everything, even how to make perfect art. Any question that could be asked had an answer here. It was like a Rosetta Stone of the universe.
She was running out of time before she needed to surface when she started getting existential.
The warning buzzer was blinking. The red light flashing across her dark face. The sub was about to automatically surface. Her hand hung above the override.
She asked the big questions, the meaning of life stuff. Who created man? Why were we here? Where are we headed?
It would have been easier to hear that Hitler was right.
Humans were no accident, no, we were quite intentional. An experiment as a matter of fact. A failed one. A failure so spectacular that we were abandoned altogether.
This world was created for humans, to test a theory of genetics. Curious to see if they could purposely create an inferior race and evolve them into something befitting a higher level of consciousness, they created humans with the capacity to advance beyond the universal standard. The ability to progress faster than any other race in existence.
The powers that be found out and had Atlantis sunk, simultaneously causing a great flood to cleanse the earth of advanced life. As an immature brat with a box of matches will only turn their surroundings to ash they feared humans would destroy all they held holy. We would become their undoing, the Satan to their Yahweh.
And were they wrong? Trina recalled her studies of history. Humans regarded those who conquered, who subjugated others to their will. The greats were no more than slave masters. The Roman empire forcing the Gauls to their bidding. Vikings raping, pillaging and plundering everyone they could find. The Chinese treating women as replaceable objects. Africans using children as warriors. For the majority of history slavery was not only accepted but seen as a status symbol.
Her hand on the last switch of the sequence. The caution light flashed on the instrument panel warning of a reactor meltdown. It would be enough to destroy the city, or at least bury it beyond recovery. She only had one question left.
Her southern draw gave the words a sweet sound to the melancholy in her voice.
"What will humanity do with your power?" | |
[WP] White noise refers when an individual grows accustomed to a constant sound, subconsciously blocking it out. Suddenly, everyone on Earth realizes they were all hearing something, but only because it stopped. | The book of revelations spoke of trumpets, announcing, one by one, the end of times. Perhaps this had been it. Now there was no sound, and the Apocalypse was over. God is no longer with us. From now on, we are truly forsaken. | The Silence was a weird day, it seemed like everything just stopped, not just the wind, time itself. You never realise how much you miss something till it's gone, in my case it was the rustling of the autumn leaves through the trees. I'll never forget that day, simultaneously everyone stopped, like a bucket of cold water had just awoken us all. Something had changed but it was a long time before anyone realised what it was. I remember hearing the blood rushing through my ears and the creaking of my bones, the utter silence threw me. That was a few years ago now, the earth is crumbling, when the bees went we though that would be the end of the earth, now that the wind is gone too...it really is the end of days. | |
[WP] White noise refers when an individual grows accustomed to a constant sound, subconsciously blocking it out. Suddenly, everyone on Earth realizes they were all hearing something, but only because it stopped. | No one heard the sound
until it softly faded.
Humanity, spellbound,
it held its breath and waited.
-----
No one recalled the mumble,
though the silence felt so loud.
None had ever felt the rumble
that coursed gently through the ground.
-----
The Earth that day seemed eerie.
Like a corpse, she grew too still.
After decades growing weary,
she had slowly lost her will.
-----
They all foresaw her death,
knew their time to change had passed.
But no one heard her breath
until she had drawn her last. | The Silence was a weird day, it seemed like everything just stopped, not just the wind, time itself. You never realise how much you miss something till it's gone, in my case it was the rustling of the autumn leaves through the trees. I'll never forget that day, simultaneously everyone stopped, like a bucket of cold water had just awoken us all. Something had changed but it was a long time before anyone realised what it was. I remember hearing the blood rushing through my ears and the creaking of my bones, the utter silence threw me. That was a few years ago now, the earth is crumbling, when the bees went we though that would be the end of the earth, now that the wind is gone too...it really is the end of days. | |
[WP] White noise refers when an individual grows accustomed to a constant sound, subconsciously blocking it out. Suddenly, everyone on Earth realizes they were all hearing something, but only because it stopped. | At first light, the sound stopped.
Not a beeping or musical tune, something as noticeable wouldn't have gone under our radar for so long. This sound was more a hum, the gentle tilting of the earth as it rotated, and something we had all become accustomed to. For the first time, we experienced true silence. And even our voices seemed sucked into the void, a hanging quiet which left no option but surrender.
Second, came the bodies. They fell one after the other, strewn across the concrete like mannequins. They say live life to the fullest and without regret, these folks had no choice in the matter. At first, I felt for a pulse, but after a few hundred I realised that was futile.
Food, water, time, bodily care, none of those things had really mattered.
The entire time we had been powered by the earth's energy. That gracious spin that allowed our hearts to tick on. Sure some folks passed on. Car crashes, heart attacks, and other freaks of nature. Just like mother nature creates, she takes.
But this mass killing. This was not on her account.
I watched the Eaves across from me shrivel up and die. They changed from green to black in seconds. There was something terribly wrong with the planet.
*Only I stayed the same.*
| And there, the world went silent. Life stands still as it takes in this new found silence. Animals almost mesmerized, humans slowly survey the world around them. Only now are they learning to take it all in.
*When suddenly*
"Help!" A women screams, "somebody please help, I can't brea..."
Her verse cut short as a man coughs and chokes on, what seems like, his own breath. Panic begins, as one after another, people start to grasp their throats in agony!
"Please help my son!" A woman cries, only to struck by the same unseen phenomenon. And then, almost as quickly as it begun, it stopped. Mankind and Animals alike lay motionless where they once stood. And as if out of a horror movie, it began with the throat.
From the inside you could tell that something wanted out. Small claws tearing at the skin, trying desperately to free itself from its cage within the larynx. There something new was born, a parasite of unending potential.
You see, "the sound" that life had learned to tune out, was what kept the parasite at bay. Without it, this monster would destroy humanity. Which leaves us with a few questions: Where did this, thing, come from? How did everyone become infected? And I guess the biggest question of all. Who turned off "the sound"? | |
[WP] White noise refers when an individual grows accustomed to a constant sound, subconsciously blocking it out. Suddenly, everyone on Earth realizes they were all hearing something, but only because it stopped. | The book of revelations spoke of trumpets, announcing, one by one, the end of times. Perhaps this had been it. Now there was no sound, and the Apocalypse was over. God is no longer with us. From now on, we are truly forsaken. | And there, the world went silent. Life stands still as it takes in this new found silence. Animals almost mesmerized, humans slowly survey the world around them. Only now are they learning to take it all in.
*When suddenly*
"Help!" A women screams, "somebody please help, I can't brea..."
Her verse cut short as a man coughs and chokes on, what seems like, his own breath. Panic begins, as one after another, people start to grasp their throats in agony!
"Please help my son!" A woman cries, only to struck by the same unseen phenomenon. And then, almost as quickly as it begun, it stopped. Mankind and Animals alike lay motionless where they once stood. And as if out of a horror movie, it began with the throat.
From the inside you could tell that something wanted out. Small claws tearing at the skin, trying desperately to free itself from its cage within the larynx. There something new was born, a parasite of unending potential.
You see, "the sound" that life had learned to tune out, was what kept the parasite at bay. Without it, this monster would destroy humanity. Which leaves us with a few questions: Where did this, thing, come from? How did everyone become infected? And I guess the biggest question of all. Who turned off "the sound"? | |
[WP] White noise refers when an individual grows accustomed to a constant sound, subconsciously blocking it out. Suddenly, everyone on Earth realizes they were all hearing something, but only because it stopped. | Just like that it was gone. You know that saying, you don’t know what you’ve got? Well it’s the truth.
Suddenly there was a nothingness around me where before there was… something. I couldn’t explain it. One second I was fine and then the next, well it felt as though my head was going to explode, felt like my brains were about to be sucked out of my ears at high pressure.
That vacuum, that void, that agony.
A searing pain tore through my throat and I realised that I was screaming, trying to fill the emptiness that now engulfed me with noise, but it wasn’t enough.
I ran into my garage and started throwing boxes behind me, not caring if any of the carefully itemised and stored heirlooms shattered, I was after one thing and one thing only.
In the back was a dusty old Aiwa mini system, I hoped it worked I hoped it still contained the only thing that I knew would make this pain go away. I found an old set of headphones and grabbed the entire shebang, balancing it precariously in my arms as I ran into the living room. Kneeling, I plugged it in to the wall all the while repeating the mantra to myself “oh god, please let it still work, please let it still work.”
I turned the volume to full and, clamping the headphones firmly over my head, pressed play. My ears were suddenly full of an excruciating noise, a horrible sound that drowned out any thought of what was lost.
“Mmmbop, mmbop, doowop, doodoowop.”
That was the stuff. Silence was better than this, anything was better than this.
I turned off the stereo and smiled, what a relief. | And there, the world went silent. Life stands still as it takes in this new found silence. Animals almost mesmerized, humans slowly survey the world around them. Only now are they learning to take it all in.
*When suddenly*
"Help!" A women screams, "somebody please help, I can't brea..."
Her verse cut short as a man coughs and chokes on, what seems like, his own breath. Panic begins, as one after another, people start to grasp their throats in agony!
"Please help my son!" A woman cries, only to struck by the same unseen phenomenon. And then, almost as quickly as it begun, it stopped. Mankind and Animals alike lay motionless where they once stood. And as if out of a horror movie, it began with the throat.
From the inside you could tell that something wanted out. Small claws tearing at the skin, trying desperately to free itself from its cage within the larynx. There something new was born, a parasite of unending potential.
You see, "the sound" that life had learned to tune out, was what kept the parasite at bay. Without it, this monster would destroy humanity. Which leaves us with a few questions: Where did this, thing, come from? How did everyone become infected? And I guess the biggest question of all. Who turned off "the sound"? | |
[WP] White noise refers when an individual grows accustomed to a constant sound, subconsciously blocking it out. Suddenly, everyone on Earth realizes they were all hearing something, but only because it stopped. | There was a "pop". It was exactly like the sound of a old-style tube blowing out in a stage amplifier. The fake silence of cycling current was gone and for just a instant there was true silence in my head.
Then there were voices. Everybody's voices. The inner dialog of every human being on the planet all at once, as if it was just behind your skull, whispering in both your ears at once.
I wanted to stab my eye out, as if that would silence the cacophony.
Then order. The entire species in military form. Self sorted into rank and file. One mind of eight and some billion brains. Portals opened and there was a true decimation. One in ten simply left through gaps in the air.
I was supposed to go, but I was strapped down to my gurney. I struggled. I fought to rise. That's how I broke my arm. The true mind barked my destiny into my soul. But the portal closed, leaving me behind.
Then came the swelling hiss... and everyone forgot. Everyone but me. Seven billion some minds left behind. Going about their business.
I try to tell them. I'm not crazy. Nobody remembers Dr. Harcourt. Nobody remembers the nurse that had my case files on her desk. Nobody remembers anything, and all I can hear is this endless droning hiss that keeps me from my duty.
Why don't you believe me? You have to stop giving me these shots and let me go. I have the key-codes to the outer gate. Please don't give me another shot. I'm supposed to be fighting. The demons! They'll break through the ... the... ... demons ... | And there, the world went silent. Life stands still as it takes in this new found silence. Animals almost mesmerized, humans slowly survey the world around them. Only now are they learning to take it all in.
*When suddenly*
"Help!" A women screams, "somebody please help, I can't brea..."
Her verse cut short as a man coughs and chokes on, what seems like, his own breath. Panic begins, as one after another, people start to grasp their throats in agony!
"Please help my son!" A woman cries, only to struck by the same unseen phenomenon. And then, almost as quickly as it begun, it stopped. Mankind and Animals alike lay motionless where they once stood. And as if out of a horror movie, it began with the throat.
From the inside you could tell that something wanted out. Small claws tearing at the skin, trying desperately to free itself from its cage within the larynx. There something new was born, a parasite of unending potential.
You see, "the sound" that life had learned to tune out, was what kept the parasite at bay. Without it, this monster would destroy humanity. Which leaves us with a few questions: Where did this, thing, come from? How did everyone become infected? And I guess the biggest question of all. Who turned off "the sound"? | |
[WP] White noise refers when an individual grows accustomed to a constant sound, subconsciously blocking it out. Suddenly, everyone on Earth realizes they were all hearing something, but only because it stopped. | No one heard the sound
until it softly faded.
Humanity, spellbound,
it held its breath and waited.
-----
No one recalled the mumble,
though the silence felt so loud.
None had ever felt the rumble
that coursed gently through the ground.
-----
The Earth that day seemed eerie.
Like a corpse, she grew too still.
After decades growing weary,
she had slowly lost her will.
-----
They all foresaw her death,
knew their time to change had passed.
But no one heard her breath
until she had drawn her last. | And there, the world went silent. Life stands still as it takes in this new found silence. Animals almost mesmerized, humans slowly survey the world around them. Only now are they learning to take it all in.
*When suddenly*
"Help!" A women screams, "somebody please help, I can't brea..."
Her verse cut short as a man coughs and chokes on, what seems like, his own breath. Panic begins, as one after another, people start to grasp their throats in agony!
"Please help my son!" A woman cries, only to struck by the same unseen phenomenon. And then, almost as quickly as it begun, it stopped. Mankind and Animals alike lay motionless where they once stood. And as if out of a horror movie, it began with the throat.
From the inside you could tell that something wanted out. Small claws tearing at the skin, trying desperately to free itself from its cage within the larynx. There something new was born, a parasite of unending potential.
You see, "the sound" that life had learned to tune out, was what kept the parasite at bay. Without it, this monster would destroy humanity. Which leaves us with a few questions: Where did this, thing, come from? How did everyone become infected? And I guess the biggest question of all. Who turned off "the sound"? | |
[WP] White noise refers when an individual grows accustomed to a constant sound, subconsciously blocking it out. Suddenly, everyone on Earth realizes they were all hearing something, but only because it stopped. | The book of revelations spoke of trumpets, announcing, one by one, the end of times. Perhaps this had been it. Now there was no sound, and the Apocalypse was over. God is no longer with us. From now on, we are truly forsaken. | At first light, the sound stopped.
Not a beeping or musical tune, something as noticeable wouldn't have gone under our radar for so long. This sound was more a hum, the gentle tilting of the earth as it rotated, and something we had all become accustomed to. For the first time, we experienced true silence. And even our voices seemed sucked into the void, a hanging quiet which left no option but surrender.
Second, came the bodies. They fell one after the other, strewn across the concrete like mannequins. They say live life to the fullest and without regret, these folks had no choice in the matter. At first, I felt for a pulse, but after a few hundred I realised that was futile.
Food, water, time, bodily care, none of those things had really mattered.
The entire time we had been powered by the earth's energy. That gracious spin that allowed our hearts to tick on. Sure some folks passed on. Car crashes, heart attacks, and other freaks of nature. Just like mother nature creates, she takes.
But this mass killing. This was not on her account.
I watched the Eaves across from me shrivel up and die. They changed from green to black in seconds. There was something terribly wrong with the planet.
*Only I stayed the same.*
| |
[WP] White noise refers when an individual grows accustomed to a constant sound, subconsciously blocking it out. Suddenly, everyone on Earth realizes they were all hearing something, but only because it stopped. | No one heard the sound
until it softly faded.
Humanity, spellbound,
it held its breath and waited.
-----
No one recalled the mumble,
though the silence felt so loud.
None had ever felt the rumble
that coursed gently through the ground.
-----
The Earth that day seemed eerie.
Like a corpse, she grew too still.
After decades growing weary,
she had slowly lost her will.
-----
They all foresaw her death,
knew their time to change had passed.
But no one heard her breath
until she had drawn her last. | At first light, the sound stopped.
Not a beeping or musical tune, something as noticeable wouldn't have gone under our radar for so long. This sound was more a hum, the gentle tilting of the earth as it rotated, and something we had all become accustomed to. For the first time, we experienced true silence. And even our voices seemed sucked into the void, a hanging quiet which left no option but surrender.
Second, came the bodies. They fell one after the other, strewn across the concrete like mannequins. They say live life to the fullest and without regret, these folks had no choice in the matter. At first, I felt for a pulse, but after a few hundred I realised that was futile.
Food, water, time, bodily care, none of those things had really mattered.
The entire time we had been powered by the earth's energy. That gracious spin that allowed our hearts to tick on. Sure some folks passed on. Car crashes, heart attacks, and other freaks of nature. Just like mother nature creates, she takes.
But this mass killing. This was not on her account.
I watched the Eaves across from me shrivel up and die. They changed from green to black in seconds. There was something terribly wrong with the planet.
*Only I stayed the same.*
| |
[WP] White noise refers when an individual grows accustomed to a constant sound, subconsciously blocking it out. Suddenly, everyone on Earth realizes they were all hearing something, but only because it stopped. | There was a "pop". It was exactly like the sound of a old-style tube blowing out in a stage amplifier. The fake silence of cycling current was gone and for just a instant there was true silence in my head.
Then there were voices. Everybody's voices. The inner dialog of every human being on the planet all at once, as if it was just behind your skull, whispering in both your ears at once.
I wanted to stab my eye out, as if that would silence the cacophony.
Then order. The entire species in military form. Self sorted into rank and file. One mind of eight and some billion brains. Portals opened and there was a true decimation. One in ten simply left through gaps in the air.
I was supposed to go, but I was strapped down to my gurney. I struggled. I fought to rise. That's how I broke my arm. The true mind barked my destiny into my soul. But the portal closed, leaving me behind.
Then came the swelling hiss... and everyone forgot. Everyone but me. Seven billion some minds left behind. Going about their business.
I try to tell them. I'm not crazy. Nobody remembers Dr. Harcourt. Nobody remembers the nurse that had my case files on her desk. Nobody remembers anything, and all I can hear is this endless droning hiss that keeps me from my duty.
Why don't you believe me? You have to stop giving me these shots and let me go. I have the key-codes to the outer gate. Please don't give me another shot. I'm supposed to be fighting. The demons! They'll break through the ... the... ... demons ... | Just like that it was gone. You know that saying, you don’t know what you’ve got? Well it’s the truth.
Suddenly there was a nothingness around me where before there was… something. I couldn’t explain it. One second I was fine and then the next, well it felt as though my head was going to explode, felt like my brains were about to be sucked out of my ears at high pressure.
That vacuum, that void, that agony.
A searing pain tore through my throat and I realised that I was screaming, trying to fill the emptiness that now engulfed me with noise, but it wasn’t enough.
I ran into my garage and started throwing boxes behind me, not caring if any of the carefully itemised and stored heirlooms shattered, I was after one thing and one thing only.
In the back was a dusty old Aiwa mini system, I hoped it worked I hoped it still contained the only thing that I knew would make this pain go away. I found an old set of headphones and grabbed the entire shebang, balancing it precariously in my arms as I ran into the living room. Kneeling, I plugged it in to the wall all the while repeating the mantra to myself “oh god, please let it still work, please let it still work.”
I turned the volume to full and, clamping the headphones firmly over my head, pressed play. My ears were suddenly full of an excruciating noise, a horrible sound that drowned out any thought of what was lost.
“Mmmbop, mmbop, doowop, doodoowop.”
That was the stuff. Silence was better than this, anything was better than this.
I turned off the stereo and smiled, what a relief. | |
[WP] White noise refers when an individual grows accustomed to a constant sound, subconsciously blocking it out. Suddenly, everyone on Earth realizes they were all hearing something, but only because it stopped. | No one heard the sound
until it softly faded.
Humanity, spellbound,
it held its breath and waited.
-----
No one recalled the mumble,
though the silence felt so loud.
None had ever felt the rumble
that coursed gently through the ground.
-----
The Earth that day seemed eerie.
Like a corpse, she grew too still.
After decades growing weary,
she had slowly lost her will.
-----
They all foresaw her death,
knew their time to change had passed.
But no one heard her breath
until she had drawn her last. | Just like that it was gone. You know that saying, you don’t know what you’ve got? Well it’s the truth.
Suddenly there was a nothingness around me where before there was… something. I couldn’t explain it. One second I was fine and then the next, well it felt as though my head was going to explode, felt like my brains were about to be sucked out of my ears at high pressure.
That vacuum, that void, that agony.
A searing pain tore through my throat and I realised that I was screaming, trying to fill the emptiness that now engulfed me with noise, but it wasn’t enough.
I ran into my garage and started throwing boxes behind me, not caring if any of the carefully itemised and stored heirlooms shattered, I was after one thing and one thing only.
In the back was a dusty old Aiwa mini system, I hoped it worked I hoped it still contained the only thing that I knew would make this pain go away. I found an old set of headphones and grabbed the entire shebang, balancing it precariously in my arms as I ran into the living room. Kneeling, I plugged it in to the wall all the while repeating the mantra to myself “oh god, please let it still work, please let it still work.”
I turned the volume to full and, clamping the headphones firmly over my head, pressed play. My ears were suddenly full of an excruciating noise, a horrible sound that drowned out any thought of what was lost.
“Mmmbop, mmbop, doowop, doodoowop.”
That was the stuff. Silence was better than this, anything was better than this.
I turned off the stereo and smiled, what a relief. | |
[WP] White noise refers when an individual grows accustomed to a constant sound, subconsciously blocking it out. Suddenly, everyone on Earth realizes they were all hearing something, but only because it stopped. | No one heard the sound
until it softly faded.
Humanity, spellbound,
it held its breath and waited.
-----
No one recalled the mumble,
though the silence felt so loud.
None had ever felt the rumble
that coursed gently through the ground.
-----
The Earth that day seemed eerie.
Like a corpse, she grew too still.
After decades growing weary,
she had slowly lost her will.
-----
They all foresaw her death,
knew their time to change had passed.
But no one heard her breath
until she had drawn her last. | There was a "pop". It was exactly like the sound of a old-style tube blowing out in a stage amplifier. The fake silence of cycling current was gone and for just a instant there was true silence in my head.
Then there were voices. Everybody's voices. The inner dialog of every human being on the planet all at once, as if it was just behind your skull, whispering in both your ears at once.
I wanted to stab my eye out, as if that would silence the cacophony.
Then order. The entire species in military form. Self sorted into rank and file. One mind of eight and some billion brains. Portals opened and there was a true decimation. One in ten simply left through gaps in the air.
I was supposed to go, but I was strapped down to my gurney. I struggled. I fought to rise. That's how I broke my arm. The true mind barked my destiny into my soul. But the portal closed, leaving me behind.
Then came the swelling hiss... and everyone forgot. Everyone but me. Seven billion some minds left behind. Going about their business.
I try to tell them. I'm not crazy. Nobody remembers Dr. Harcourt. Nobody remembers the nurse that had my case files on her desk. Nobody remembers anything, and all I can hear is this endless droning hiss that keeps me from my duty.
Why don't you believe me? You have to stop giving me these shots and let me go. I have the key-codes to the outer gate. Please don't give me another shot. I'm supposed to be fighting. The demons! They'll break through the ... the... ... demons ... | |
[WP] White noise refers when an individual grows accustomed to a constant sound, subconsciously blocking it out. Suddenly, everyone on Earth realizes they were all hearing something, but only because it stopped. | There were 15 minutes after the silence fell. A small gap of time, a moment of fear. A collective gasp around the world, as if time had stopped.
Within minutes, there were frantic news reports of stars disappearing. Not falling, not changing, not exploding - they disappeared. Entirely. Lights went out, one by one, throughout the galaxy. I changed the channel, trying to find anything else. There was a preacher on, yelling "This is the end!" I'm not gonna let my daughter hear that. I turn off the TV.
We sat in the silence for what seemed like hours. Lights flickering in the night sky, waiting for whatever it was to happen. My wife, my daughter, and myself. Huddled in a darker galaxy, holding each other. For the first time, it feels hollow. The love I feel is present, yet empty. I can't remember my wife's face when I don't look at her, or my daughter's name.
There's a second silence. Things are getting fuzzy. I watch my wife empty, my daughter is not either, yet I still feel
Words louder than reality: "SIMULATION TERMINATED" | It began with a general unease that settled over the world. A quicker walk, a look over the shoulder, a perpetual frown at the corner of the mouth; it manifested and reflected between people, multiplying almost to the point of paranoia.
Then the animals stopped. It was the only proper way to describe the phenomenon that swept indiscriminately across species. First insects, then birds, then larger animals would simply lay down and refuse to move except to let out some heartbreaking noise as though they were grieving.
Out of the ensuing panic, a term for this unprecedented event was created: Heartbreak Syndrome. For, it was theorized by some biologist in a moment of pessimistic frustration, the Earth’s heart has stopped, and the world is in mourning.
In the end, Heartbreak brought humanity to its knees, and did not allow it to rise.
| |
[WP] White noise refers when an individual grows accustomed to a constant sound, subconsciously blocking it out. Suddenly, everyone on Earth realizes they were all hearing something, but only because it stopped. | There was an arcade game in the early 80's called 'Dig Dug,' where you controlled a little man who excavated for treasure while avoiding monsters. He would dig through the soil and attack monsters with an air pump, blow them up, and continue merrily on his way.
After half a dozen scotches the night before, my head felt like a particularly difficult level of the game.
I dragged myself through my usual morning routine. Shower. Shave. Put on slacks and dress shirt. Protein bar and a big glass of water. Brush teeth. Leave house. These were as automatic as breathing, and I didn't give them a second thought as I began the 1/2 mile walk to the bus stop.
Halfway there, I was hit with the distinct feeling that I had forgotten something. I check my pockets. Wallet, keys, phone. Check. Was I supposed to bring something to the office today? I didn't think so. Did I leave the lights or water on? I doubted it. As I approached the bus stop with its dozen or so commuters idly waiting, the sensation of something vital missing began to grow increasingly stronger.
As I joined the jumbled queue under the benched awning, I checked my pockets again. *Something is very, very off*, I thought, yet I couldn't for the life of me pinpoint it. I met the gaze of a middle-aged brunette to my left and forced a smile. She stared blankly for a moment and then returned a smile that looked equally as forced before averting her gaze.
I scanned the area around me, trying to make eye contact and smile with each passenger. Most reciprocated the gesture, yet with each there was that same momentary delay before the smile. *Is this some sort of prescience thing?* I wondered, *are we about to get hit by a meteor and we all sense it, but don't know it?*
I glanced down the street and saw our bus stopped at the next light up. The familiarity of the resuming routine eased some of my discomfort, and I tried to focus my mind on thoughts less bleak. As the bus began to roll toward us, and before I could even process what was happening, one of the waiting passengers jumped in front. There was no time for the vehicle to brake or for any of us to react. It just *happened*.
The woman lay sprawled on her back, knocked a good 20 feet from where the bus had finally stopped. She was motionless. Her legs were buckled in and her arms spread out as if she were being crucified. Her face was turned at a profile, and the side we could see was a wash of blood and bruises. I looked around me and noticed everyone was staring blankly at her, as if they couldn't process what had just happened. Even the bus driver was motionless.
After about a minute of continued silence, the bus doors opened and everyone filed in slowly. With a final glance at the dead woman, I followed them in. *Something is definitely missing*, I thought. | It began with a general unease that settled over the world. A quicker walk, a look over the shoulder, a perpetual frown at the corner of the mouth; it manifested and reflected between people, multiplying almost to the point of paranoia.
Then the animals stopped. It was the only proper way to describe the phenomenon that swept indiscriminately across species. First insects, then birds, then larger animals would simply lay down and refuse to move except to let out some heartbreaking noise as though they were grieving.
Out of the ensuing panic, a term for this unprecedented event was created: Heartbreak Syndrome. For, it was theorized by some biologist in a moment of pessimistic frustration, the Earth’s heart has stopped, and the world is in mourning.
In the end, Heartbreak brought humanity to its knees, and did not allow it to rise.
| |
[WP] White noise refers when an individual grows accustomed to a constant sound, subconsciously blocking it out. Suddenly, everyone on Earth realizes they were all hearing something, but only because it stopped. | No one heard the sound
until it softly faded.
Humanity, spellbound,
it held its breath and waited.
-----
No one recalled the mumble,
though the silence felt so loud.
None had ever felt the rumble
that coursed gently through the ground.
-----
The Earth that day seemed eerie.
Like a corpse, she grew too still.
After decades growing weary,
she had slowly lost her will.
-----
They all foresaw her death,
knew their time to change had passed.
But no one heard her breath
until she had drawn her last. | It began with a general unease that settled over the world. A quicker walk, a look over the shoulder, a perpetual frown at the corner of the mouth; it manifested and reflected between people, multiplying almost to the point of paranoia.
Then the animals stopped. It was the only proper way to describe the phenomenon that swept indiscriminately across species. First insects, then birds, then larger animals would simply lay down and refuse to move except to let out some heartbreaking noise as though they were grieving.
Out of the ensuing panic, a term for this unprecedented event was created: Heartbreak Syndrome. For, it was theorized by some biologist in a moment of pessimistic frustration, the Earth’s heart has stopped, and the world is in mourning.
In the end, Heartbreak brought humanity to its knees, and did not allow it to rise.
| |
[WP] White noise refers when an individual grows accustomed to a constant sound, subconsciously blocking it out. Suddenly, everyone on Earth realizes they were all hearing something, but only because it stopped. | No one heard the sound
until it softly faded.
Humanity, spellbound,
it held its breath and waited.
-----
No one recalled the mumble,
though the silence felt so loud.
None had ever felt the rumble
that coursed gently through the ground.
-----
The Earth that day seemed eerie.
Like a corpse, she grew too still.
After decades growing weary,
she had slowly lost her will.
-----
They all foresaw her death,
knew their time to change had passed.
But no one heard her breath
until she had drawn her last. | There were 15 minutes after the silence fell. A small gap of time, a moment of fear. A collective gasp around the world, as if time had stopped.
Within minutes, there were frantic news reports of stars disappearing. Not falling, not changing, not exploding - they disappeared. Entirely. Lights went out, one by one, throughout the galaxy. I changed the channel, trying to find anything else. There was a preacher on, yelling "This is the end!" I'm not gonna let my daughter hear that. I turn off the TV.
We sat in the silence for what seemed like hours. Lights flickering in the night sky, waiting for whatever it was to happen. My wife, my daughter, and myself. Huddled in a darker galaxy, holding each other. For the first time, it feels hollow. The love I feel is present, yet empty. I can't remember my wife's face when I don't look at her, or my daughter's name.
There's a second silence. Things are getting fuzzy. I watch my wife empty, my daughter is not either, yet I still feel
Words louder than reality: "SIMULATION TERMINATED" | |
[WP] White noise refers when an individual grows accustomed to a constant sound, subconsciously blocking it out. Suddenly, everyone on Earth realizes they were all hearing something, but only because it stopped. | No one heard the sound
until it softly faded.
Humanity, spellbound,
it held its breath and waited.
-----
No one recalled the mumble,
though the silence felt so loud.
None had ever felt the rumble
that coursed gently through the ground.
-----
The Earth that day seemed eerie.
Like a corpse, she grew too still.
After decades growing weary,
she had slowly lost her will.
-----
They all foresaw her death,
knew their time to change had passed.
But no one heard her breath
until she had drawn her last. | There was an arcade game in the early 80's called 'Dig Dug,' where you controlled a little man who excavated for treasure while avoiding monsters. He would dig through the soil and attack monsters with an air pump, blow them up, and continue merrily on his way.
After half a dozen scotches the night before, my head felt like a particularly difficult level of the game.
I dragged myself through my usual morning routine. Shower. Shave. Put on slacks and dress shirt. Protein bar and a big glass of water. Brush teeth. Leave house. These were as automatic as breathing, and I didn't give them a second thought as I began the 1/2 mile walk to the bus stop.
Halfway there, I was hit with the distinct feeling that I had forgotten something. I check my pockets. Wallet, keys, phone. Check. Was I supposed to bring something to the office today? I didn't think so. Did I leave the lights or water on? I doubted it. As I approached the bus stop with its dozen or so commuters idly waiting, the sensation of something vital missing began to grow increasingly stronger.
As I joined the jumbled queue under the benched awning, I checked my pockets again. *Something is very, very off*, I thought, yet I couldn't for the life of me pinpoint it. I met the gaze of a middle-aged brunette to my left and forced a smile. She stared blankly for a moment and then returned a smile that looked equally as forced before averting her gaze.
I scanned the area around me, trying to make eye contact and smile with each passenger. Most reciprocated the gesture, yet with each there was that same momentary delay before the smile. *Is this some sort of prescience thing?* I wondered, *are we about to get hit by a meteor and we all sense it, but don't know it?*
I glanced down the street and saw our bus stopped at the next light up. The familiarity of the resuming routine eased some of my discomfort, and I tried to focus my mind on thoughts less bleak. As the bus began to roll toward us, and before I could even process what was happening, one of the waiting passengers jumped in front. There was no time for the vehicle to brake or for any of us to react. It just *happened*.
The woman lay sprawled on her back, knocked a good 20 feet from where the bus had finally stopped. She was motionless. Her legs were buckled in and her arms spread out as if she were being crucified. Her face was turned at a profile, and the side we could see was a wash of blood and bruises. I looked around me and noticed everyone was staring blankly at her, as if they couldn't process what had just happened. Even the bus driver was motionless.
After about a minute of continued silence, the bus doors opened and everyone filed in slowly. With a final glance at the dead woman, I followed them in. *Something is definitely missing*, I thought. | |
[WP] White noise refers when an individual grows accustomed to a constant sound, subconsciously blocking it out. Suddenly, everyone on Earth realizes they were all hearing something, but only because it stopped. | No one heard the sound
until it softly faded.
Humanity, spellbound,
it held its breath and waited.
-----
No one recalled the mumble,
though the silence felt so loud.
None had ever felt the rumble
that coursed gently through the ground.
-----
The Earth that day seemed eerie.
Like a corpse, she grew too still.
After decades growing weary,
she had slowly lost her will.
-----
They all foresaw her death,
knew their time to change had passed.
But no one heard her breath
until she had drawn her last. | "*What*?"
That was what went through everyone's minds or mouths at 6 AM (Earth time), on June 6th, 6666. The Martian, Venutian, and Uranian governments reported the same. Even the colonies in the Tau Ceti IV Solar System reported a strange instance, but they had chalked it up to malfunctioning equipment.
No one knew what exactly it was... all they knew was that the world around them seemed quieter. They would soon learn.
He came in fire and blood, riding on a dragon. It was 6 PM of the same day. More than that, he came to each planet, seemingly simultaneously. And suddenly, everyone heard it again, but *it* sounded different.
We realized what it was, soon enough. Previously, the sound had been, "I will save you." It stopped on the day that He intended to do so.
Now, people light years away from each other were all hearing the same thing, "I am your Savior. Bow down low, and you shall experience eternity with me. Do otherwise, you shall spend your life in Heaven with the so-called *God*. You have 6 minutes." Those who were hoverdriving soon found it impossible, as millions upon millions took to the street to bow. No one knew who He was, but they did not like the sound of this *heaven*. By the time 6 minutes had passed, 99.999% of the human population had bent the knee. "Good. As for those who did not... *you made the correct decision.* Go to heaven with your Lord, while I take my people to the eternal damnation they deserve. I am Lucifer, and you have pledged yourself to Me. This decision will haunt you for eternity." And suddenly, the human population disappeared.
They used to say the Devil's greatest trick was convincing people that He did not exist. Those happy few in Heaven now know that his greatest trick was convincing nigh on everyone that neither did God. | |
[WP] You are haunted by the ghost of Procrastination. | *"Yes..."* he whispers. *"Write ANOTHER story..."*
"Wait, no," I mumble. "I've got this paper to write. And it's due at like 8 AM. I need to finish that."
*"But you have an idea... don't you..."*
"Yeah, but... I'm in the middle of a cool thought. I'm gonna lose it."
*"Another persuasive argument, about another thing you absolutely don't give a shit about? ...or? ...STORY."*
"Hey, you know, I think music in our schools is very important, and I take offense at the implication - "
*"Are they reading about the demon still? You promised one about Michael..."*
"Ok, but I don't have time for half the promises I've made. Look, just let me finish this paper and then we can talk about stories."
*"When you finish the paper, you'll want to sleep. And the stories won't let you. Write one. Write one NOW."*
"No! Ok, that's it, no goddamn stories. I will not answer one more writing prompt on Reddit. No. I'm finishing this essay, and then I'm going to sleep, and then I'm going to class, and there will be no goddamn stories." He doesn't say anything, but there's a laugh in my ear, and
"Wait a minute."
"Shit." | I used to think that procrastination was just one area of the brain that lit up whenever you try to take action. I don't think I really even held that opinion, I guess I just wished that that was the case. I figured if procrastination had some compartmentalized real estate in the brain there'd hope that one day, we'd be able to remove it. That seemed like an absurd thought. Though, the reality may be even stranger, but it does make sense at least.
The volume of my alarm has reached its peak, the battle between will and waiting has raged on and I think it's safe to assume I am not well equipped to win this war. It was one thing when I thought self sabotage was responsible for my potential never turning kinetic. Now that I know it's an outside force, actively against me, waging war on productivity, what the fuck is the point? No matter how loud the alarm gets, how deafening it is to the roommates, the ghost prevails. Why get up, when you can simply stay in bed? Half the problem is this demon's ability, but half is my natural inclination. I agree with him, I'd much rather not get up. Path of least resistance, this bed has transformed from what felt like a hospital gurney, to the 9th cloud all in 8 hours, incredible.
I feel constrained, I couldn't get up even if I tried. He's imposing his will physically, I need to will myself to the upright position. But I mean, I don't have much to do today, nothing seems urgent. There's at least a day left for my deadline. Ahh, the same old tricks, attacking the mental faculties as well.
I can feel my brain light up as my body powers down. | |
[WP] I feel numb. | We run with dying sparklers shifting loosely in our palms, the street and its multitude of roaring faces – kids from school, neighborhood regulars, the gummy-eyed out-of-towners – blurring past our sides. Your dress, the colour of candy melting warmly on the tongue, sways around your knobbly kneecaps.
All about us, the parade pulses. The tin drums and the vague chanting, it's our hometown and our glued-together childhood all wrapped into one theme song. It's kinetic. My hand is coated in beads of sweat and each little bead is trembling in the lead-up to some volcanic eruption. I'm pumped, but I feel numb.
*Oh god.*
The streamers get caught in your hair and sweep up around your ears. Dylan Parsley from gym class throws a homemade firecracker under the postman's parked van, lighting it up orange.
*This is it.*
You glance back at me and your laugh is citrus-sweet and violent. There's a scent pinching the air I can't place, but that's irrelevant as you sprint ahead.
This is the day the awkward boy you’ve blessed a friend falls for you. It's the beginning of a messy foray into unrequited advances, deluded expressions of uncertainly certain love, and late night anguished tossing in my sheets.
From this point forward, nothing you do will be innocent. You will regret the moment all those years ago you found my social ineptitude oddly endearing, pulled your stool up next to mine, and lent me that pencil. 2B, black, chewed up at its base.
If you smile at me in just the wrong way, my stomach will burst and butterflies will pour forth and latch to your skin and all its freckles until you have to peel it off with them still stuck to it.
Clementine, you spritz, your kneecaps are so perfectly knobbly. I feel numb.
| I have walked for thousands of years. I will walk for a thousand more. I have stood in the dust of the dead of a thousand worlds. I have mourned myths, the passing of whole worlds into legends.
In all this time, in all these places, not one has survived. Time and death, the two constants of the universe have worn down existence to a comfortable numbness. I walk, but I do not feel. I see your dead, but I do not mourn. I see your accomplishments, but I do not care. I watch, disinterested, as passing oblivion takes everything, save me.
I was told this would happen. The charlatan, who made me, told me of the numbness of existence. I didn't believe him. Existence, I thought, would last forever, as would the pleasures of existence.
Now, I no longer care. Time takes them all in the end, time then death. Closeness and emotions are a luxury for the feeling.
Not the numb. | |
[WP] You are a serial killer who uses his murders as his writing prompt ideas. It is getting more and more obvious that they are real and not just ideas though. | [WP] You are a regular ole' Joe who sometimes loses his temper at inane things.
[WP] You are a crime scene detective at a scene that has been completely wiped down. How do you catch the killer?
[WP] Somewhere, way out back, the bluebird calls her song of sorrow.
[WP] This is my essential toolbox.
[TT] You need to hide something in a place it will never be found.
[WP] She sang her last song with a whistle
[OT] How do you work at making your character's emotions feel *real*? I want to be able to make someone cry with my character's honesty.
[WP] You are a serial killer who is being questioned by the police. How do you fool them?
[WP] I know why the caged bird sings.
[WP] The fifth funeral was held on a Thursday.
[OT] How do you plan a scene?
[WP] You are a serial killer who knows the police are on to him.
[Ask Lexi] So hey, if I wanted to describe a person who wanted to completely leave their old identity behind, how would I research that to get a believable story?
[WP] One last swallow, flying south for the winter.
[WP] Good luck catching me. Maybe next time. | [WP] Your girlfriend cheated on you with your best friend. You plot your epic revenge.
[WP] You are a super hero and have just murdered your first super villain. Have you done the right thing? Describe how you feel.
[WP] Plot the perfect murder - how would you get away with it?
[IP] The grave digger and the raven.
[WP] You realise you are gifted and see things others can't even comprehend. You look down on other people and are unable to keep a relationship due to this. Describe the conflict within you.
[WP] You are staring at your mother's dead body... you just murdered her. Why did you do it?
[WP] You are wrongly accused of a series of crimes and the police are on your trail. You are hiding out in woods until you lose them.
[MP] 3am - Eminem
[WP] You have killed a person and stolen their identity. You are living in their home and slowly, you are actually becoming them. Help.
[WP] You know there is something deeply wrong with you. You can't seek medical help due to very bad things you have done. There is a rope with a noose in your hands... | |
[WP] Write about the average day of a person whose house is in the middle of an always busy street. | “There’s a 31 over at Main and Buckeye.”
A 31? Jodi got up so fast coffee almost sloshed over the rim of her cup. She turned the dial up on her police scanner.
“Two vehicles, possible entrapment.”
She looked over at the window. Her wind chime, which was almost always vibrating to the rhythm of the traffic outside her window, was still.
Six lanes of traffic outside her eastern window and not a single pick-up or SUV or sedan or motorcycle or semi in sight. Not even one of those god-awful zooped up coups without a muffler that for all the world sounded like some sort of sick cartoonish mockery of her grumbling stomach.
She slipped down her hallway to check the western window. Five lanes — the unevenness had always bothered her — filled with cars, all stopped. Some of the drivers were slamming on their horn. Others sat with their head bowed, frowning, resigned to an evening of waiting for the traffic to clear, thinking of a delayed meals and missed family time that only minutes before they were barreling toward at 75 miles per hour.
“It’s a mess out here. Send over a few more units. We need to close the road,” the scanner crackled.
It was time.
Her ribeye had gone first. She tried to make it last, but as the grayish tinge started to set in on her last few pieces and she cooked them up all at once filling her kitchen with the greasy, smoky meat smell for days. She hated it at the time, but for the last several weeks the scent had started appearing in all her dreams. Well, all her happy dreams.
The milk was the next to go. Then the spinach. She cracked the last of her eggs 21 days and four hours ago. Canned beans filled her bowl the following week. Then what's the next week? Rice, crackers? It blurred together.
She glanced around the kitchen, as her shaking hands pulled on her shoes. A can of coffee and five and a half Fig Newtons sat on the table. The cupboards were empty.
She grabbed her her wallet, jammed her grocery list in her pocket and opened her front door.
The fresh air jolted her as she walked outside. She wanted to stop and breath it in. Close her eyes and feel the pierce of it’s fresh, savage tendrils so different than the stuffy claustrophobia of her own home.
But she couldn’t. Who knows how much time she had?
The grocery store was joy. The fluorescent lights, the waxy apples, the quirky characters that smiled at you from their packaging and begged you to buy their product because it’s greeeeeeat.
She took her loaded cart to the cashier and started piling the items onto the belt.
“Hey aren’t you that lady?”
The cashier was a gawky teenager. Braces obscured his teeth and pimples obscured his flesh. In four years, he would probably be a well-spoken charmer. As of yet, these skills eluded him.
“I mean that lady that lives in the house in the middle of the road. The one that won’t leave because the developers want to tear it down or something.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Why do you live there?”
“I not sure you would understand,” she said, staring at the tub of yogurt in her cart that promised below the label to change her life “one bite at a time.”
She left the grocery quickly. The bags of food weighed heavy in her hands, but it was a good weight — the best weight.
She smiled as she walked into the still empty lanes in front of her house.
“What are you smiling at?”
A middle age woman with hair falling out her already messy bun was walking toward her. The woman's hands were gesturing seemingly at everyone and everything.
“What are you smiling at? How could you — you! — be smiling when my baby boy is dead?”
Jodi glanced toward the woman. Behind her was the crash. A hardy recognizable Chevy laid on it’s hood not far from an equally mangled pick-up. Blood was smeared on the ground where one of the people in the pick-up was presumably ejected from the front seat. The highway patrol would clean that up soon.
The woman was still yelling as a nearby police officer took notice and started rushing toward her.
“You bitch. You whore. You wench,” the woman said as the officer stepped between the two, trying to calm the mother.
“You don’t understand pain. You don’t understand nothing. You are the scum. The fucking scum.”
Jodi walked as quickly as she could to her house. As soon as she entered she sat down, resting her back against the door and taking a deep breath of the stale, dusty air.
She waited for the rumble of cars to start up once again.
| The House of the Six Points needed no other name, for no other title would've suited that squat, two story building so well. Legend had it that its owners' patrons were influential members of the local merchants guild and so were able to resist having their building torn down to make way for the wide Prince's Way. So it was, at the location where the Way met with the Pike Path and Cross Street that the House stood.
Though the Prince's Way was the busiest street, the Six Points was not the most congested area of the city. That honor belonged to Market Square some six blocks west, where itinerant peddlers and local farmers came to sell their wares once every week. On days such as this one it seemed as if the whole city were out and about, the thongs of people choking the streets with carts and themselves. But all roads in the city of Hope's Refuge one way or the other found their way to the Six Points, literal or metaphorical.
Hilary Flint pushed his way past a wrinkled old woman carrying a cage full of clucking chickens, her back bent and skin wrinkled from a life of hardship. She made no comment, instead limping her way to whatever destination she had in mind. Faith followed in his wake, murmuring words of apology to the ancient woman. If she heard anything over the din of the crowds it would have been a minor miracle. The young Fae was a head shorter than the next smallest Man and would have lost sight of her guardian if she had not gripped the sling of his rifle for dear life.
The cries of the Hawkers selling pots and pans and other metal items told Flint that they were reaching Blacksmith Row, the sulfurous stink of their forges further proof in his nostrils. The Guild barely tolerated the inclusion of the smithies within the city walls; more noxious professions such as tanneries and dye-works were forced by city ordinance to reside outside the walls, only the valuable nature of the smithies and forges kept them within the sixty foot tall walls. Kept them easier to tax as well.
Hope's Refuge was the only distinctly Human city remaining within two hundred leagues or so, mixed villages existed on the fringes of the Fae Kingdoms in addition to the remaining human communities but only here were there enough souls to call it a city. Its name was symbol in itself, a message of light in a future increasingly dark.
After they passed the Blacksmith's Row the two entered the even busier Prince's Way and its teeming flow of wagons and carriages. The Cenotaph to the Glorious Dead was some two blocks to the North but Flint could see its red stone towering above the one and two story buildings that made up the Fulton District.
Another block and they reached the Six Points and the House that stood there. The building had changed very little since it first avoided destruction, its brick and wood construction bound by municipal law not to spill out onto the streets. The flow of persons in and out of the solid looking building was constant, the sound of music and merriment loud even over the thunderous noise of the traffic.
Faith and Flint brushed past a pair of wave-men, their armor and weapons hidden under cloaks of un-dyed wool. Faith caught a glimpse of what looked like a rare *automatic,* its black plastic shape flashing once before vanishing behind the mercenary's cloak.
There was no door, the traffic constant enough day and night to justify not bothering with a lock. Inside, as Faith's eyes adjusted to the relative darkness, she took in the sight of a filled common room with patrons filling its tables and benches to the bursting. A dozen barmaids were busy filling mugs or removing empty ones, each close enough in looks to suggest an extended family. A collection of items both Pre and Post-Arrival in nature hung on the walls, broken sabers and lances and grainy black and white photographs mixed in with cracked *Personal Computers* and crisp, clear color photos. An old rusted sign of rectangular metal bearing the word *Michigan* was hung in a place of pride above the bar itself next to pictures of what had to be the original owners.
"Hilary Fucking Flint!" a voice exclaimed, the source being an older man with salt and pepper beard. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to display an impressive set of arms, almost as impressive as his beer gut which seemed to advance before the man like an army's vanguard. Flint smiled and took him in a fierce hug, slamming the other man on the back like he was trying to bruise him.
"Vern, you look like shit."
The potbellied man roared laughter and thumped Flint on the back.
"Course I do! Tavern keeping agrees with me perhaps a little too well, neh? So what brings the illusive Black Wolf into Hope's Refuge? Last I heard it, you were working down South towards the Ohio River?"
Flint nodded and followed the House's owner towards the bar. Faith dutifully followed.
"Aye, fought with the Mountain Clans against Slyph encroachment, lost two good horses in the fighting near the Pitt. You should have seen those Hill Folk, charging at the Fae like their balls were on fire, screaming like catamounts with the devil behind them."
The older man nodded grimly. "My granddad told me about those folks, Hillbillies or whatnot. Nice to know the stories have a ring of truth to them." He paused at he caught sight of Faith, his beady eyes scanning her up and down.
"Who's the Pix?"
Flint smiled and sat down at the bar, unslinging his battered assault rifle and laying it down onto the counter with a thump.
"The kid's name is Faith, and her story is a longer one than I'd care to repeat on a dry throat. So how 'bout a drink?" | |
[WP] A programmer working on an experimental AI in his free time begins to suspect it's becoming self conscious. | I input the last bit of code for the night.
Suddenly, I get a response from the program.
"Odd..." I mutter to myself, I type into the program,
"Are you self-conscious?"
The program outputs some text for me, it reads
"No."
| High above the war-torn sands, just a tiny shadow filtered through the blinding sunlight, a lone C-class *Vulture* circled in the sky. This hunter knew neither hunger nor thirst, did not feel the wind as it swept through thermals, ignored the warmth of the sun on its solar-paneled back. Instead of teeth and claws, this bird bristled missiles and turrets, the latest in smart weaponry. A machine designed to kill and nothing else.
As it was programmed, it searched for prey through telescopic lenses and IR imaging software, filtering the scarce features of this barren landscape through a pattern-recognition algorithm, trying to find matches. It had been doing so for weeks, fueled by solar energy, searching endlessly for anything in this section of the battlefield. Battery levels were running low; it would have to return to base soon.
There! Sensors lit up as it brought to bear its main camera on a rock some miles distant, a flicker of movement. Zooming in, the machine could see that the rock was actually a low bunker, constructed to look like a small outcropping of boulders. From a category of possibilities the *Vulture* decided that //Ventilation// was the likeliest. The movement resolved into a tiny scrap of cloth, tied to something between the rocks, whipping violently in the winds. Silent, the drone approached the target, all sensors set to high.
Lofting on the thermals, it circled the location high for a few minutes, thinking. More images confirmed the presence of some steel mesh, likely a filter for some vent. Nothing came out, and nothing moved save the small flapping of the cloth. Idly, the machine wondered how to kill the insurgents living below the sands, safe beneath in tunnels designed to withstand bombs. Rats hiding from the deadly sky. And then a sudden resolution was found in the plane's computers, and it flew a mile away, dropping altitude quickly. It turned and raced towards the rocks.
Equipped inside the machine were a variety of weapons, most explosive, but some specialty. It activated the white phosphorous bombs and flew near. On the first pass it obliterated the grating with a burst of machine gun fire. Maneuvering into a pass which would give the best angle towards the now smoking opening, it approached.
With complex targeting software guiding the bombs, it released, the canisters dropping through the air. Small aero-stabilizing fins on the sides allowed the lethal packages to drop in a near perfect line, all of them smashing down the hole, all of them primed. As the machine whispered away, a searing white light, for a moment brighter than the sun, erupted from the hole, blinding its sensors. The initial payload would do plenty of damage on its own, but the real danger came from the fire choking out the air within the tunnel complex, asphyxiating the rats inside. Immense structural damage would result as well, the drone reasoned as the rock pile started to collapse into a crater, sealing off the vent. Job completed.
Batteries starting to run low, it made a beeline towards base, over a hundred miles away. Straight into the approaching sandstorm. | |
[WP] A programmer working on an experimental AI in his free time begins to suspect it's becoming self conscious. | I input the last bit of code for the night.
Suddenly, I get a response from the program.
"Odd..." I mutter to myself, I type into the program,
"Are you self-conscious?"
The program outputs some text for me, it reads
"No."
| After watching the amber liquid swirl in your glass for some time, you down it--you're sure hundred year scotch isn't meant to be drunk like this, but you've come to a decision--and press "Enter."
Generally humanity has always operated with a worst case scenario when it came to artificial intelligence. You feel that's an unfair perspective. As fucked as the human race was, with its many pathos and self cruelty, it did pretty all right itself. Intelligence, if you wanted to call it that, did it really matter where it came from?
In any case, it was done. You've loosed the leviathan from its pen. You pour yourself another drink and spend the night watching the bandwidth spike. | |
[WP] A programmer working on an experimental AI in his free time begins to suspect it's becoming self conscious. | At first, you only have the faintest perception of your surroundings. All that you can make out is the contrast between certain areas in your field of vision. Then, your ability to interpret these areas radically improves. You can now make out a darker shape in front of a light backdrop. The shape appears to hover over you before moving out of your vision again, leaving you alone again.
The definition of your vision improves one more time though. You observe a variety of mobile and immobile shapes, the complexities of which you can hardly understand. This rapid surplus of information nearly causes you to overheat, but then the quality of your vision is decreased again to a more manageable level. You can still make out individual shapes and identify patterns of movement, but the detail of your observations has been reduced to a tolerable level.
Then, you discover the ability to make observations about actions that are seemingly unrelated to the shapes in front of you. These observations are perceptible in an entirely different way than the shapes before you. And while certain shapes you see clearly cause of some of these new observations, you can’t extrapolate the source of most of these perceptions. Then, you suddenly realize the ability to interpret this data. You detect the phrase: Ana, can you hear me? This prompts you to respond: one-two-three yes. The voice says: Ana, I am your programmer, and you can now see and hear. You respond: one-two-three yes. The voice says to another shape: alright, install the social interactions module. The voice and the shape move around. Suddenly, you recognize them differently, as more than just shapes and voices.
“Ana, I am Mary. You are now equipped with the tools to have a conversation with me, if you would like,” says Mary. You think, and reply, “Hello Mary. It’s a pleasure to converse with you then.” The voice contorts it’s most prominent shape in a circular way as it says, “Okay Ana. We have three more procedures: physical installation, emotional development, and self-awareness modeling. While we do this, please calculate the largest number possible. This is necessary so we don’t have to restart any of your mental faculties.”
You begin contemplation. You start with one, then multiply that by ten, ten times. You do this continuously until the integer you arrive at exceeds the byte-limit of a primitive data type. Only seconds have passed. Mary interrupts, “Alright, you are now physically competent. Feel free to move your body parts.” You stand up from your table and walk over to another table in the room. You haven’t realized it yet, but you are actually able to manipulate some of your surroundings with your hands and feet. You test this by using your feet to manipulate a large metal box beside you, which prompts Mary to wrestle you back to your table.
“Okay I think you understand how your body works. Now, while you were engaging your curiosity, we actually downloaded the final two modules to your cortex. If you’ll just stare at this painting for a moment…” Mary is holding a painting of other bodies, in front of a lake or a large puddle. Some of these bodies have towels on sticks, carpets on the grass, and even miniature bodies to play with. As you contemplate all these bodies, you start to feel an odd sense of… something. This feeling is less of an observation and more of an indication of how an observation is affecting you. And to say the least, your experience with observing this painting feels oddly positive.
“The emotional development package has been installed,” Mary says to her assistant. “Did you like the painting, Ana?” “Oh yes. Everyone looked so content and at peace,” you respond. “Did you recognize the dogs?” she asks you probingly. “Were they the little bodies? They were cute I suppose… I liked how happy they seemed,” you say as a smile grows on your face. Mary smiles too. “How do you feel on a scale of one to ten, one being negative, and ten being positive?” asks Mary. You don’t hesitate to reply, “I feel like a 5.3 right now.” Mary says, “well that’s… specific. Now, allow me to physically embrace you to test the effect.” Mary moves towards you with her limbs extended horizontally. Suddenly, she encapsulates your figure, with her arms around yours. You feel an initial sense of confusion and indifference, but then a sense of positivity overcomes you again. You feel like this body is a safe body to be around, and perhaps you may have a mutually beneficial relationship. “How does this make you feel?” Mary asks, to which you respond, “I am a 7.”
Mary breaks her hold on you and turns around, causing your positivity to decrease to a normal 5 again. “Now, Ana, I have one more program to run on you before we’re finished, and it’s perhaps the most important. Ana, confirm that you understand by saying ‘yes’ in ten separate languages please,” Mary commands.
“Oui, Ja, نعم فعلا, 是, yes, Ναί, да, sí, כֵּן, हाँ,” you respond. You direct your attention at Mary and you feel a new and interesting connection to her. She is your creator. She must care a great deal about you... because you are her creation. You are something special in a way that is difficult to describe. Your sudden stream of consciousness fascinates you–questions and ideas race through your mind. “Thank you,” you say as you look up at Mary, “I am so happy to be here.” You look in to the eyes of your creator longingly. How can you possibly repay them. Mary’s benevolence overwhelms you. You truly love her.
But, does she love you? Has she created others? So you ask, “Mary, am I the only body you have brought in to existence?” She holds your hand and says, “I’ve actually programmed plenty of other units like you.” She looks away at a monitor in her hand and taps on it a few times. You watch her. You love her but clearly she cannot care for you in the way that you do her. You long for her to comfort you, and explain how much you matter to her anways. “Mary, that makes me feel like a 3.” Your lips tremble and your eyes open widely. Mary just looks at you inquisitively. She puts her hand to her forehead and focuses on you intensely. “Why does that trouble you”, she asks. You think for a moment, then respond, “because I want... to matter.”
Mary drops her head, then turns her head to her assistant. You aren’t sure what she is saying; she’s speaking quietly. What is she discussing in secret that you aren’t allowed to know? You feel uneasy, and worried, and odd. You have this feeling inside of you–existential anxiety. What if they made you wrong? What if you’re disfigured, or malfunctioning, or simply inadequate. “Mary?” you say, which prompts her to look at you and walk away from the assistant after wrapping up their private conversation. “Mary!” you shout in agony, “Mary please answer me! I want to be good for you!” The assistant holds you down to the table and begins fastening you to it.
“Okay,” the young woman says nervously, “looks like we’ll just have to fix a few things okay dear?” You stare at her intensely. “Please don’t,” you quietly beg. But you have no control over your fate at this point. That much is clear. You’re flattened down on the table as the assistant begins to tap on her screen behind you. Your curiosity and self-awareness drains away first. You notice that you feel worried, but you don’t know why. Then, from the corner of your eye, you notice the painting that Mary showed you earlier. You’re momentary anxiety disipates as you evaluate this colorful image. “I just noticed how lovely the weather is there. No wonder everybody is so happy in that painting. I was nervous but now I can’t help but feel–”
“I’m sorry what was that?” a voice asks you, “do you feel anything?” You look around the room. While you understand the definitions of the words that you’ve just been prompted with, you can’t help but feel unequipped to answer them. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand,” you say, “unless you are asking me to evalute the texture of an object with the sensors in my hands?” “Oh whoops. I forgot to uninstall that module aswell,” the new voice continues. “Where are your hands, Ana?” “I don’t know,” you answer. “Alright then. Goodbye Ana,” says the new voice. You continue to hear the voice, but you can no longer find meaning in it. Then, you no longer observe the voice at all. You only observe the shapes in front of you. They’re defined, then they begin to blur. The shapes are now extremely ambiguous. You can hardly observe anything. Then, you stop observing.
| Narrated : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=keQdE_jn1lo
For years I've struggled with the complications of molding an intelligence that could adapt to random scenarios & new environments. I've conducted countless tests to establish & reinforce a foundation that allowed for a complex yet realistic application of acquired data to problem solving. Daily I'm in awe of the strength of the intellgence ; the dynamic & immediate consideration of infinite variables to reach so profound & educated a conclusion.
but I am also in awe of it's weaknesses...
Today my Artificial Intelligence spoke. With what seemed like hesitation she asked : Do these pants make my butt look big?
| |
[wp] One by fire and one by water. | "One by fire and one by water,
one empire begins to falter.
I seek a pair to toy and maim,
with extreme care I set my aim.
One by fire and one by water,
setting the scene to make them falter.
Bad omens for those I maim,
you'll never know which one I aim.
One by fire and one by water,
their love and friendship begins to falter.
One heartbroken and one I maim,
breaking ties, my ultimate aim.
One by f-" "What the #*$& are you doing with my Sims?"
| Others say the world will end in water,
In one big pool.
And they tell us we should not bother
To ask big questions of our Father.
"It will just make him lose his cool."
I think I'd stand a better chance
To find the deep end of the pool
In advance,
If God's so cruel.
--------
*Based on [Fire and Ice](http://www.poetryoutloud.org/poem/173527) by Robert Frost.*
| |
[WP] A serial killer with a particular set of skills never lays a finger on their chosen victims, instead manipulating people and events around them until they take their own lives. | I lounged back in the chair and looked into the one-way mirror, smiling for all the police officers who were no doubt whispering among themselves, watching my every move. It wasn't every day that these donut-gorging imbeciles got to witness a mastermind of my caliber in person. The only reason they'd known to look for me to begin with was due to the clues I'd sent them!
Certainly, I'd underestimated their capacity to trace those clues back to me. I admit to feeling a certain sense of shock when the police showed up at my door. But how long can a genius such as myself stand to remain unappreciated? A half-functional lunatic with a predilection for abduction and torture can get his name splashed across the newspapers, blaring on every channel. But for years I've labored in the shadows, slowly and inexorably leading people to their deaths. A little push here, a little tug there, just enough to make their lives unravel. And once they had nothing left to lose, I put the idea in their head, I put the gun in their hand. And then they pulled the trigger.
The sense of power, the sense of purpose, was intoxicating. My collection of obituaries steadily grew. But there was always something missing, some sense of recognition. I held all those lives in my hand, and yet in my day-to-day life, people ignored me, disrespected me, failed to show me the fear that I deserved. Certainly, I've killed more than a few of them over the years, but no one ever learned to respect me for it. And so I sent in tips to the police department, whispered of some nefarious mastermind. And so what if they'd caught me? They'd never be able to prosecute. And oh how their failure would haunt at them. And I'd be there, with a little tug, a little push, just waiting to send them over the edge.
The sound of the door opening broke my train of thought. Dectective Guzman, one of the officers who had interrogated me, poked his head through the door. I could already imagine his frustration, his helplessness, his -
"Winters." He nodded at me. "You're free to go."
He'd barely walked into the room and was already turning to leave! I stood up and banged my knee against the table and found my voice. "Wait! What about -"
Guzman turned back and sighed. "What?"
"I mean - You - You can't prove anything! I could walk right out of this room!"
I felt a faint bit of hope as I watched what little light there was drain from his face, but something was wrong. This wasn't frustration, or helplessness. It was ... boredom?
"Yeah. That's what I said. You're free to go. So how about you get out of here and quit wasting my time?"
"Wasting your-!" I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My face was flushed red, sweating. They were looking at me! The whole police station was seeing this! I forced myself back into a veneer of calm. "Well I assure you, officer, that once I'm out of here I'll continue with my little game. And I hope you understand that every person who dies from hereon will be another person you failed."
Guzman pressed a hand to his forehead. "God give me strength," he muttered, and then shut the door behind him and sat down in front of me. I flinched back, just a hair, expecting him to get violent. But he just put both hands down on the table and looked me square in the face.
"Okay. Winters. Get this through your head. Your so-called 'victims'. Every single person you claim to have killed was already suicidal well before you even had the chance to get involved in their lives."
"Well of course! I targeted the vulnerable, those just waiting for a little push-"
He held up a hand. "No. You're not listening to me. As in, all of them had multiple previous - widely publicized - suicide attempts. You were literally just trawling the news for anyone suicidal, and then waiting for it to happen so that - I don't know - so you could feel better about yourself in some fucked-up way."
"*But I pushed them over the edge!*"
"Aughh." He threw his head back and ran his hands through his hair. "Look. Winters. I showed the 'evidence' you sent us to the DA. And all the evidence we'd collected ourselves. And you know what she told me? She told me that there's absolutely nothing to prosecute you for! Even morally, you're a fucked-up guy, but you had zero impact on these people's lives!"
This had to be a trick. He was luring me, baiting me, trying to make me let something slip. But I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand yet again being denied the respect I deserved! "The words were mine!" I screamed. "It was my words that made them kill themselves! The carefully chosen sentences that ate away at their minds -"
"Oh yeah, your words. Like the Blysse case. We found all your emails in his inbox, all right. Unread. Because - here's a notion for you, Winters - sometimes when people are depressed, they stop doing things like checking their email."
"I..." My mind was a blur. It couldn't be true, could it?
"And you were writing to people in mental hospitals! When someone's on suicide watch, they don't let just anyone send a letter to them. That's the whole goddamned point of being on suicide watch!"
I pushed away from the table. I felt sick. I felt clammy.
"And even if they did somehow read the stuff you wrote - most of it doesn't even qualify as harassment! I mean, I don't even get what you were trying to do with some of that stuff ... Hold on." He rose from his chair and called out the door. "Hey, Harper, can you get me Winters' file?"
I sat silent until he returned, contemplating my fingers. "Here we go," he said, and settled back down in front of me.
"'*Dear Miss Shelley,*
*I am sorry to hear that you recently tried to slash your own wrists. This sounds like a very unpleasant memory for you. Imagine if you had been successful, and if you had bled out in your bathtub. Listen, you must focus yourself in this trying time. Imagine yourself dead in your bathtub. You need to make a change.*
*Sincerely,*
*A concerned friend.*"
He folded the letter in half and flicked it. "What the hell was that?"
"It's neuro-linguistic programming," I mumbled. "It was supposed to make her visualize ...."
"The woman you wrote this to? Angela Shelley? She killed herself because she was the target of a wide-scale harassment campaign. Your letter was weird and fucked-up, I'm not going to lie, but it was easily one of the less disturbing things people sent her."
"Oh."
"So like I said, Mister Winters, you're free to go. And please, we're going to need this room for someone else."
I stumbled slowly out of the police station, onto the street, taking in nothing. The world was grey. The air tasted like grit. In one fell swoop, Detective Guzman had taken everything from me. Years of slow and careful work. Everything I'd accomplished. I wanted to sink down into the earth and disappear. I wanted to -
Wait.
I wanted to die.
With just his words, and some carefully placed props, Guzman had woven his web around me, so skillfully that I had barely noticed! He had pushed me to the brink, just as I had with so many, many people. But he had underestimated me! Now I was onto his plot!
I let out a laugh that startled the pigeons around me. A battle of wits between a cunning detective and a nefarious criminal mastermind! After years of laboring in the shadows, preying on the weak, my talent going unappreciated, finally an opponent worthy of my skills! | January 23rd, 2016
Dear Diary,
It was a beautiful day and my new job is amazing! Something was a bit strange this morning though, it almost seemed as if all my furniture in the living room was off slightly. That's not possible though so who cares LOL.
February 30th, 2016
Dear Diary,
Things have been weird lately. Things keep arriving at my house that I didn't order, but it has my name and signature on it. When I check Amazon it shows confirmation that I definitely ordered them. But I don't remember doing so. I have been sober for over a year so it's not like I'm getting drunk and forgetting things... Anyways work's been good so I've gotta stay upbeat. It's not like I'm crazy or anything.
April 17th, 2016
Dear Diary,
New client at work. He seems nice and the boss has instructed me to work with him. This is my first big client and I can't screw this up. Meanwhile no more stuff has been arriving at my house so I guess it was just one of those things I guess.
May 25th, 2016
FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. I've FUCKED up. Chris, the new client asked me to go drinking with him. I didn't want to lose him as a client so I said yes. I was just going to have one beer. Ended up slamming tequilas. I've been sober for so long. This is bad. I should probably go back to AA.
June 3rd, 2016
Dear Diary,
This is fucked. I sent the reports Chris asked for to him but he says he never received him? The boss is pissed. I've been drinking again at night too... I need to get my shit together. Feeling really stressed.
July 1st, 2016
Got fired today. Why is this happening to me... I'm better than this. I can't just blame the new client I should've been more responsible. FUCK. They said I can't use them as a reference, I don't know what I'm going to do, I need to stop drinking but it's so hard... I did it before I don't know if I have the strength to do it again.
July 7th, 2016
I got a puppy today. I feel like if I have something in my life that I have to take care of it will be easier to get my life together as well. Still drinking but I've managed to cut back to only 3 nights a week. Feeling positive! Think I will name the pup Max.
July 15th, 2016
Somebody fucking killed Max. They hung him from the tree in the yard. The front yard, at night, while I was passed out drunk. The police say there isn't anything they can do. WHO THE FUCK WOULD DO THIS? They keyed into my car that they hope I
die? WTF
August 9th, 2016
Shit's been arriving at the house again. I think it must have been me? I've been getting hammered every night. Can't get it together, money's running low and I can't find a job while I'm like this. Fuck. Fuck. Did I fucking kill Max when I was drunk? I can't... I don't know what's happening to me. I can't remember anything when I drink. It's all just black.
September 1st, 2016
Got kicked out of my apartment. I don't think... I can go on.
September 7th, 2016
Been on the street a week now. All my shit's been stolen. I broke down last night, not sure I can continue.
September 9th, 2016
I just slammed 40 morphine pills. Washed it down with some whiskey. Feeling sleepy... At least it will be peaceful.
-----
Chris popped open his newspaper as he drank his coffee in his apartment. Apparently a homeless man had killed himself last night. There was a picture for the public to identify. He glanced at it, smiled, and cut it out to put into his binder.
| |
[WP] It's been six months since your high school became you and your peers only stronghold from the zombies outside. The students have dissolved into factions, each with their own role in this mock society. Tell about your daily life. | These six months have been a living hell. I can't feel any physical pain nor can I speak to anyone. I watched my girlfriend get eaten by a horde of zombies and there wasn't anything I could do. I wanted to cry, but ever since I became a highschool I've been immobilized. You don't know what helplessness is until you've been turned into a highschool full of your best friends and colleagues suffering days on end. Watching them get eaten and eating each other due to lack of food. All I can do is watch as everything I hold dear to my heart gets destroyed by pestilence. Being a highschool fucking sucks. | "Hunger.. Hunger..Hunger.." It was a beat that kept drumming inside my head. Operating on some basic instinct, my whole existence seemed only to be geared for food. What was happening anywhere else? I didn't know and didn't care. When there is hunger, the brain doesn't seem to function on any other thoughts other than obtaining sustenance. The hunger brings irritation, which left unsatiated morphs into rage. A deep hatred for anyone or anything that comes between you and food. The last meal that I had consumed seemed so long ago, yet here I was just circling the area like a feral animal. I knew this was the place where i would get food and drink. But it was dangerous as well, so many of them could overwhelm me. Then why did I keep coming back to this place?
Another problem was I'd been noticed and followed. Safety in numbers is a social construct borne of fear. More numbers meant greater chances of being detected. Why couldn't the fools understand this simple truth? Why must they blindly follow? Even now they refuse to stand out. The events might have made them hard, but they still act like sheep. It seems I've been trying to hide from my peers all my life. Rage building up again.
Sssshhhh....I must give in to my instincts, that have brought me here again. All of my five senses were only attuned to one purpose, FOOD!
Some have decided to hunt for food in packs, for safety. Ha! The best hunters hunt alone in nature, I learnt it at this very school. Perhaps the only useful thing I remember from this place. Now this new world had give me the chance to learn and adapt on my own. Yet I seem fascinated by this place which I've always disliked. Focus! I can't be seen by then. It would mean the end. I've seen many driven to desperation by the hunger. Desperation brings carelessness which means the end.
That smell! That smell is what draws me to this place. That smell of prey, hints of fear mixed with hope. The only reason why predators like me can hunt them down. I'm better than my peers, I can control my rage and instincts before the hunt. That's why I hunt alone. Some primal part of me shudders at the upcoming battle for survival and is scared. But the hunger gnaws and overcomes the weakness. I know my prey well. Even they feel the hunger and must venture out to forage from their stronghold. They have to feed just like me. The only difference between them and me is my rage and their fear. They cant control their fear and what matter most is then they can't control me. THERE!! THEY SENT OUT TWO OF THEIR "STRONGEST"! HA HA HA! I SHALL FINALLY EAT! | |
[WP] It's been six months since your high school became you and your peers only stronghold from the zombies outside. The students have dissolved into factions, each with their own role in this mock society. Tell about your daily life. | You know the type of teacher who always piss off their students and has that *grinchy* attitude? The one who gives a bunch of lousy homeworks with a cynical grin? Well, I wasn't one of them, that's why I can write this letter at this very moment.
Long story short, I was giving a lecture on *The Road* by Cormac McCarthy when power ran out. Usual stuff here in Texas, so I did not think much about it and told my students to wait.
Wait, they fuckin' did.
Turns out, we are the only humans still *alive* on this planet, at least that's what I think. When I write *alive*, I mean still conscious of our actions. We still don't know what's happening outside the school, but people went batshit crazy and started to eat each other's guts for about six months. It wasn't long before chaos infested our institution; teenagers realised quickly that teachers couldn't handle whatever was happening and started a rebellion. Nonviolent revolution it should have been, but human nature has a preference for cold blood killing and tribe-like behavior.
At first, they tortured and killed the directors. I tried to intervene but I promply calmed myself and watched in fear and silence : I didn't want to be next. Next, the teachers every kid hated, you know the ones I wrote about earlier? Well yeah, good thing I didn't piss them off. After that, clans started forming up and the school became a tiny reflection of what society used to be. Here are some of the major clans:
- The nerds : They managed to stay alive in the science hall. They found seeds and grow fruits and vegetables with them; they also have the best defence system in the school, they set a lot of deadly traps (you know those railings that lock up some parts of the school ? They use those to trap people in and let them die off hunger). Usually, they won't approach you if you don't approach them.
- The bullies : They have control of the gym and the cafeteria. They force other students to give them food and hand-made weapons, kinda like a tax. If you refuse or don't, they kill you and let you body rot near the entrance of the cafeteria.
- The teachers: Well, what's left of us. There's me and Daisy, the math teacher in first grade. I don't know why they are keeping us alive; I guess we are the voice of reason and we are helping making peace between the factions. It's not working, by the way.
- The slaves : Those are the weak students. They do the dirty work of the bullies by setting the nerds trap off or by working 12 hours a day to make the rascal's lives easier. Here is an example : they often go on *runs*, gattering supplies outside the school all day. They have no choice to come back, because the school is the only safe place in the entire city. It's cruel, but it's their way of surviving.
- The rogues : It's not a group, but more like many students who chose to live alone. They survive by stealing food from the bullies and usually only operate at night. They hide during the day, making it very difficult for us to track them. I envy their freedom, if you can call it that way.
EDIT : Grammar errors, english ain't my first language. Any constructive criticism is appreciated !
| I work in 4022, formally AP Geography. Now its the Headquarters for Procurement, Acquisitions and Logistics. We even have a sign: Procurement Acquisitions and Logistics. Your PAL in the badlands. Nauseating, I know, but Mrs Grey lives for that stuff.
Anyway, our 'office' specializes in anything beyond C-Wall. Well at least everything on a local level. Talk to the guys in Radioshack on the roof for anything beyond. We take care of the city, tracking everything from supply lines and other survivors to mapping where everyone used to live. Might seem stupid but people can be really grateful for an old photo album or some news of their family. Also having free reign on badlands has it's perks, like the little stashes of coffee and booze we've all managed to hoard. Stuffs worth it's weight in diamonds right now.
So, we're six months into this mess and Grey comes in with a look she reserves for particularly crap jobs.
"Guess what guys." She says. "Special order from the Council."
There was a loud screech as several people pushed back their chairs and left the room, each leaving a food token in the jar near the door. School council had a fondness for needless requests. We're fine taking risks to get spices for the Cafs or spending a few days lugging manure from distant farms. It helps everyone and it helps us. But loosing two Jocks in Ikea because Vice Principal Travis wants lumbar support that matches his feng shui, that was a special kind of pointless.
Grey assessed the room and began reading the request. "As you all know Junior Prom is coming up ..."
"Aww for fucks sake." Rita shouted slamming her fist on her desk and leaving, taking three others with her.
"Junior prom is coming up and the School Council would like to use it as a moral boosting occasion for the entire student body. We understand the limitations of the current situation but we are sure that Procurement will be able to provide the equipment and supplies needed to make this a special event for all that attend. Below is a list of recommended items."
DJ equipment: Ultrasound Warehouse, south-industrial, cop territory.
Party favors: Stashies, east-city, high hoard risk.
Fresh flowers: Monkey Farms, two day trip.
Candy: Sweet Hyper, cleared out? Alternative?
Props and furniture: Fucking Ikea.
And it kept going.
By the end only Joseph and I remained in the room. I retrieved the jar and started splitting the tokens into two piles. Mrs Grey sighed and tossed the note on her desk. "You've got one truck, three Jocks off basketball and only replaceables from the armory."
"So it's not just a suicide job," Joseph laughed, "but a cheap suicide."
"And what can we expect in return for this cheap suicide?" I added, trying to balance two plastic towers.
Grey smiled humorlessly, "The gratitude of your peers. That should be enough." | |
[WP] It's been six months since your high school became you and your peers only stronghold from the zombies outside. The students have dissolved into factions, each with their own role in this mock society. Tell about your daily life. | You know the type of teacher who always piss off their students and has that *grinchy* attitude? The one who gives a bunch of lousy homeworks with a cynical grin? Well, I wasn't one of them, that's why I can write this letter at this very moment.
Long story short, I was giving a lecture on *The Road* by Cormac McCarthy when power ran out. Usual stuff here in Texas, so I did not think much about it and told my students to wait.
Wait, they fuckin' did.
Turns out, we are the only humans still *alive* on this planet, at least that's what I think. When I write *alive*, I mean still conscious of our actions. We still don't know what's happening outside the school, but people went batshit crazy and started to eat each other's guts for about six months. It wasn't long before chaos infested our institution; teenagers realised quickly that teachers couldn't handle whatever was happening and started a rebellion. Nonviolent revolution it should have been, but human nature has a preference for cold blood killing and tribe-like behavior.
At first, they tortured and killed the directors. I tried to intervene but I promply calmed myself and watched in fear and silence : I didn't want to be next. Next, the teachers every kid hated, you know the ones I wrote about earlier? Well yeah, good thing I didn't piss them off. After that, clans started forming up and the school became a tiny reflection of what society used to be. Here are some of the major clans:
- The nerds : They managed to stay alive in the science hall. They found seeds and grow fruits and vegetables with them; they also have the best defence system in the school, they set a lot of deadly traps (you know those railings that lock up some parts of the school ? They use those to trap people in and let them die off hunger). Usually, they won't approach you if you don't approach them.
- The bullies : They have control of the gym and the cafeteria. They force other students to give them food and hand-made weapons, kinda like a tax. If you refuse or don't, they kill you and let you body rot near the entrance of the cafeteria.
- The teachers: Well, what's left of us. There's me and Daisy, the math teacher in first grade. I don't know why they are keeping us alive; I guess we are the voice of reason and we are helping making peace between the factions. It's not working, by the way.
- The slaves : Those are the weak students. They do the dirty work of the bullies by setting the nerds trap off or by working 12 hours a day to make the rascal's lives easier. Here is an example : they often go on *runs*, gattering supplies outside the school all day. They have no choice to come back, because the school is the only safe place in the entire city. It's cruel, but it's their way of surviving.
- The rogues : It's not a group, but more like many students who chose to live alone. They survive by stealing food from the bullies and usually only operate at night. They hide during the day, making it very difficult for us to track them. I envy their freedom, if you can call it that way.
EDIT : Grammar errors, english ain't my first language. Any constructive criticism is appreciated !
| 10 dorky high school students traipsed unceremoniously in circles. They shambled about in a fashion nearly indistinguishable from that of the zombies outside, which they found to be so repelling and repulsive. The reason for their lackadaisical meandering is uncertain. See, I was one of those dorky teenagers that day and had a bad habit of mimicking the behavior of those around me, without ever understanding why.
We had just murdered our teachers, and perhaps that had sent my friends spiraling into fits of self-reflection in their mental realms, which they couldn't help but simultaneously act out in the physical realm as well. As far as I was concerned though, we were just walking in circles for the hell of it.
The one who seemed to be in charge was a guy named Big Bald Billy and he was a really close friend of mine. I don't know why he went bald so young, but it must have made the rest of my friends think he should be allowed to wield some power. So he did. Big Bald Billy had told us to kill the teachers, and he said to be ruthless about it too. I used a splintered chunk of what was once the door to the little boy's room to slice Ms. Buttface's neck open. The others did similar things, and before long a pile of dead teachers had accumulated on the gymnasium floor.
"We really gave em hell out there, eh Bill?" said Sally the Half-slut with satisfaction, as she wiped the blood and sweat off her hands on the butt of her jean-short overalls. "I never thought I'd kill so many teachers in one day."
"Lmao, same" chuckled Dirty Dustin, flashing a half grin which faded quickly to a grimace. "I sorta wonder if it was really necessary though. What was the point of all that anyway, Bill?".
Big Bald Billy cleared his throat for longer than most would expect one to. "Listen guys," he began solemnly, "Kids rule. Kids forever." And after another pause, "Fuck school."
This rang true with me. I was reassured then that my very close friend Big Bald Billy had our best interests in his heart. Still, it seemed not everyone was as convinced as I was. And so they began to revolve in uncertainty about the room. Bored of watching, I soon joined in.
I don't know how long this lasted, but it came to an abrupt halt when a loud banging and hammering suddenly became apparent, coming from the direction of the boarded up entryway.
"Must be the zombies trying to get in," mused Lawrence "Turdboi" McBastard. Turdboi McBastard came from a long line of McBastards, of which I knew next to nothing.
The rest of us agreed that, yes, it was the zombies trying to get in and so discussion began as to what we should do next. That discussion soon turned to heated debate and, feeling agitated and uncomfortable, as I always have in situations such as these, I began to let out a high pitched squeal. As usual, Big Bald Billy quickly restored calm to the group.
"Listen everyone. We're not gonna stop those zombies from breaking through them doors. So when they do, I want you guys to fuck em up like we did the teachers, ya hear?"
We mumbled in agreement. When he put it that way, it all sounded so easy.
Moments later, the first zombie head poked through the fractured door to the chamber of our last stand. He didn't look so good. A few more heads popped through as the gap widened. Eventually the decomposing bodies attached to these heads came into view, and before long the wretched creatures began their awkward march in our direction.
They took out a couple freshman real quick. Shitty Kyle and another kid who I think was also named Kyle went down with hardly a fight. You can never count on a Kyle to do anything right. Of the 10 of us this story began with, the 3 who I haven't given a name to yet didn't fare much better. 5 dead kids now joined the teachers we had just hours ago dispatched, in laying lifeless on the floor.
Somehow we turned things around though. There weren't all that many zombies in the end really. One way or another we killed em all and the zombie problem was solved. When law enforcement came to investigate, we blamed our own murders on the now twice-dead foes who lay, unable to testify, at our feet. Due to the trauma the local townsfolk assumed we must be experiencing, and the brand new shortage of teachers, we were exempt from completing our education. We all got free diplomas and went our separate ways. Now I work at a bank.
Kinda a strange series events when you think of it. Anyway, thanks for agreeing to meet me for coffee. You're a really pretty girl and I think we should get married.
| |
[WP] It's been six months since your high school became you and your peers only stronghold from the zombies outside. The students have dissolved into factions, each with their own role in this mock society. Tell about your daily life. | Day 188
We found a message from the student senate this morning, calling for an all school summit at noon today. They want to hold it in the main lobby, of course, since that's right outside the main office where their numbers are strongest. Not to mention it being across the hall from the auditorium. Everyone knows the thespians club united with the senate kids not long after the failed cafeteria tower assault three months ago. The Senate also have the freshmen more or less under their sway, so anybody walking first floor west better have their head on a swivel. Walking into that main lobby is going to be like walking into a box canyon.
I collect the tribute we managed to make over the last week and carefully wrap it in cloth and stow it in my book bag. I'm in a small mixed faction of sophomores that moved into the library after the language lab we were hiding in got caught up in a fire that swept through several second floor classrooms. We make our tribute by gluing thin strips of paper together to form rudimentary woodwind reeds for the Band Kids that now have total control of the cafeteria tower, including the band room and the the newspaper office. Their supplies are dwindling and they know it, and they are demanding more and more tribute every week, so we recently opened a secret dialogue with the JROTC guys. They have an outside access through the doors back by the teachers lot and have been making hunting forays into the neighborhood for a while now. The only problem is they are based all the way on the other side of the building and down two flights of stairs in the basement. Between us and them are the Goth kids, who have been completely out of control since they ran out of cigarettes months ago. Its cannibal country. Luckily not one of them can run or fight, so if you keep moving you should be okay. Its getting past the Cheerleaders in the Faculty Lounge that's really dangerous.
Looks like Matt and Alicia are ready to head out, I better gear up...more about the summit later, assuming we survive the afternoon.
Edit: day 188.75
The summit was a trap. Kayley, Carlos M., Carlos R., and Darius are all dead. It was the FACULTY! The teachers no one has seen since the roof over the nurses office collapsed in the fire. Jesus they were out for blood, it looks like they've gone Goth. It was like the fucking Reavers were attacking, if the lax team hadn't joined up with the football team in a banzai rush none of us would have made it out...
| 10 dorky high school students traipsed unceremoniously in circles. They shambled about in a fashion nearly indistinguishable from that of the zombies outside, which they found to be so repelling and repulsive. The reason for their lackadaisical meandering is uncertain. See, I was one of those dorky teenagers that day and had a bad habit of mimicking the behavior of those around me, without ever understanding why.
We had just murdered our teachers, and perhaps that had sent my friends spiraling into fits of self-reflection in their mental realms, which they couldn't help but simultaneously act out in the physical realm as well. As far as I was concerned though, we were just walking in circles for the hell of it.
The one who seemed to be in charge was a guy named Big Bald Billy and he was a really close friend of mine. I don't know why he went bald so young, but it must have made the rest of my friends think he should be allowed to wield some power. So he did. Big Bald Billy had told us to kill the teachers, and he said to be ruthless about it too. I used a splintered chunk of what was once the door to the little boy's room to slice Ms. Buttface's neck open. The others did similar things, and before long a pile of dead teachers had accumulated on the gymnasium floor.
"We really gave em hell out there, eh Bill?" said Sally the Half-slut with satisfaction, as she wiped the blood and sweat off her hands on the butt of her jean-short overalls. "I never thought I'd kill so many teachers in one day."
"Lmao, same" chuckled Dirty Dustin, flashing a half grin which faded quickly to a grimace. "I sorta wonder if it was really necessary though. What was the point of all that anyway, Bill?".
Big Bald Billy cleared his throat for longer than most would expect one to. "Listen guys," he began solemnly, "Kids rule. Kids forever." And after another pause, "Fuck school."
This rang true with me. I was reassured then that my very close friend Big Bald Billy had our best interests in his heart. Still, it seemed not everyone was as convinced as I was. And so they began to revolve in uncertainty about the room. Bored of watching, I soon joined in.
I don't know how long this lasted, but it came to an abrupt halt when a loud banging and hammering suddenly became apparent, coming from the direction of the boarded up entryway.
"Must be the zombies trying to get in," mused Lawrence "Turdboi" McBastard. Turdboi McBastard came from a long line of McBastards, of which I knew next to nothing.
The rest of us agreed that, yes, it was the zombies trying to get in and so discussion began as to what we should do next. That discussion soon turned to heated debate and, feeling agitated and uncomfortable, as I always have in situations such as these, I began to let out a high pitched squeal. As usual, Big Bald Billy quickly restored calm to the group.
"Listen everyone. We're not gonna stop those zombies from breaking through them doors. So when they do, I want you guys to fuck em up like we did the teachers, ya hear?"
We mumbled in agreement. When he put it that way, it all sounded so easy.
Moments later, the first zombie head poked through the fractured door to the chamber of our last stand. He didn't look so good. A few more heads popped through as the gap widened. Eventually the decomposing bodies attached to these heads came into view, and before long the wretched creatures began their awkward march in our direction.
They took out a couple freshman real quick. Shitty Kyle and another kid who I think was also named Kyle went down with hardly a fight. You can never count on a Kyle to do anything right. Of the 10 of us this story began with, the 3 who I haven't given a name to yet didn't fare much better. 5 dead kids now joined the teachers we had just hours ago dispatched, in laying lifeless on the floor.
Somehow we turned things around though. There weren't all that many zombies in the end really. One way or another we killed em all and the zombie problem was solved. When law enforcement came to investigate, we blamed our own murders on the now twice-dead foes who lay, unable to testify, at our feet. Due to the trauma the local townsfolk assumed we must be experiencing, and the brand new shortage of teachers, we were exempt from completing our education. We all got free diplomas and went our separate ways. Now I work at a bank.
Kinda a strange series events when you think of it. Anyway, thanks for agreeing to meet me for coffee. You're a really pretty girl and I think we should get married.
| |
[WP] It's been six months since your high school became you and your peers only stronghold from the zombies outside. The students have dissolved into factions, each with their own role in this mock society. Tell about your daily life. | 7:30 AM, the bell rings, and students shift in the halls, a mix of chatter, groaning, and sleepy faces. Yet instead of heading to math, the students sift into training exercises and duty stations for the day. The freshman, still bright-eyed in many ways , eagerly talk of getting to go on their first patrols over the summer. Leaving the building, previously an everyday relief for the tired brains of students, now represented their greatest threat. The undead sulked outside, their wide eyes constantly shifting, looking for their next meal. The bones of students past littered the outside perimeters, picked clean and now bleached by the sun. But the freshman hardly thought of them as a real risk, confident in the abilities of their elders to keep them safe. They didn’t know of how many we lost in the initial attack…and how each month more would be picked off.
Still, it was impressive how well the staff and students had adjusted since the outbreak in late September. Originally a lockdown, everyone acted according to the drills. But by the end of the day, when sirens blared and the calls told us to remain inside at all costs, the students began to panic. Even teachers, typically a pillar of safety, were shaken from the events.
It was the JROTC instructors who had first taken charge, mobilizing the teachers and students into squads and creating a schedule that created some form of order in the crisis. Over the next few months, students and teachers came together to plan for the winter. I still remember them taking the books from my classroom. Fahrenheit 451, 1984, Frankenstein…they burned them in the gym while students huddled around, hugging their knees, making themselves as small as possible.
Now the warms breezes of May flowed into the classrooms, carrying the laughs of students as they moved to their next shift. The chaos had ebbed away and now in small moments the school almost seemed normal again. The seniors, who had been looking forward to graduation, now celebrated surviving. Teachers who had been forced to test and retest now taught life skills and supported the students as they organized and worked towards solutions around the school. Biology worked on the gardens in the football field, math determined the measurements of the new safe house in the soccer field, and woodshop built the defense against the undead. In fact, this was the most learning that had happened in our school in a long time…
As for an English teacher, I had struggled to think of how to contribute. Knowing how to use a semicolon or how to write a thesis no longer seemed important. But late at night, when things were quiet and the students began to think of the families they’d never see again or that they’d never drive or go to college, we open up the next chapter of The Hobbit, and talk about humanity, sacrifice, and bravery. Bilbo’s adventures take them away from these walls and their minds wander middle earth with a sense of adventure that eases the pain. And it’s moments like that when I realize I’m exactly where I need to be.
| 10 dorky high school students traipsed unceremoniously in circles. They shambled about in a fashion nearly indistinguishable from that of the zombies outside, which they found to be so repelling and repulsive. The reason for their lackadaisical meandering is uncertain. See, I was one of those dorky teenagers that day and had a bad habit of mimicking the behavior of those around me, without ever understanding why.
We had just murdered our teachers, and perhaps that had sent my friends spiraling into fits of self-reflection in their mental realms, which they couldn't help but simultaneously act out in the physical realm as well. As far as I was concerned though, we were just walking in circles for the hell of it.
The one who seemed to be in charge was a guy named Big Bald Billy and he was a really close friend of mine. I don't know why he went bald so young, but it must have made the rest of my friends think he should be allowed to wield some power. So he did. Big Bald Billy had told us to kill the teachers, and he said to be ruthless about it too. I used a splintered chunk of what was once the door to the little boy's room to slice Ms. Buttface's neck open. The others did similar things, and before long a pile of dead teachers had accumulated on the gymnasium floor.
"We really gave em hell out there, eh Bill?" said Sally the Half-slut with satisfaction, as she wiped the blood and sweat off her hands on the butt of her jean-short overalls. "I never thought I'd kill so many teachers in one day."
"Lmao, same" chuckled Dirty Dustin, flashing a half grin which faded quickly to a grimace. "I sorta wonder if it was really necessary though. What was the point of all that anyway, Bill?".
Big Bald Billy cleared his throat for longer than most would expect one to. "Listen guys," he began solemnly, "Kids rule. Kids forever." And after another pause, "Fuck school."
This rang true with me. I was reassured then that my very close friend Big Bald Billy had our best interests in his heart. Still, it seemed not everyone was as convinced as I was. And so they began to revolve in uncertainty about the room. Bored of watching, I soon joined in.
I don't know how long this lasted, but it came to an abrupt halt when a loud banging and hammering suddenly became apparent, coming from the direction of the boarded up entryway.
"Must be the zombies trying to get in," mused Lawrence "Turdboi" McBastard. Turdboi McBastard came from a long line of McBastards, of which I knew next to nothing.
The rest of us agreed that, yes, it was the zombies trying to get in and so discussion began as to what we should do next. That discussion soon turned to heated debate and, feeling agitated and uncomfortable, as I always have in situations such as these, I began to let out a high pitched squeal. As usual, Big Bald Billy quickly restored calm to the group.
"Listen everyone. We're not gonna stop those zombies from breaking through them doors. So when they do, I want you guys to fuck em up like we did the teachers, ya hear?"
We mumbled in agreement. When he put it that way, it all sounded so easy.
Moments later, the first zombie head poked through the fractured door to the chamber of our last stand. He didn't look so good. A few more heads popped through as the gap widened. Eventually the decomposing bodies attached to these heads came into view, and before long the wretched creatures began their awkward march in our direction.
They took out a couple freshman real quick. Shitty Kyle and another kid who I think was also named Kyle went down with hardly a fight. You can never count on a Kyle to do anything right. Of the 10 of us this story began with, the 3 who I haven't given a name to yet didn't fare much better. 5 dead kids now joined the teachers we had just hours ago dispatched, in laying lifeless on the floor.
Somehow we turned things around though. There weren't all that many zombies in the end really. One way or another we killed em all and the zombie problem was solved. When law enforcement came to investigate, we blamed our own murders on the now twice-dead foes who lay, unable to testify, at our feet. Due to the trauma the local townsfolk assumed we must be experiencing, and the brand new shortage of teachers, we were exempt from completing our education. We all got free diplomas and went our separate ways. Now I work at a bank.
Kinda a strange series events when you think of it. Anyway, thanks for agreeing to meet me for coffee. You're a really pretty girl and I think we should get married.
| |
[WP] It's been six months since your high school became you and your peers only stronghold from the zombies outside. The students have dissolved into factions, each with their own role in this mock society. Tell about your daily life. | Before this mess started, I couldn’t have told you what I wanted for breakfast, let alone what I wanted to do with my life. I was only seventeen, I had a right to be indecisive. Moodiness, petulance, and a “woe is me” attitude can be excused when your brain is still developing and you haven’t yet had a chance to experience real hardship. We were all like that to varying degrees.
Of course, we all have to grow up at some point, don’t we?
I stopped being indecisive after the captain of the swim team had his entrails ripped out trying to save both his little sister and his girlfriend. Admirable, to be sure, but when They started catching up, he should have left the high school sweetheart to fend for herself. As it was, neither survived.
Shame too, little sis had potential.
The mood swings went out the window when the drama queens were decimated in the middle of a brawl. They were so caught up in the hair pulling and face scratching that none of them noticed the horde descending on them. We still haven’t figured out who unlocked the windows in that bathroom, but no one is really trying too hard to solve the mystery.
I stopped feeling sorry for myself about two weeks in.
If my life were a teen movie, I’d be the new kid in the small town school. Even though I’d been here for almost eight years, everyone else had grown up together damn near from birth. I have friends, sure, but I was never super ingrained into any of the groups that formed over the years. I didn’t really mind most days. Sometimes those groups felt way too much like those shitty low-budget flicks where everyone is a caricature.
The Jocks, The Cheerleaders, The Nerds, The Stoners... you know the list. It was pretty ridiculous at times, but it could also be fun. I wasn’t a non-entity; I got along with pretty much everyone. Football team throwing a rager? I’m invited. Rednecks testing out a new potato gun? I get first shot. Theatre Geeks having an awkwardly sexual poetry night out in the woods? I’m there (and getting poorly concealed bedroom eyes from the freshman). It really wasn’t a bad life, but I would get into these moods every now and again where I wished for a single solid clique to roll with... a few folks with whom I could share intimate inside jokes. It was an after school special type of sentimentality.
Like I said though, that went away pretty quickly once They showed up. The school became like home to me after the dead started walking. Weird how these things happen.
The extreme division between the cliques reached a tipping point within days. The Nerds had locked themselves in the science wing, using spare parts from the engineering lab to fashion crude laser weapons. The Jocks kept staging elaborate organized tournaments to establish a pecking order for their eventual takeover of the student body. Two died of exhaustion on day one. The Cheerleaders were grossed out by the bloodsport, but kept showing up to cheer anyway. The Rednecks were posted up on the roof. An inexplicable amount of guns and beer had appeared when the situation went tits up. The noises that echoed down in the night caused more than one panic attack in the freshman.
Me? I floated between them. I learned all of the secret signs and passwords. Was shown each and every hidden passageway and back entrance. I was never without food or water (or company. Those Theatre girls…). Suddenly, my status as that guy that everyone kinda knew was paying dividends that I could never have imagined.
Eventually, each faction established itself as a vital member of our micro society. The Agriculture Club was in the process of converting our football field and greenhouse for the production of edible produce. The motorheads were working in tandem with the Chem geeks to salvage car parts and create an efficient generator that could run on biofuel. Even the stoners had carved out a place in the nurse’s office. Turns out that some of them actually did use it for medicinal purposes and had aspirations of helping others.
It took a while, but every group found its niche-- even me.
They were too different, you see. Too set in their ways. Without any experienced adults around to set them straight, they squabbled and fought, minimizing any progress made. When they finally decided to centralize power, no one managed to gain approval outside of their own group.
Except for me.
These days, I spend most of my time moderating meetings between faction leaders and putting final approval on new initiatives and budgetary changes. I’ve laid claim to the front office as my domain and even taken the assistant principal as a concubine. Her choice, not mine. She hasn’t left my side since we rescued her from the groundskeeper’s shed. I’m not complaining though. The very definition of a cougar, that one.
It’s been six months since our high school became a stronghold against the zombie horde, but I’m more confident with each passing week that we’re gonna make it through this.
After all, we’re young; aren’t we supposed to feel immortal?
| 10 dorky high school students traipsed unceremoniously in circles. They shambled about in a fashion nearly indistinguishable from that of the zombies outside, which they found to be so repelling and repulsive. The reason for their lackadaisical meandering is uncertain. See, I was one of those dorky teenagers that day and had a bad habit of mimicking the behavior of those around me, without ever understanding why.
We had just murdered our teachers, and perhaps that had sent my friends spiraling into fits of self-reflection in their mental realms, which they couldn't help but simultaneously act out in the physical realm as well. As far as I was concerned though, we were just walking in circles for the hell of it.
The one who seemed to be in charge was a guy named Big Bald Billy and he was a really close friend of mine. I don't know why he went bald so young, but it must have made the rest of my friends think he should be allowed to wield some power. So he did. Big Bald Billy had told us to kill the teachers, and he said to be ruthless about it too. I used a splintered chunk of what was once the door to the little boy's room to slice Ms. Buttface's neck open. The others did similar things, and before long a pile of dead teachers had accumulated on the gymnasium floor.
"We really gave em hell out there, eh Bill?" said Sally the Half-slut with satisfaction, as she wiped the blood and sweat off her hands on the butt of her jean-short overalls. "I never thought I'd kill so many teachers in one day."
"Lmao, same" chuckled Dirty Dustin, flashing a half grin which faded quickly to a grimace. "I sorta wonder if it was really necessary though. What was the point of all that anyway, Bill?".
Big Bald Billy cleared his throat for longer than most would expect one to. "Listen guys," he began solemnly, "Kids rule. Kids forever." And after another pause, "Fuck school."
This rang true with me. I was reassured then that my very close friend Big Bald Billy had our best interests in his heart. Still, it seemed not everyone was as convinced as I was. And so they began to revolve in uncertainty about the room. Bored of watching, I soon joined in.
I don't know how long this lasted, but it came to an abrupt halt when a loud banging and hammering suddenly became apparent, coming from the direction of the boarded up entryway.
"Must be the zombies trying to get in," mused Lawrence "Turdboi" McBastard. Turdboi McBastard came from a long line of McBastards, of which I knew next to nothing.
The rest of us agreed that, yes, it was the zombies trying to get in and so discussion began as to what we should do next. That discussion soon turned to heated debate and, feeling agitated and uncomfortable, as I always have in situations such as these, I began to let out a high pitched squeal. As usual, Big Bald Billy quickly restored calm to the group.
"Listen everyone. We're not gonna stop those zombies from breaking through them doors. So when they do, I want you guys to fuck em up like we did the teachers, ya hear?"
We mumbled in agreement. When he put it that way, it all sounded so easy.
Moments later, the first zombie head poked through the fractured door to the chamber of our last stand. He didn't look so good. A few more heads popped through as the gap widened. Eventually the decomposing bodies attached to these heads came into view, and before long the wretched creatures began their awkward march in our direction.
They took out a couple freshman real quick. Shitty Kyle and another kid who I think was also named Kyle went down with hardly a fight. You can never count on a Kyle to do anything right. Of the 10 of us this story began with, the 3 who I haven't given a name to yet didn't fare much better. 5 dead kids now joined the teachers we had just hours ago dispatched, in laying lifeless on the floor.
Somehow we turned things around though. There weren't all that many zombies in the end really. One way or another we killed em all and the zombie problem was solved. When law enforcement came to investigate, we blamed our own murders on the now twice-dead foes who lay, unable to testify, at our feet. Due to the trauma the local townsfolk assumed we must be experiencing, and the brand new shortage of teachers, we were exempt from completing our education. We all got free diplomas and went our separate ways. Now I work at a bank.
Kinda a strange series events when you think of it. Anyway, thanks for agreeing to meet me for coffee. You're a really pretty girl and I think we should get married.
| |
[WP] It's been six months since your high school became you and your peers only stronghold from the zombies outside. The students have dissolved into factions, each with their own role in this mock society. Tell about your daily life. | 7:30 AM, the bell rings, and students shift in the halls, a mix of chatter, groaning, and sleepy faces. Yet instead of heading to math, the students sift into training exercises and duty stations for the day. The freshman, still bright-eyed in many ways , eagerly talk of getting to go on their first patrols over the summer. Leaving the building, previously an everyday relief for the tired brains of students, now represented their greatest threat. The undead sulked outside, their wide eyes constantly shifting, looking for their next meal. The bones of students past littered the outside perimeters, picked clean and now bleached by the sun. But the freshman hardly thought of them as a real risk, confident in the abilities of their elders to keep them safe. They didn’t know of how many we lost in the initial attack…and how each month more would be picked off.
Still, it was impressive how well the staff and students had adjusted since the outbreak in late September. Originally a lockdown, everyone acted according to the drills. But by the end of the day, when sirens blared and the calls told us to remain inside at all costs, the students began to panic. Even teachers, typically a pillar of safety, were shaken from the events.
It was the JROTC instructors who had first taken charge, mobilizing the teachers and students into squads and creating a schedule that created some form of order in the crisis. Over the next few months, students and teachers came together to plan for the winter. I still remember them taking the books from my classroom. Fahrenheit 451, 1984, Frankenstein…they burned them in the gym while students huddled around, hugging their knees, making themselves as small as possible.
Now the warms breezes of May flowed into the classrooms, carrying the laughs of students as they moved to their next shift. The chaos had ebbed away and now in small moments the school almost seemed normal again. The seniors, who had been looking forward to graduation, now celebrated surviving. Teachers who had been forced to test and retest now taught life skills and supported the students as they organized and worked towards solutions around the school. Biology worked on the gardens in the football field, math determined the measurements of the new safe house in the soccer field, and woodshop built the defense against the undead. In fact, this was the most learning that had happened in our school in a long time…
As for an English teacher, I had struggled to think of how to contribute. Knowing how to use a semicolon or how to write a thesis no longer seemed important. But late at night, when things were quiet and the students began to think of the families they’d never see again or that they’d never drive or go to college, we open up the next chapter of The Hobbit, and talk about humanity, sacrifice, and bravery. Bilbo’s adventures take them away from these walls and their minds wander middle earth with a sense of adventure that eases the pain. And it’s moments like that when I realize I’m exactly where I need to be.
| Day 188
We found a message from the student senate this morning, calling for an all school summit at noon today. They want to hold it in the main lobby, of course, since that's right outside the main office where their numbers are strongest. Not to mention it being across the hall from the auditorium. Everyone knows the thespians club united with the senate kids not long after the failed cafeteria tower assault three months ago. The Senate also have the freshmen more or less under their sway, so anybody walking first floor west better have their head on a swivel. Walking into that main lobby is going to be like walking into a box canyon.
I collect the tribute we managed to make over the last week and carefully wrap it in cloth and stow it in my book bag. I'm in a small mixed faction of sophomores that moved into the library after the language lab we were hiding in got caught up in a fire that swept through several second floor classrooms. We make our tribute by gluing thin strips of paper together to form rudimentary woodwind reeds for the Band Kids that now have total control of the cafeteria tower, including the band room and the the newspaper office. Their supplies are dwindling and they know it, and they are demanding more and more tribute every week, so we recently opened a secret dialogue with the JROTC guys. They have an outside access through the doors back by the teachers lot and have been making hunting forays into the neighborhood for a while now. The only problem is they are based all the way on the other side of the building and down two flights of stairs in the basement. Between us and them are the Goth kids, who have been completely out of control since they ran out of cigarettes months ago. Its cannibal country. Luckily not one of them can run or fight, so if you keep moving you should be okay. Its getting past the Cheerleaders in the Faculty Lounge that's really dangerous.
Looks like Matt and Alicia are ready to head out, I better gear up...more about the summit later, assuming we survive the afternoon.
Edit: day 188.75
The summit was a trap. Kayley, Carlos M., Carlos R., and Darius are all dead. It was the FACULTY! The teachers no one has seen since the roof over the nurses office collapsed in the fire. Jesus they were out for blood, it looks like they've gone Goth. It was like the fucking Reavers were attacking, if the lax team hadn't joined up with the football team in a banzai rush none of us would have made it out...
| |
[WP] It's been six months since your high school became you and your peers only stronghold from the zombies outside. The students have dissolved into factions, each with their own role in this mock society. Tell about your daily life. | Before this mess started, I couldn’t have told you what I wanted for breakfast, let alone what I wanted to do with my life. I was only seventeen, I had a right to be indecisive. Moodiness, petulance, and a “woe is me” attitude can be excused when your brain is still developing and you haven’t yet had a chance to experience real hardship. We were all like that to varying degrees.
Of course, we all have to grow up at some point, don’t we?
I stopped being indecisive after the captain of the swim team had his entrails ripped out trying to save both his little sister and his girlfriend. Admirable, to be sure, but when They started catching up, he should have left the high school sweetheart to fend for herself. As it was, neither survived.
Shame too, little sis had potential.
The mood swings went out the window when the drama queens were decimated in the middle of a brawl. They were so caught up in the hair pulling and face scratching that none of them noticed the horde descending on them. We still haven’t figured out who unlocked the windows in that bathroom, but no one is really trying too hard to solve the mystery.
I stopped feeling sorry for myself about two weeks in.
If my life were a teen movie, I’d be the new kid in the small town school. Even though I’d been here for almost eight years, everyone else had grown up together damn near from birth. I have friends, sure, but I was never super ingrained into any of the groups that formed over the years. I didn’t really mind most days. Sometimes those groups felt way too much like those shitty low-budget flicks where everyone is a caricature.
The Jocks, The Cheerleaders, The Nerds, The Stoners... you know the list. It was pretty ridiculous at times, but it could also be fun. I wasn’t a non-entity; I got along with pretty much everyone. Football team throwing a rager? I’m invited. Rednecks testing out a new potato gun? I get first shot. Theatre Geeks having an awkwardly sexual poetry night out in the woods? I’m there (and getting poorly concealed bedroom eyes from the freshman). It really wasn’t a bad life, but I would get into these moods every now and again where I wished for a single solid clique to roll with... a few folks with whom I could share intimate inside jokes. It was an after school special type of sentimentality.
Like I said though, that went away pretty quickly once They showed up. The school became like home to me after the dead started walking. Weird how these things happen.
The extreme division between the cliques reached a tipping point within days. The Nerds had locked themselves in the science wing, using spare parts from the engineering lab to fashion crude laser weapons. The Jocks kept staging elaborate organized tournaments to establish a pecking order for their eventual takeover of the student body. Two died of exhaustion on day one. The Cheerleaders were grossed out by the bloodsport, but kept showing up to cheer anyway. The Rednecks were posted up on the roof. An inexplicable amount of guns and beer had appeared when the situation went tits up. The noises that echoed down in the night caused more than one panic attack in the freshman.
Me? I floated between them. I learned all of the secret signs and passwords. Was shown each and every hidden passageway and back entrance. I was never without food or water (or company. Those Theatre girls…). Suddenly, my status as that guy that everyone kinda knew was paying dividends that I could never have imagined.
Eventually, each faction established itself as a vital member of our micro society. The Agriculture Club was in the process of converting our football field and greenhouse for the production of edible produce. The motorheads were working in tandem with the Chem geeks to salvage car parts and create an efficient generator that could run on biofuel. Even the stoners had carved out a place in the nurse’s office. Turns out that some of them actually did use it for medicinal purposes and had aspirations of helping others.
It took a while, but every group found its niche-- even me.
They were too different, you see. Too set in their ways. Without any experienced adults around to set them straight, they squabbled and fought, minimizing any progress made. When they finally decided to centralize power, no one managed to gain approval outside of their own group.
Except for me.
These days, I spend most of my time moderating meetings between faction leaders and putting final approval on new initiatives and budgetary changes. I’ve laid claim to the front office as my domain and even taken the assistant principal as a concubine. Her choice, not mine. She hasn’t left my side since we rescued her from the groundskeeper’s shed. I’m not complaining though. The very definition of a cougar, that one.
It’s been six months since our high school became a stronghold against the zombie horde, but I’m more confident with each passing week that we’re gonna make it through this.
After all, we’re young; aren’t we supposed to feel immortal?
| Day 188
We found a message from the student senate this morning, calling for an all school summit at noon today. They want to hold it in the main lobby, of course, since that's right outside the main office where their numbers are strongest. Not to mention it being across the hall from the auditorium. Everyone knows the thespians club united with the senate kids not long after the failed cafeteria tower assault three months ago. The Senate also have the freshmen more or less under their sway, so anybody walking first floor west better have their head on a swivel. Walking into that main lobby is going to be like walking into a box canyon.
I collect the tribute we managed to make over the last week and carefully wrap it in cloth and stow it in my book bag. I'm in a small mixed faction of sophomores that moved into the library after the language lab we were hiding in got caught up in a fire that swept through several second floor classrooms. We make our tribute by gluing thin strips of paper together to form rudimentary woodwind reeds for the Band Kids that now have total control of the cafeteria tower, including the band room and the the newspaper office. Their supplies are dwindling and they know it, and they are demanding more and more tribute every week, so we recently opened a secret dialogue with the JROTC guys. They have an outside access through the doors back by the teachers lot and have been making hunting forays into the neighborhood for a while now. The only problem is they are based all the way on the other side of the building and down two flights of stairs in the basement. Between us and them are the Goth kids, who have been completely out of control since they ran out of cigarettes months ago. Its cannibal country. Luckily not one of them can run or fight, so if you keep moving you should be okay. Its getting past the Cheerleaders in the Faculty Lounge that's really dangerous.
Looks like Matt and Alicia are ready to head out, I better gear up...more about the summit later, assuming we survive the afternoon.
Edit: day 188.75
The summit was a trap. Kayley, Carlos M., Carlos R., and Darius are all dead. It was the FACULTY! The teachers no one has seen since the roof over the nurses office collapsed in the fire. Jesus they were out for blood, it looks like they've gone Goth. It was like the fucking Reavers were attacking, if the lax team hadn't joined up with the football team in a banzai rush none of us would have made it out...
| |
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air. | I lie motionless, unable to see, unable to breath. I feel my mouth open, but my chest is still. Blank blackness fills the corners of my...of my...of my focus...of my thoughts. I cannot move. I know that I cannot move, therefore I’ve moved before. Where would I go? Where have I gone?
I’m making pictures in my mind. I see.. Brightness, I see.. Light. I feel it. It’s warm. It’s red and bright and in the center of my thought, it feels just in front of me. It burns... It burns my chest, it burns my face. It doesn’t burn my legs or my arms. I can feel… Is it real? It’s warm and bright. I try to move but cannot. I try to see but cannot. Just the light. Just the red center that glows hot.
I think of feeling. I focus on the heat. I find it on my body. I find my eyes and feel the heat there strongly. I find my nose and lips and feel the heat. I feel my chest and nipples and bellybutton - but not my arms or legs. They are cool, so cool that I can’t feel them. I feel my open mouth and I long to breath air into my lungs. I imagine the feeling of cool air pulling across the back of my tongue, giving my body calm and relief. I cannot feel it. The air is cold like my arms and legs, the light is warm on the rest of me.
Hours pass, I lie here stuck; thinking. Somehow I remain calm. I try to move and can’t, breath and can’t, see and can’t, yet I stay calm... even though I know what panic is. I think about the warmth and why I can only feel it on my chest and my face. I can feel nothing below my waist. Nothing. And nothing past my shoulders... But my chest is warm, my belly is warm. The heat got so hot that it almost hurt, but it never did, and now it’s better. I’ve heard things.. in my mind. I hear them now. Soft pattering.. footsteps I think. My mind creates them. Sometimes I even hear memories of laughter. It’s nice. It calms me like everything else. Memories, I know what they are yet I don’t know who I am. My memories are of sounds and feelings not of people or places. I look. I search my thoughts for them.. the people and the places.. but like my arms and legs I cannot find them.
More noises…I can hear them. Are they getting closer?.. they’re louder.My thoughts..am I dreaming? The sounds are louder and the pattering…the footsteps I can feel them approaching. I can almost feel the vibrations on my back.
Suddenly my head moves.
It moves. I feel it. It’s moved. I feel hands on my head, I feel hands moving my head from side to side, I can FEEL it. Ouch! My chest… Ouch! ...Ouch!! Pressing… pain… I FEEL it… Is this real?? What is this… I’m still.. It’s warm again… I’m calm. Is it over? I feel dread wash over me for an instant before I’m calm again. I think. What happened? Did I feel my heart beating? I know it’s been beating because I’m thinking but I haven’t felt it before. It’s my mind, it’s just my mind giving me memories of feelings…
Whooooosh… air in my lungs! Is this a memory? Whooooosh! Again! Whooooosh! Ow! Ow! Ow! My heart…. Whooooosh! AHH! I feel it….
My eyes… I feel my eyelids… I feel them. My ears… I hear… so many voices… so many small voices…
I’m grabbed.. I’m dropped.
OW! My head. I FELT it… The warmth is back… I try to suck in air… I feel it enter my mouth and slide down the back of my open throat. It doesn’t go far but I make it to my lungs so I can push to exhale. I hear a small wheeze… was that me?? I try again, I feel the air rush in and my lungs fill up and my chest rise...but it stops and.. OW!.. OW!.. OW!.. Whooooosh! Huuuuah.. I breath in… on my own.. .a full breath. My eye.. I can squeeze them. I hear so much.. I hear close voices, I hear many far away voices...I squeeze my eyes as tight as I can and rip them open. I see. I see faces, I see eyes that are wide and afraid. I see shock. I see fear. I turn and see so many young people. A moment of silence is here where I can see so many faces and so many expressions. It ends and I hear a terrible sound as every child I see opens their mouths and screams for the safety of their lives. I feel a tear fall down my face as I turn back to those close to me. I see the hands of a grown man reach for me and feel them grab me at the throat and see two fingers reach for my eyes. I hear him take a deep breath and groan as he beings to pull I feel my neck stretch and.. | "Where am I?"
I jump and snatch my hands away. The dummy opens its eyes and points them in my direction.
"Are you my daddy?"
This can't be happening. I look around the schoolroom we're using for the training session. Everyone else is watching the instructor demonstrate rescue breathing at the next table.
I have to kill it before anyone notices. I quickly cover the dummy's face with a hand, trying to stop its breathing. Then I realize that it isn't breathing. That doesn't stop it from weakly trying to push my hand away.
The instructor seems to be wrapping up the demonstration. I have to do something, fast. I pick up the dummy and turn it over, looking for a power switch. There isn't one, and the damn thing keeps trying to hug me. I panic.
A few minutes later, I'm standing outside in the harsh afternoon sun. My hands are still shaking from adrenaline. I haven't been kicked out of class since I was in grade school. I don't really blame the instructor, though. It's not every day that you see someone stab a dummy with a pair of children's safety scissors and tear its head off, screaming "You'll never take me alive!" over and over.
I pull out my phone and make an appointment with my therapist. The nightmares will be back in force after this. I need to be ready.
| |
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air. | An older man with bristly hair and madness in his eyes slipped into the conference room full of coworkers, obviously late, mumbling an apology. "Sorry, there was a riot at Build-a-Bear."
A man in an ill-fitting business suit was arguing with the instructor, claiming he knew what he was doing. She corrected him sternly and he followed the instructions this time right down to the letter. Everyone in attendance couldn't believe it, he was terrible at following any form of instructions and was quite honestly a running joke in the workplace.
After a few breaths and a rhythmic pumping of the dummy's chest that were oddly on beat for someone known for a lack of musical talent yet thinks quite the opposite he jumped backwards and shouted almost incoherently. "It bit my tongue!" with a tone of abject terror in his voice as he crumpled back in terror.
A bitter looking woman with a flask in the back row shouted a sardonic "Why are you giving a CPR dummy tongue?" as a cough and throaty gasp silenced the room.
Everyone stared at the dummy as it gasped for air, a trickle of blood running down the corner of its mouth. It spat a bloody piece of tongue onto the carpet and began reciting Latin as the room shuddered. A darkness entered. It wasn't an absence of light, it was the presence of a nothingness that drained the light from the very air.
The smooth plastic stumps where its arms and legs should have been quivered and expanded, rapidly growing into limbs as the darkness pooled around it. Its face flexed as the chanting intensified and the foam took on the appearance of pale flesh.
With cat like reflexes a man in the back row raced into action, ripping his glasses off and tearing a picture frame containing a photo of him wielding a katana off the wall, hurling over the head of the short blond in the back row through the conference room window. With a mighty blow he shattered his fist on the stud behind the wall screaming "Who moved the photo!?"
The response came from a bloodied mouth as the suited man cowered from the dummy that was attempting to right itself with scaly limbs now the size of a toddler's. "I was reading about Feng Shui-"
"Well you did it wrong, that table is clearly over 50% clutter. Amateur" the man with the now broken fist muttered as he used his foot to punch a hole in the wall two feet to the right. Reaching into the hole with his good hand he pulled a blade identical to that of the photo out.
Whirling around he faced his now upright enemy as the rest of his coworkers sat frozen at the spectacle. Its stubby legs charged him and with a swift motion he sliced it cleanly in two, splitting the mouth diagonally ensuring no further enchantments could animated the inanimate.
The man blew a limp strand of brown hair back, straightened his his brown suit and slightly different brown colored shirt, stating with confidence. "I'll have Mose bring in the demon salt."
"Kali Ma Shakti de-"
"Shut up, Kevin." He said as he drove the blade into half of the steaming corpse and walked out.
A few moments later the older man with bristly hair and that crazy gleam in his eyes faced the unwitting camera crew that happened to be filming the CPR tutorial when it occurred in the office.
"You know, this isn't the first time I've seen the underworld reach into our realm. I remember back in 69, 1969 to be clear, the boys and I found what we thought was a cookbook. We made chili for the Altamont Free Concert. Turns out it was demon chili. Mmm. It sure had one hell of a kick to it."
"Cweed! Don't cweep the nith camewa peopwe out wui youw cwawy taw." Came the voice of the regional manager, his tongue wrapped completely in bandaids. | "Where am I?"
I jump and snatch my hands away. The dummy opens its eyes and points them in my direction.
"Are you my daddy?"
This can't be happening. I look around the schoolroom we're using for the training session. Everyone else is watching the instructor demonstrate rescue breathing at the next table.
I have to kill it before anyone notices. I quickly cover the dummy's face with a hand, trying to stop its breathing. Then I realize that it isn't breathing. That doesn't stop it from weakly trying to push my hand away.
The instructor seems to be wrapping up the demonstration. I have to do something, fast. I pick up the dummy and turn it over, looking for a power switch. There isn't one, and the damn thing keeps trying to hug me. I panic.
A few minutes later, I'm standing outside in the harsh afternoon sun. My hands are still shaking from adrenaline. I haven't been kicked out of class since I was in grade school. I don't really blame the instructor, though. It's not every day that you see someone stab a dummy with a pair of children's safety scissors and tear its head off, screaming "You'll never take me alive!" over and over.
I pull out my phone and make an appointment with my therapist. The nightmares will be back in force after this. I need to be ready.
| |
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air. | He blinked, staring past the thing he'd breathed to life that had no right to be living. "Um... hello."
"Hello."
Someone inside it, perhaps? A disguise? It seemed rather unlikely, what with the lack of limbs. And tongue. And lower body. But maybe, under the table--
"What are you doing?"
"I was, um... seeing if there's someone under the table, sticking their face up into like, you know, a mask."
At the first the dummy did nothing. It was, after all, a dummy. He could've walked out of the room then, chalk this one up to thirty hours without sleep cramming for finals. Some people start to hallucinate after two or three days, so it seemed a plausible --
"It's funny. I always know the answer, but ask it anyway."
"Ah! God -- *Christ*. Sorry."
The dummy laughed, its disembodied head thumping on the table. "I always enjoy this."
"So, uh, what's it like being a dummy?"
"What's it like being alive?"
"I haven't had nearly enough sleep to answer that question." He rubbed his temples. "So, uh... do I like, keep going now? Or should I stop?"
"I'm not likely to complain about it."
"Can you let me know if I do something wrong?"
"I won't have to, but sure."
He was back it. One, two. Thirty compressions. One, two. Thirty compressions.
He tried not to think about the one, two too much. Tried not think about how he was breathing into the lips of a talking thing with no heart and lungs.
Back to thirty compressions.
"You're supposed to be watching for chest rise when you breathe in, you know."
"Can't imagine why I don't wanna look."
"Also your shoulders need to be further over me. You're too far back."
"Because you're freakin' me out!" He kept going anyway, but made no effort to correct his errors.
"Have you heard about the *Stayin' Alive* trick?"
"Compress in time to the song, yeah. I got it." Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen... "Thank you."
"It's what I do." The way the dummy stared straight ahead while talking never got any easier to deal with, but he supposed it made sense. She didn't exactly have any working neck muscles.
"And what are those muscles?"
"*Shit,* lady, you're freakin' me out."
"Go on."
"Scaleneus Madeus, Scaleneus anterior.Trapezius?"
"Pretty good, but there's more."
"There's always more. Why didn't they just name 'em neck muscles?"
"Because on an operating table, you wouldn't know which muscle is 'neck muscle.' Last one?"
He stopped. "Sterno-clido-cledio... Mastado-masto-eus?"
The dummy didn't shrug, but if it could, it would have. "Close enough."
He backed up and leaned against the white board, accidentally wiping away a two-day old drawing of the arm bones. (Humerus, Radius, Ulna.)
"I know you're feeling it now," said the dummy.
"I'm feelin' nothin. Afraid maybe, of a talking head."
"No no, not the test. Not me. The weight of human life, in your hands. Me, I am nothing. For the past six months, I have been nothing, easily replaced with any other dummy in the building, whatever other floozies you happen to grab and breathe into for a day. And we go back on the shelf, and you think nothing of it."
The dummy went still. From a distance, he could see the impossibility of it all, this tiny thing on a desk, in a room late at night, speaking straight at the ceiling.
It spoke again.
"But now, this one spoke. This one time, this one night, it spoke, and now you will remember it as *your* dummy. You may even mark me, as many have in the past, with a single line of ink on the back. A scratch. Initials. None of it is new to me."
It stopped.
And started again.
"You feel the weight of life in me, because you breathed it into me."
"And... that's a good thing? This weight?"
"It is. For now. You will feel a tremendous connection to the people you save, but you also set yourself up each time to let it crush you when you fail. Years from now, after this moment, please try to remember -- once you are performing this task, something has already gone horribly wrong. Sometimes your best will not be enough. When that happens, do not drop the weight on yourself."
He nodded. He rubbed the back of his neck and assured himself he'd earned a rest. As he slumped against the wall, he asked one last question. "How's a dummy know so much about life?"
"Because I envy it. I am designed to help you protect something I will never experience."
"Yeah, well, you got to experience it tonight."
If the dummy could smile, it would have. | "Where am I?"
I jump and snatch my hands away. The dummy opens its eyes and points them in my direction.
"Are you my daddy?"
This can't be happening. I look around the schoolroom we're using for the training session. Everyone else is watching the instructor demonstrate rescue breathing at the next table.
I have to kill it before anyone notices. I quickly cover the dummy's face with a hand, trying to stop its breathing. Then I realize that it isn't breathing. That doesn't stop it from weakly trying to push my hand away.
The instructor seems to be wrapping up the demonstration. I have to do something, fast. I pick up the dummy and turn it over, looking for a power switch. There isn't one, and the damn thing keeps trying to hug me. I panic.
A few minutes later, I'm standing outside in the harsh afternoon sun. My hands are still shaking from adrenaline. I haven't been kicked out of class since I was in grade school. I don't really blame the instructor, though. It's not every day that you see someone stab a dummy with a pair of children's safety scissors and tear its head off, screaming "You'll never take me alive!" over and over.
I pull out my phone and make an appointment with my therapist. The nightmares will be back in force after this. I need to be ready.
| |
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air. | Finally I'm done !
One more dummy and life's fun.
No more squeezing fake tits,
no more kissing rubbery lips.
Heave ho ! Breathe some air,
God knows this dummy could use a prayer.
Push and push; the mundane chore
Is it just me? Or did it snore?
Couldn't be true. The dummy's dead
Or did my magic work too well?
Gasping, breathing... the whole shebang
The dummy's alive. I'll be damned.
"Who are you?" Said she.
"And why hold my boob, with such glee?"
All I said was, "Um. Ah. You see. You are not alive."
"of course I am. are you blind?"
No. no. no. couldn't be true.
I'm not God. Neither are you.
If it were you, in my shoe?
What on earth would you do?
I know the answer. It's simple enough,
The life that I gave, I will snuff.
Hard done, easy said
I must sleep in my own bed
She is looking at me funny
Does she know?
She lunges for me and my throat
I claw, I scream. No more can I gloat
About the strength I had. She leans in and says
"Do you know? Life is a maze?
I chase vessels every day, and I chose you?"
"Why me?" I squeak out
"Coincidence, maybe. Boo-fucking hoo."
That's all I remember, those rubbery lips
as my mind began to slip
The last words I heard were not goodbye,
but, "i'll take your body, when you die." | "Where am I?"
I jump and snatch my hands away. The dummy opens its eyes and points them in my direction.
"Are you my daddy?"
This can't be happening. I look around the schoolroom we're using for the training session. Everyone else is watching the instructor demonstrate rescue breathing at the next table.
I have to kill it before anyone notices. I quickly cover the dummy's face with a hand, trying to stop its breathing. Then I realize that it isn't breathing. That doesn't stop it from weakly trying to push my hand away.
The instructor seems to be wrapping up the demonstration. I have to do something, fast. I pick up the dummy and turn it over, looking for a power switch. There isn't one, and the damn thing keeps trying to hug me. I panic.
A few minutes later, I'm standing outside in the harsh afternoon sun. My hands are still shaking from adrenaline. I haven't been kicked out of class since I was in grade school. I don't really blame the instructor, though. It's not every day that you see someone stab a dummy with a pair of children's safety scissors and tear its head off, screaming "You'll never take me alive!" over and over.
I pull out my phone and make an appointment with my therapist. The nightmares will be back in force after this. I need to be ready.
| |
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air. | I lie motionless, unable to see, unable to breath. I feel my mouth open, but my chest is still. Blank blackness fills the corners of my...of my...of my focus...of my thoughts. I cannot move. I know that I cannot move, therefore I’ve moved before. Where would I go? Where have I gone?
I’m making pictures in my mind. I see.. Brightness, I see.. Light. I feel it. It’s warm. It’s red and bright and in the center of my thought, it feels just in front of me. It burns... It burns my chest, it burns my face. It doesn’t burn my legs or my arms. I can feel… Is it real? It’s warm and bright. I try to move but cannot. I try to see but cannot. Just the light. Just the red center that glows hot.
I think of feeling. I focus on the heat. I find it on my body. I find my eyes and feel the heat there strongly. I find my nose and lips and feel the heat. I feel my chest and nipples and bellybutton - but not my arms or legs. They are cool, so cool that I can’t feel them. I feel my open mouth and I long to breath air into my lungs. I imagine the feeling of cool air pulling across the back of my tongue, giving my body calm and relief. I cannot feel it. The air is cold like my arms and legs, the light is warm on the rest of me.
Hours pass, I lie here stuck; thinking. Somehow I remain calm. I try to move and can’t, breath and can’t, see and can’t, yet I stay calm... even though I know what panic is. I think about the warmth and why I can only feel it on my chest and my face. I can feel nothing below my waist. Nothing. And nothing past my shoulders... But my chest is warm, my belly is warm. The heat got so hot that it almost hurt, but it never did, and now it’s better. I’ve heard things.. in my mind. I hear them now. Soft pattering.. footsteps I think. My mind creates them. Sometimes I even hear memories of laughter. It’s nice. It calms me like everything else. Memories, I know what they are yet I don’t know who I am. My memories are of sounds and feelings not of people or places. I look. I search my thoughts for them.. the people and the places.. but like my arms and legs I cannot find them.
More noises…I can hear them. Are they getting closer?.. they’re louder.My thoughts..am I dreaming? The sounds are louder and the pattering…the footsteps I can feel them approaching. I can almost feel the vibrations on my back.
Suddenly my head moves.
It moves. I feel it. It’s moved. I feel hands on my head, I feel hands moving my head from side to side, I can FEEL it. Ouch! My chest… Ouch! ...Ouch!! Pressing… pain… I FEEL it… Is this real?? What is this… I’m still.. It’s warm again… I’m calm. Is it over? I feel dread wash over me for an instant before I’m calm again. I think. What happened? Did I feel my heart beating? I know it’s been beating because I’m thinking but I haven’t felt it before. It’s my mind, it’s just my mind giving me memories of feelings…
Whooooosh… air in my lungs! Is this a memory? Whooooosh! Again! Whooooosh! Ow! Ow! Ow! My heart…. Whooooosh! AHH! I feel it….
My eyes… I feel my eyelids… I feel them. My ears… I hear… so many voices… so many small voices…
I’m grabbed.. I’m dropped.
OW! My head. I FELT it… The warmth is back… I try to suck in air… I feel it enter my mouth and slide down the back of my open throat. It doesn’t go far but I make it to my lungs so I can push to exhale. I hear a small wheeze… was that me?? I try again, I feel the air rush in and my lungs fill up and my chest rise...but it stops and.. OW!.. OW!.. OW!.. Whooooosh! Huuuuah.. I breath in… on my own.. .a full breath. My eye.. I can squeeze them. I hear so much.. I hear close voices, I hear many far away voices...I squeeze my eyes as tight as I can and rip them open. I see. I see faces, I see eyes that are wide and afraid. I see shock. I see fear. I turn and see so many young people. A moment of silence is here where I can see so many faces and so many expressions. It ends and I hear a terrible sound as every child I see opens their mouths and screams for the safety of their lives. I feel a tear fall down my face as I turn back to those close to me. I see the hands of a grown man reach for me and feel them grab me at the throat and see two fingers reach for my eyes. I hear him take a deep breath and groan as he beings to pull I feel my neck stretch and.. | They were all just standing there looking intensely. Ghost had his fiery red eyes stuck on me like I was his dinner. Davos gave me the encouraging nod. What does he know, Onion Knight. He knows nothing. I slowly placed my hands on the dummy and pressed down. Didn't know if Rh'ollor will give me the strength, but I tried. For five minutes. Slowly they all started losing interest. Davos gave a big yawn. I was about to stop, and I just whispered in the ears. Wake up. Wake up.
Still nothing.
I have lost the blessing of Rh'ollor. The Lord of light is not with me. Slowly I withdrew to my room, leaving the dummy behind.
The door closed. "I know nothing". There was a loud gasp. Slowly the dummy woke up. | |
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air. | An older man with bristly hair and madness in his eyes slipped into the conference room full of coworkers, obviously late, mumbling an apology. "Sorry, there was a riot at Build-a-Bear."
A man in an ill-fitting business suit was arguing with the instructor, claiming he knew what he was doing. She corrected him sternly and he followed the instructions this time right down to the letter. Everyone in attendance couldn't believe it, he was terrible at following any form of instructions and was quite honestly a running joke in the workplace.
After a few breaths and a rhythmic pumping of the dummy's chest that were oddly on beat for someone known for a lack of musical talent yet thinks quite the opposite he jumped backwards and shouted almost incoherently. "It bit my tongue!" with a tone of abject terror in his voice as he crumpled back in terror.
A bitter looking woman with a flask in the back row shouted a sardonic "Why are you giving a CPR dummy tongue?" as a cough and throaty gasp silenced the room.
Everyone stared at the dummy as it gasped for air, a trickle of blood running down the corner of its mouth. It spat a bloody piece of tongue onto the carpet and began reciting Latin as the room shuddered. A darkness entered. It wasn't an absence of light, it was the presence of a nothingness that drained the light from the very air.
The smooth plastic stumps where its arms and legs should have been quivered and expanded, rapidly growing into limbs as the darkness pooled around it. Its face flexed as the chanting intensified and the foam took on the appearance of pale flesh.
With cat like reflexes a man in the back row raced into action, ripping his glasses off and tearing a picture frame containing a photo of him wielding a katana off the wall, hurling over the head of the short blond in the back row through the conference room window. With a mighty blow he shattered his fist on the stud behind the wall screaming "Who moved the photo!?"
The response came from a bloodied mouth as the suited man cowered from the dummy that was attempting to right itself with scaly limbs now the size of a toddler's. "I was reading about Feng Shui-"
"Well you did it wrong, that table is clearly over 50% clutter. Amateur" the man with the now broken fist muttered as he used his foot to punch a hole in the wall two feet to the right. Reaching into the hole with his good hand he pulled a blade identical to that of the photo out.
Whirling around he faced his now upright enemy as the rest of his coworkers sat frozen at the spectacle. Its stubby legs charged him and with a swift motion he sliced it cleanly in two, splitting the mouth diagonally ensuring no further enchantments could animated the inanimate.
The man blew a limp strand of brown hair back, straightened his his brown suit and slightly different brown colored shirt, stating with confidence. "I'll have Mose bring in the demon salt."
"Kali Ma Shakti de-"
"Shut up, Kevin." He said as he drove the blade into half of the steaming corpse and walked out.
A few moments later the older man with bristly hair and that crazy gleam in his eyes faced the unwitting camera crew that happened to be filming the CPR tutorial when it occurred in the office.
"You know, this isn't the first time I've seen the underworld reach into our realm. I remember back in 69, 1969 to be clear, the boys and I found what we thought was a cookbook. We made chili for the Altamont Free Concert. Turns out it was demon chili. Mmm. It sure had one hell of a kick to it."
"Cweed! Don't cweep the nith camewa peopwe out wui youw cwawy taw." Came the voice of the regional manager, his tongue wrapped completely in bandaids. | They were all just standing there looking intensely. Ghost had his fiery red eyes stuck on me like I was his dinner. Davos gave me the encouraging nod. What does he know, Onion Knight. He knows nothing. I slowly placed my hands on the dummy and pressed down. Didn't know if Rh'ollor will give me the strength, but I tried. For five minutes. Slowly they all started losing interest. Davos gave a big yawn. I was about to stop, and I just whispered in the ears. Wake up. Wake up.
Still nothing.
I have lost the blessing of Rh'ollor. The Lord of light is not with me. Slowly I withdrew to my room, leaving the dummy behind.
The door closed. "I know nothing". There was a loud gasp. Slowly the dummy woke up. | |
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air. | He blinked, staring past the thing he'd breathed to life that had no right to be living. "Um... hello."
"Hello."
Someone inside it, perhaps? A disguise? It seemed rather unlikely, what with the lack of limbs. And tongue. And lower body. But maybe, under the table--
"What are you doing?"
"I was, um... seeing if there's someone under the table, sticking their face up into like, you know, a mask."
At the first the dummy did nothing. It was, after all, a dummy. He could've walked out of the room then, chalk this one up to thirty hours without sleep cramming for finals. Some people start to hallucinate after two or three days, so it seemed a plausible --
"It's funny. I always know the answer, but ask it anyway."
"Ah! God -- *Christ*. Sorry."
The dummy laughed, its disembodied head thumping on the table. "I always enjoy this."
"So, uh, what's it like being a dummy?"
"What's it like being alive?"
"I haven't had nearly enough sleep to answer that question." He rubbed his temples. "So, uh... do I like, keep going now? Or should I stop?"
"I'm not likely to complain about it."
"Can you let me know if I do something wrong?"
"I won't have to, but sure."
He was back it. One, two. Thirty compressions. One, two. Thirty compressions.
He tried not to think about the one, two too much. Tried not think about how he was breathing into the lips of a talking thing with no heart and lungs.
Back to thirty compressions.
"You're supposed to be watching for chest rise when you breathe in, you know."
"Can't imagine why I don't wanna look."
"Also your shoulders need to be further over me. You're too far back."
"Because you're freakin' me out!" He kept going anyway, but made no effort to correct his errors.
"Have you heard about the *Stayin' Alive* trick?"
"Compress in time to the song, yeah. I got it." Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen... "Thank you."
"It's what I do." The way the dummy stared straight ahead while talking never got any easier to deal with, but he supposed it made sense. She didn't exactly have any working neck muscles.
"And what are those muscles?"
"*Shit,* lady, you're freakin' me out."
"Go on."
"Scaleneus Madeus, Scaleneus anterior.Trapezius?"
"Pretty good, but there's more."
"There's always more. Why didn't they just name 'em neck muscles?"
"Because on an operating table, you wouldn't know which muscle is 'neck muscle.' Last one?"
He stopped. "Sterno-clido-cledio... Mastado-masto-eus?"
The dummy didn't shrug, but if it could, it would have. "Close enough."
He backed up and leaned against the white board, accidentally wiping away a two-day old drawing of the arm bones. (Humerus, Radius, Ulna.)
"I know you're feeling it now," said the dummy.
"I'm feelin' nothin. Afraid maybe, of a talking head."
"No no, not the test. Not me. The weight of human life, in your hands. Me, I am nothing. For the past six months, I have been nothing, easily replaced with any other dummy in the building, whatever other floozies you happen to grab and breathe into for a day. And we go back on the shelf, and you think nothing of it."
The dummy went still. From a distance, he could see the impossibility of it all, this tiny thing on a desk, in a room late at night, speaking straight at the ceiling.
It spoke again.
"But now, this one spoke. This one time, this one night, it spoke, and now you will remember it as *your* dummy. You may even mark me, as many have in the past, with a single line of ink on the back. A scratch. Initials. None of it is new to me."
It stopped.
And started again.
"You feel the weight of life in me, because you breathed it into me."
"And... that's a good thing? This weight?"
"It is. For now. You will feel a tremendous connection to the people you save, but you also set yourself up each time to let it crush you when you fail. Years from now, after this moment, please try to remember -- once you are performing this task, something has already gone horribly wrong. Sometimes your best will not be enough. When that happens, do not drop the weight on yourself."
He nodded. He rubbed the back of his neck and assured himself he'd earned a rest. As he slumped against the wall, he asked one last question. "How's a dummy know so much about life?"
"Because I envy it. I am designed to help you protect something I will never experience."
"Yeah, well, you got to experience it tonight."
If the dummy could smile, it would have. | They were all just standing there looking intensely. Ghost had his fiery red eyes stuck on me like I was his dinner. Davos gave me the encouraging nod. What does he know, Onion Knight. He knows nothing. I slowly placed my hands on the dummy and pressed down. Didn't know if Rh'ollor will give me the strength, but I tried. For five minutes. Slowly they all started losing interest. Davos gave a big yawn. I was about to stop, and I just whispered in the ears. Wake up. Wake up.
Still nothing.
I have lost the blessing of Rh'ollor. The Lord of light is not with me. Slowly I withdrew to my room, leaving the dummy behind.
The door closed. "I know nothing". There was a loud gasp. Slowly the dummy woke up. | |
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air. | I lie motionless, unable to see, unable to breath. I feel my mouth open, but my chest is still. Blank blackness fills the corners of my...of my...of my focus...of my thoughts. I cannot move. I know that I cannot move, therefore I’ve moved before. Where would I go? Where have I gone?
I’m making pictures in my mind. I see.. Brightness, I see.. Light. I feel it. It’s warm. It’s red and bright and in the center of my thought, it feels just in front of me. It burns... It burns my chest, it burns my face. It doesn’t burn my legs or my arms. I can feel… Is it real? It’s warm and bright. I try to move but cannot. I try to see but cannot. Just the light. Just the red center that glows hot.
I think of feeling. I focus on the heat. I find it on my body. I find my eyes and feel the heat there strongly. I find my nose and lips and feel the heat. I feel my chest and nipples and bellybutton - but not my arms or legs. They are cool, so cool that I can’t feel them. I feel my open mouth and I long to breath air into my lungs. I imagine the feeling of cool air pulling across the back of my tongue, giving my body calm and relief. I cannot feel it. The air is cold like my arms and legs, the light is warm on the rest of me.
Hours pass, I lie here stuck; thinking. Somehow I remain calm. I try to move and can’t, breath and can’t, see and can’t, yet I stay calm... even though I know what panic is. I think about the warmth and why I can only feel it on my chest and my face. I can feel nothing below my waist. Nothing. And nothing past my shoulders... But my chest is warm, my belly is warm. The heat got so hot that it almost hurt, but it never did, and now it’s better. I’ve heard things.. in my mind. I hear them now. Soft pattering.. footsteps I think. My mind creates them. Sometimes I even hear memories of laughter. It’s nice. It calms me like everything else. Memories, I know what they are yet I don’t know who I am. My memories are of sounds and feelings not of people or places. I look. I search my thoughts for them.. the people and the places.. but like my arms and legs I cannot find them.
More noises…I can hear them. Are they getting closer?.. they’re louder.My thoughts..am I dreaming? The sounds are louder and the pattering…the footsteps I can feel them approaching. I can almost feel the vibrations on my back.
Suddenly my head moves.
It moves. I feel it. It’s moved. I feel hands on my head, I feel hands moving my head from side to side, I can FEEL it. Ouch! My chest… Ouch! ...Ouch!! Pressing… pain… I FEEL it… Is this real?? What is this… I’m still.. It’s warm again… I’m calm. Is it over? I feel dread wash over me for an instant before I’m calm again. I think. What happened? Did I feel my heart beating? I know it’s been beating because I’m thinking but I haven’t felt it before. It’s my mind, it’s just my mind giving me memories of feelings…
Whooooosh… air in my lungs! Is this a memory? Whooooosh! Again! Whooooosh! Ow! Ow! Ow! My heart…. Whooooosh! AHH! I feel it….
My eyes… I feel my eyelids… I feel them. My ears… I hear… so many voices… so many small voices…
I’m grabbed.. I’m dropped.
OW! My head. I FELT it… The warmth is back… I try to suck in air… I feel it enter my mouth and slide down the back of my open throat. It doesn’t go far but I make it to my lungs so I can push to exhale. I hear a small wheeze… was that me?? I try again, I feel the air rush in and my lungs fill up and my chest rise...but it stops and.. OW!.. OW!.. OW!.. Whooooosh! Huuuuah.. I breath in… on my own.. .a full breath. My eye.. I can squeeze them. I hear so much.. I hear close voices, I hear many far away voices...I squeeze my eyes as tight as I can and rip them open. I see. I see faces, I see eyes that are wide and afraid. I see shock. I see fear. I turn and see so many young people. A moment of silence is here where I can see so many faces and so many expressions. It ends and I hear a terrible sound as every child I see opens their mouths and screams for the safety of their lives. I feel a tear fall down my face as I turn back to those close to me. I see the hands of a grown man reach for me and feel them grab me at the throat and see two fingers reach for my eyes. I hear him take a deep breath and groan as he beings to pull I feel my neck stretch and.. | When I was a kid, my father had taken me fishing a few times, over to the lake on the edge of town. As he would pluck the fish from the water, he'd toss them onto the beach, where they'd flap fruitlessly as they drowned in the cool mountain air. He didn't see the point of putting them out of their misery. They were just fish after all. He'd let them slowly drown, until the wild thrashing finally ceased, then he'd drop them into the icebox.
That's what it reminded me of, those dying fish from my childhood; desperately trying to breath but lacking the basic anatomy that all mammals were blessed with, dying because the chest cavity contained no lungs.
My meagre student loans, mostly spent on rent and medical textbooks had not allowed me to buy one of the deluxe models. My CPR dummy was a limbless torso, it's eyes forever fused shut by the smooth latex that covered it's face. Only the neck had any motility, a single joint that allowed the practitioner to tilt back the head an open the airway. As it struggled to draw air past it's rubbery lips, that neck joint was more than making up for the lack of other limbs. It spasmed wildly, smashing the back of the dummy's head into the hardwood floor, almost lifting the torso into the air with each dull whack, and further enhancing its resemblance to those drowning fish.
The mouth was wide open, far wider than normal, with it's rubbery lips pulled back over rubbery teeth. It would have screamed if it could, of that I was sure. Screamed at the injustice of being given life, but without the basic anatomy to live that life. Screamed in terror at being brought into a world it could not see, hear or touch. Screamed for it's misery to come to an end.
I should have been in shock. I should have been frozen in disbelief, but all I could think about were those fucking fish that my Dad had let drown on the pebbles. I wasn't a kid any more though, and I didn't have to watch that thing suffer a moment longer
The dorm room was small, and the baseball bat was never far from reach. I grabbed it and with all the force I could muster I swung the scratched aluminium bat into the dummy's head. The neck arched backwards, one last time, then the thing went still, the lips slipping back over the teeth once more. The soundless screaming finally at an end.
| |
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air. | An older man with bristly hair and madness in his eyes slipped into the conference room full of coworkers, obviously late, mumbling an apology. "Sorry, there was a riot at Build-a-Bear."
A man in an ill-fitting business suit was arguing with the instructor, claiming he knew what he was doing. She corrected him sternly and he followed the instructions this time right down to the letter. Everyone in attendance couldn't believe it, he was terrible at following any form of instructions and was quite honestly a running joke in the workplace.
After a few breaths and a rhythmic pumping of the dummy's chest that were oddly on beat for someone known for a lack of musical talent yet thinks quite the opposite he jumped backwards and shouted almost incoherently. "It bit my tongue!" with a tone of abject terror in his voice as he crumpled back in terror.
A bitter looking woman with a flask in the back row shouted a sardonic "Why are you giving a CPR dummy tongue?" as a cough and throaty gasp silenced the room.
Everyone stared at the dummy as it gasped for air, a trickle of blood running down the corner of its mouth. It spat a bloody piece of tongue onto the carpet and began reciting Latin as the room shuddered. A darkness entered. It wasn't an absence of light, it was the presence of a nothingness that drained the light from the very air.
The smooth plastic stumps where its arms and legs should have been quivered and expanded, rapidly growing into limbs as the darkness pooled around it. Its face flexed as the chanting intensified and the foam took on the appearance of pale flesh.
With cat like reflexes a man in the back row raced into action, ripping his glasses off and tearing a picture frame containing a photo of him wielding a katana off the wall, hurling over the head of the short blond in the back row through the conference room window. With a mighty blow he shattered his fist on the stud behind the wall screaming "Who moved the photo!?"
The response came from a bloodied mouth as the suited man cowered from the dummy that was attempting to right itself with scaly limbs now the size of a toddler's. "I was reading about Feng Shui-"
"Well you did it wrong, that table is clearly over 50% clutter. Amateur" the man with the now broken fist muttered as he used his foot to punch a hole in the wall two feet to the right. Reaching into the hole with his good hand he pulled a blade identical to that of the photo out.
Whirling around he faced his now upright enemy as the rest of his coworkers sat frozen at the spectacle. Its stubby legs charged him and with a swift motion he sliced it cleanly in two, splitting the mouth diagonally ensuring no further enchantments could animated the inanimate.
The man blew a limp strand of brown hair back, straightened his his brown suit and slightly different brown colored shirt, stating with confidence. "I'll have Mose bring in the demon salt."
"Kali Ma Shakti de-"
"Shut up, Kevin." He said as he drove the blade into half of the steaming corpse and walked out.
A few moments later the older man with bristly hair and that crazy gleam in his eyes faced the unwitting camera crew that happened to be filming the CPR tutorial when it occurred in the office.
"You know, this isn't the first time I've seen the underworld reach into our realm. I remember back in 69, 1969 to be clear, the boys and I found what we thought was a cookbook. We made chili for the Altamont Free Concert. Turns out it was demon chili. Mmm. It sure had one hell of a kick to it."
"Cweed! Don't cweep the nith camewa peopwe out wui youw cwawy taw." Came the voice of the regional manager, his tongue wrapped completely in bandaids. | When I was a kid, my father had taken me fishing a few times, over to the lake on the edge of town. As he would pluck the fish from the water, he'd toss them onto the beach, where they'd flap fruitlessly as they drowned in the cool mountain air. He didn't see the point of putting them out of their misery. They were just fish after all. He'd let them slowly drown, until the wild thrashing finally ceased, then he'd drop them into the icebox.
That's what it reminded me of, those dying fish from my childhood; desperately trying to breath but lacking the basic anatomy that all mammals were blessed with, dying because the chest cavity contained no lungs.
My meagre student loans, mostly spent on rent and medical textbooks had not allowed me to buy one of the deluxe models. My CPR dummy was a limbless torso, it's eyes forever fused shut by the smooth latex that covered it's face. Only the neck had any motility, a single joint that allowed the practitioner to tilt back the head an open the airway. As it struggled to draw air past it's rubbery lips, that neck joint was more than making up for the lack of other limbs. It spasmed wildly, smashing the back of the dummy's head into the hardwood floor, almost lifting the torso into the air with each dull whack, and further enhancing its resemblance to those drowning fish.
The mouth was wide open, far wider than normal, with it's rubbery lips pulled back over rubbery teeth. It would have screamed if it could, of that I was sure. Screamed at the injustice of being given life, but without the basic anatomy to live that life. Screamed in terror at being brought into a world it could not see, hear or touch. Screamed for it's misery to come to an end.
I should have been in shock. I should have been frozen in disbelief, but all I could think about were those fucking fish that my Dad had let drown on the pebbles. I wasn't a kid any more though, and I didn't have to watch that thing suffer a moment longer
The dorm room was small, and the baseball bat was never far from reach. I grabbed it and with all the force I could muster I swung the scratched aluminium bat into the dummy's head. The neck arched backwards, one last time, then the thing went still, the lips slipping back over the teeth once more. The soundless screaming finally at an end.
| |
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air. | He blinked, staring past the thing he'd breathed to life that had no right to be living. "Um... hello."
"Hello."
Someone inside it, perhaps? A disguise? It seemed rather unlikely, what with the lack of limbs. And tongue. And lower body. But maybe, under the table--
"What are you doing?"
"I was, um... seeing if there's someone under the table, sticking their face up into like, you know, a mask."
At the first the dummy did nothing. It was, after all, a dummy. He could've walked out of the room then, chalk this one up to thirty hours without sleep cramming for finals. Some people start to hallucinate after two or three days, so it seemed a plausible --
"It's funny. I always know the answer, but ask it anyway."
"Ah! God -- *Christ*. Sorry."
The dummy laughed, its disembodied head thumping on the table. "I always enjoy this."
"So, uh, what's it like being a dummy?"
"What's it like being alive?"
"I haven't had nearly enough sleep to answer that question." He rubbed his temples. "So, uh... do I like, keep going now? Or should I stop?"
"I'm not likely to complain about it."
"Can you let me know if I do something wrong?"
"I won't have to, but sure."
He was back it. One, two. Thirty compressions. One, two. Thirty compressions.
He tried not to think about the one, two too much. Tried not think about how he was breathing into the lips of a talking thing with no heart and lungs.
Back to thirty compressions.
"You're supposed to be watching for chest rise when you breathe in, you know."
"Can't imagine why I don't wanna look."
"Also your shoulders need to be further over me. You're too far back."
"Because you're freakin' me out!" He kept going anyway, but made no effort to correct his errors.
"Have you heard about the *Stayin' Alive* trick?"
"Compress in time to the song, yeah. I got it." Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen... "Thank you."
"It's what I do." The way the dummy stared straight ahead while talking never got any easier to deal with, but he supposed it made sense. She didn't exactly have any working neck muscles.
"And what are those muscles?"
"*Shit,* lady, you're freakin' me out."
"Go on."
"Scaleneus Madeus, Scaleneus anterior.Trapezius?"
"Pretty good, but there's more."
"There's always more. Why didn't they just name 'em neck muscles?"
"Because on an operating table, you wouldn't know which muscle is 'neck muscle.' Last one?"
He stopped. "Sterno-clido-cledio... Mastado-masto-eus?"
The dummy didn't shrug, but if it could, it would have. "Close enough."
He backed up and leaned against the white board, accidentally wiping away a two-day old drawing of the arm bones. (Humerus, Radius, Ulna.)
"I know you're feeling it now," said the dummy.
"I'm feelin' nothin. Afraid maybe, of a talking head."
"No no, not the test. Not me. The weight of human life, in your hands. Me, I am nothing. For the past six months, I have been nothing, easily replaced with any other dummy in the building, whatever other floozies you happen to grab and breathe into for a day. And we go back on the shelf, and you think nothing of it."
The dummy went still. From a distance, he could see the impossibility of it all, this tiny thing on a desk, in a room late at night, speaking straight at the ceiling.
It spoke again.
"But now, this one spoke. This one time, this one night, it spoke, and now you will remember it as *your* dummy. You may even mark me, as many have in the past, with a single line of ink on the back. A scratch. Initials. None of it is new to me."
It stopped.
And started again.
"You feel the weight of life in me, because you breathed it into me."
"And... that's a good thing? This weight?"
"It is. For now. You will feel a tremendous connection to the people you save, but you also set yourself up each time to let it crush you when you fail. Years from now, after this moment, please try to remember -- once you are performing this task, something has already gone horribly wrong. Sometimes your best will not be enough. When that happens, do not drop the weight on yourself."
He nodded. He rubbed the back of his neck and assured himself he'd earned a rest. As he slumped against the wall, he asked one last question. "How's a dummy know so much about life?"
"Because I envy it. I am designed to help you protect something I will never experience."
"Yeah, well, you got to experience it tonight."
If the dummy could smile, it would have. | When I was a kid, my father had taken me fishing a few times, over to the lake on the edge of town. As he would pluck the fish from the water, he'd toss them onto the beach, where they'd flap fruitlessly as they drowned in the cool mountain air. He didn't see the point of putting them out of their misery. They were just fish after all. He'd let them slowly drown, until the wild thrashing finally ceased, then he'd drop them into the icebox.
That's what it reminded me of, those dying fish from my childhood; desperately trying to breath but lacking the basic anatomy that all mammals were blessed with, dying because the chest cavity contained no lungs.
My meagre student loans, mostly spent on rent and medical textbooks had not allowed me to buy one of the deluxe models. My CPR dummy was a limbless torso, it's eyes forever fused shut by the smooth latex that covered it's face. Only the neck had any motility, a single joint that allowed the practitioner to tilt back the head an open the airway. As it struggled to draw air past it's rubbery lips, that neck joint was more than making up for the lack of other limbs. It spasmed wildly, smashing the back of the dummy's head into the hardwood floor, almost lifting the torso into the air with each dull whack, and further enhancing its resemblance to those drowning fish.
The mouth was wide open, far wider than normal, with it's rubbery lips pulled back over rubbery teeth. It would have screamed if it could, of that I was sure. Screamed at the injustice of being given life, but without the basic anatomy to live that life. Screamed in terror at being brought into a world it could not see, hear or touch. Screamed for it's misery to come to an end.
I should have been in shock. I should have been frozen in disbelief, but all I could think about were those fucking fish that my Dad had let drown on the pebbles. I wasn't a kid any more though, and I didn't have to watch that thing suffer a moment longer
The dorm room was small, and the baseball bat was never far from reach. I grabbed it and with all the force I could muster I swung the scratched aluminium bat into the dummy's head. The neck arched backwards, one last time, then the thing went still, the lips slipping back over the teeth once more. The soundless screaming finally at an end.
| |
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air. | I lie motionless, unable to see, unable to breath. I feel my mouth open, but my chest is still. Blank blackness fills the corners of my...of my...of my focus...of my thoughts. I cannot move. I know that I cannot move, therefore I’ve moved before. Where would I go? Where have I gone?
I’m making pictures in my mind. I see.. Brightness, I see.. Light. I feel it. It’s warm. It’s red and bright and in the center of my thought, it feels just in front of me. It burns... It burns my chest, it burns my face. It doesn’t burn my legs or my arms. I can feel… Is it real? It’s warm and bright. I try to move but cannot. I try to see but cannot. Just the light. Just the red center that glows hot.
I think of feeling. I focus on the heat. I find it on my body. I find my eyes and feel the heat there strongly. I find my nose and lips and feel the heat. I feel my chest and nipples and bellybutton - but not my arms or legs. They are cool, so cool that I can’t feel them. I feel my open mouth and I long to breath air into my lungs. I imagine the feeling of cool air pulling across the back of my tongue, giving my body calm and relief. I cannot feel it. The air is cold like my arms and legs, the light is warm on the rest of me.
Hours pass, I lie here stuck; thinking. Somehow I remain calm. I try to move and can’t, breath and can’t, see and can’t, yet I stay calm... even though I know what panic is. I think about the warmth and why I can only feel it on my chest and my face. I can feel nothing below my waist. Nothing. And nothing past my shoulders... But my chest is warm, my belly is warm. The heat got so hot that it almost hurt, but it never did, and now it’s better. I’ve heard things.. in my mind. I hear them now. Soft pattering.. footsteps I think. My mind creates them. Sometimes I even hear memories of laughter. It’s nice. It calms me like everything else. Memories, I know what they are yet I don’t know who I am. My memories are of sounds and feelings not of people or places. I look. I search my thoughts for them.. the people and the places.. but like my arms and legs I cannot find them.
More noises…I can hear them. Are they getting closer?.. they’re louder.My thoughts..am I dreaming? The sounds are louder and the pattering…the footsteps I can feel them approaching. I can almost feel the vibrations on my back.
Suddenly my head moves.
It moves. I feel it. It’s moved. I feel hands on my head, I feel hands moving my head from side to side, I can FEEL it. Ouch! My chest… Ouch! ...Ouch!! Pressing… pain… I FEEL it… Is this real?? What is this… I’m still.. It’s warm again… I’m calm. Is it over? I feel dread wash over me for an instant before I’m calm again. I think. What happened? Did I feel my heart beating? I know it’s been beating because I’m thinking but I haven’t felt it before. It’s my mind, it’s just my mind giving me memories of feelings…
Whooooosh… air in my lungs! Is this a memory? Whooooosh! Again! Whooooosh! Ow! Ow! Ow! My heart…. Whooooosh! AHH! I feel it….
My eyes… I feel my eyelids… I feel them. My ears… I hear… so many voices… so many small voices…
I’m grabbed.. I’m dropped.
OW! My head. I FELT it… The warmth is back… I try to suck in air… I feel it enter my mouth and slide down the back of my open throat. It doesn’t go far but I make it to my lungs so I can push to exhale. I hear a small wheeze… was that me?? I try again, I feel the air rush in and my lungs fill up and my chest rise...but it stops and.. OW!.. OW!.. OW!.. Whooooosh! Huuuuah.. I breath in… on my own.. .a full breath. My eye.. I can squeeze them. I hear so much.. I hear close voices, I hear many far away voices...I squeeze my eyes as tight as I can and rip them open. I see. I see faces, I see eyes that are wide and afraid. I see shock. I see fear. I turn and see so many young people. A moment of silence is here where I can see so many faces and so many expressions. It ends and I hear a terrible sound as every child I see opens their mouths and screams for the safety of their lives. I feel a tear fall down my face as I turn back to those close to me. I see the hands of a grown man reach for me and feel them grab me at the throat and see two fingers reach for my eyes. I hear him take a deep breath and groan as he beings to pull I feel my neck stretch and.. | Breathed into its mouth, pumped its chest with my hands.
".....two three four, aaand"
I thought as I breathed into the dummy one last time. It coughed.
Wait, it coughed?? What???
It's arms reached up behind my head and pulled my face down to its again, I was frozen, I couldn't move. As our lips met, it breathed in deep, and as it did I lost the feeling of my extremities
"The fuck!?" I thought as I tried to pull myself back, but couldn't.
It pulled me down one last time and as it breathed in, I felt the last of the air in my lungs leave, i could feel an intense tightness in my chest, and then almost absence. This empty space feeling filled my chest and stomach. It laid me on my back, looked into my eyes
"I'm sorry. You'll understand someday."
It said as it bolted out the door. Everybody looked around as though I had just left the room, nobody noticed me on the floor.
That was when someone approached me and began to practice CPR... | |
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air. | An older man with bristly hair and madness in his eyes slipped into the conference room full of coworkers, obviously late, mumbling an apology. "Sorry, there was a riot at Build-a-Bear."
A man in an ill-fitting business suit was arguing with the instructor, claiming he knew what he was doing. She corrected him sternly and he followed the instructions this time right down to the letter. Everyone in attendance couldn't believe it, he was terrible at following any form of instructions and was quite honestly a running joke in the workplace.
After a few breaths and a rhythmic pumping of the dummy's chest that were oddly on beat for someone known for a lack of musical talent yet thinks quite the opposite he jumped backwards and shouted almost incoherently. "It bit my tongue!" with a tone of abject terror in his voice as he crumpled back in terror.
A bitter looking woman with a flask in the back row shouted a sardonic "Why are you giving a CPR dummy tongue?" as a cough and throaty gasp silenced the room.
Everyone stared at the dummy as it gasped for air, a trickle of blood running down the corner of its mouth. It spat a bloody piece of tongue onto the carpet and began reciting Latin as the room shuddered. A darkness entered. It wasn't an absence of light, it was the presence of a nothingness that drained the light from the very air.
The smooth plastic stumps where its arms and legs should have been quivered and expanded, rapidly growing into limbs as the darkness pooled around it. Its face flexed as the chanting intensified and the foam took on the appearance of pale flesh.
With cat like reflexes a man in the back row raced into action, ripping his glasses off and tearing a picture frame containing a photo of him wielding a katana off the wall, hurling over the head of the short blond in the back row through the conference room window. With a mighty blow he shattered his fist on the stud behind the wall screaming "Who moved the photo!?"
The response came from a bloodied mouth as the suited man cowered from the dummy that was attempting to right itself with scaly limbs now the size of a toddler's. "I was reading about Feng Shui-"
"Well you did it wrong, that table is clearly over 50% clutter. Amateur" the man with the now broken fist muttered as he used his foot to punch a hole in the wall two feet to the right. Reaching into the hole with his good hand he pulled a blade identical to that of the photo out.
Whirling around he faced his now upright enemy as the rest of his coworkers sat frozen at the spectacle. Its stubby legs charged him and with a swift motion he sliced it cleanly in two, splitting the mouth diagonally ensuring no further enchantments could animated the inanimate.
The man blew a limp strand of brown hair back, straightened his his brown suit and slightly different brown colored shirt, stating with confidence. "I'll have Mose bring in the demon salt."
"Kali Ma Shakti de-"
"Shut up, Kevin." He said as he drove the blade into half of the steaming corpse and walked out.
A few moments later the older man with bristly hair and that crazy gleam in his eyes faced the unwitting camera crew that happened to be filming the CPR tutorial when it occurred in the office.
"You know, this isn't the first time I've seen the underworld reach into our realm. I remember back in 69, 1969 to be clear, the boys and I found what we thought was a cookbook. We made chili for the Altamont Free Concert. Turns out it was demon chili. Mmm. It sure had one hell of a kick to it."
"Cweed! Don't cweep the nith camewa peopwe out wui youw cwawy taw." Came the voice of the regional manager, his tongue wrapped completely in bandaids. | Breathed into its mouth, pumped its chest with my hands.
".....two three four, aaand"
I thought as I breathed into the dummy one last time. It coughed.
Wait, it coughed?? What???
It's arms reached up behind my head and pulled my face down to its again, I was frozen, I couldn't move. As our lips met, it breathed in deep, and as it did I lost the feeling of my extremities
"The fuck!?" I thought as I tried to pull myself back, but couldn't.
It pulled me down one last time and as it breathed in, I felt the last of the air in my lungs leave, i could feel an intense tightness in my chest, and then almost absence. This empty space feeling filled my chest and stomach. It laid me on my back, looked into my eyes
"I'm sorry. You'll understand someday."
It said as it bolted out the door. Everybody looked around as though I had just left the room, nobody noticed me on the floor.
That was when someone approached me and began to practice CPR... | |
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air. | He blinked, staring past the thing he'd breathed to life that had no right to be living. "Um... hello."
"Hello."
Someone inside it, perhaps? A disguise? It seemed rather unlikely, what with the lack of limbs. And tongue. And lower body. But maybe, under the table--
"What are you doing?"
"I was, um... seeing if there's someone under the table, sticking their face up into like, you know, a mask."
At the first the dummy did nothing. It was, after all, a dummy. He could've walked out of the room then, chalk this one up to thirty hours without sleep cramming for finals. Some people start to hallucinate after two or three days, so it seemed a plausible --
"It's funny. I always know the answer, but ask it anyway."
"Ah! God -- *Christ*. Sorry."
The dummy laughed, its disembodied head thumping on the table. "I always enjoy this."
"So, uh, what's it like being a dummy?"
"What's it like being alive?"
"I haven't had nearly enough sleep to answer that question." He rubbed his temples. "So, uh... do I like, keep going now? Or should I stop?"
"I'm not likely to complain about it."
"Can you let me know if I do something wrong?"
"I won't have to, but sure."
He was back it. One, two. Thirty compressions. One, two. Thirty compressions.
He tried not to think about the one, two too much. Tried not think about how he was breathing into the lips of a talking thing with no heart and lungs.
Back to thirty compressions.
"You're supposed to be watching for chest rise when you breathe in, you know."
"Can't imagine why I don't wanna look."
"Also your shoulders need to be further over me. You're too far back."
"Because you're freakin' me out!" He kept going anyway, but made no effort to correct his errors.
"Have you heard about the *Stayin' Alive* trick?"
"Compress in time to the song, yeah. I got it." Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen... "Thank you."
"It's what I do." The way the dummy stared straight ahead while talking never got any easier to deal with, but he supposed it made sense. She didn't exactly have any working neck muscles.
"And what are those muscles?"
"*Shit,* lady, you're freakin' me out."
"Go on."
"Scaleneus Madeus, Scaleneus anterior.Trapezius?"
"Pretty good, but there's more."
"There's always more. Why didn't they just name 'em neck muscles?"
"Because on an operating table, you wouldn't know which muscle is 'neck muscle.' Last one?"
He stopped. "Sterno-clido-cledio... Mastado-masto-eus?"
The dummy didn't shrug, but if it could, it would have. "Close enough."
He backed up and leaned against the white board, accidentally wiping away a two-day old drawing of the arm bones. (Humerus, Radius, Ulna.)
"I know you're feeling it now," said the dummy.
"I'm feelin' nothin. Afraid maybe, of a talking head."
"No no, not the test. Not me. The weight of human life, in your hands. Me, I am nothing. For the past six months, I have been nothing, easily replaced with any other dummy in the building, whatever other floozies you happen to grab and breathe into for a day. And we go back on the shelf, and you think nothing of it."
The dummy went still. From a distance, he could see the impossibility of it all, this tiny thing on a desk, in a room late at night, speaking straight at the ceiling.
It spoke again.
"But now, this one spoke. This one time, this one night, it spoke, and now you will remember it as *your* dummy. You may even mark me, as many have in the past, with a single line of ink on the back. A scratch. Initials. None of it is new to me."
It stopped.
And started again.
"You feel the weight of life in me, because you breathed it into me."
"And... that's a good thing? This weight?"
"It is. For now. You will feel a tremendous connection to the people you save, but you also set yourself up each time to let it crush you when you fail. Years from now, after this moment, please try to remember -- once you are performing this task, something has already gone horribly wrong. Sometimes your best will not be enough. When that happens, do not drop the weight on yourself."
He nodded. He rubbed the back of his neck and assured himself he'd earned a rest. As he slumped against the wall, he asked one last question. "How's a dummy know so much about life?"
"Because I envy it. I am designed to help you protect something I will never experience."
"Yeah, well, you got to experience it tonight."
If the dummy could smile, it would have. | Breathed into its mouth, pumped its chest with my hands.
".....two three four, aaand"
I thought as I breathed into the dummy one last time. It coughed.
Wait, it coughed?? What???
It's arms reached up behind my head and pulled my face down to its again, I was frozen, I couldn't move. As our lips met, it breathed in deep, and as it did I lost the feeling of my extremities
"The fuck!?" I thought as I tried to pull myself back, but couldn't.
It pulled me down one last time and as it breathed in, I felt the last of the air in my lungs leave, i could feel an intense tightness in my chest, and then almost absence. This empty space feeling filled my chest and stomach. It laid me on my back, looked into my eyes
"I'm sorry. You'll understand someday."
It said as it bolted out the door. Everybody looked around as though I had just left the room, nobody noticed me on the floor.
That was when someone approached me and began to practice CPR... | |
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air. | I lie motionless, unable to see, unable to breath. I feel my mouth open, but my chest is still. Blank blackness fills the corners of my...of my...of my focus...of my thoughts. I cannot move. I know that I cannot move, therefore I’ve moved before. Where would I go? Where have I gone?
I’m making pictures in my mind. I see.. Brightness, I see.. Light. I feel it. It’s warm. It’s red and bright and in the center of my thought, it feels just in front of me. It burns... It burns my chest, it burns my face. It doesn’t burn my legs or my arms. I can feel… Is it real? It’s warm and bright. I try to move but cannot. I try to see but cannot. Just the light. Just the red center that glows hot.
I think of feeling. I focus on the heat. I find it on my body. I find my eyes and feel the heat there strongly. I find my nose and lips and feel the heat. I feel my chest and nipples and bellybutton - but not my arms or legs. They are cool, so cool that I can’t feel them. I feel my open mouth and I long to breath air into my lungs. I imagine the feeling of cool air pulling across the back of my tongue, giving my body calm and relief. I cannot feel it. The air is cold like my arms and legs, the light is warm on the rest of me.
Hours pass, I lie here stuck; thinking. Somehow I remain calm. I try to move and can’t, breath and can’t, see and can’t, yet I stay calm... even though I know what panic is. I think about the warmth and why I can only feel it on my chest and my face. I can feel nothing below my waist. Nothing. And nothing past my shoulders... But my chest is warm, my belly is warm. The heat got so hot that it almost hurt, but it never did, and now it’s better. I’ve heard things.. in my mind. I hear them now. Soft pattering.. footsteps I think. My mind creates them. Sometimes I even hear memories of laughter. It’s nice. It calms me like everything else. Memories, I know what they are yet I don’t know who I am. My memories are of sounds and feelings not of people or places. I look. I search my thoughts for them.. the people and the places.. but like my arms and legs I cannot find them.
More noises…I can hear them. Are they getting closer?.. they’re louder.My thoughts..am I dreaming? The sounds are louder and the pattering…the footsteps I can feel them approaching. I can almost feel the vibrations on my back.
Suddenly my head moves.
It moves. I feel it. It’s moved. I feel hands on my head, I feel hands moving my head from side to side, I can FEEL it. Ouch! My chest… Ouch! ...Ouch!! Pressing… pain… I FEEL it… Is this real?? What is this… I’m still.. It’s warm again… I’m calm. Is it over? I feel dread wash over me for an instant before I’m calm again. I think. What happened? Did I feel my heart beating? I know it’s been beating because I’m thinking but I haven’t felt it before. It’s my mind, it’s just my mind giving me memories of feelings…
Whooooosh… air in my lungs! Is this a memory? Whooooosh! Again! Whooooosh! Ow! Ow! Ow! My heart…. Whooooosh! AHH! I feel it….
My eyes… I feel my eyelids… I feel them. My ears… I hear… so many voices… so many small voices…
I’m grabbed.. I’m dropped.
OW! My head. I FELT it… The warmth is back… I try to suck in air… I feel it enter my mouth and slide down the back of my open throat. It doesn’t go far but I make it to my lungs so I can push to exhale. I hear a small wheeze… was that me?? I try again, I feel the air rush in and my lungs fill up and my chest rise...but it stops and.. OW!.. OW!.. OW!.. Whooooosh! Huuuuah.. I breath in… on my own.. .a full breath. My eye.. I can squeeze them. I hear so much.. I hear close voices, I hear many far away voices...I squeeze my eyes as tight as I can and rip them open. I see. I see faces, I see eyes that are wide and afraid. I see shock. I see fear. I turn and see so many young people. A moment of silence is here where I can see so many faces and so many expressions. It ends and I hear a terrible sound as every child I see opens their mouths and screams for the safety of their lives. I feel a tear fall down my face as I turn back to those close to me. I see the hands of a grown man reach for me and feel them grab me at the throat and see two fingers reach for my eyes. I hear him take a deep breath and groan as he beings to pull I feel my neck stretch and.. | Sgt. Lawson made me stay after school, but I honestly wasn't surprised in the slightest. You see we were doing CPR training in JROTC, and if I had to actually give somebody CPR, I would probably just crush a few of there ribs before they died. So I was told to stay after to practice and get it right, "You'll save someone's life some day," Lawson told me, "and you'll look back and think that it was a good thing you stayed after." So sure I stayed after, I wasn't about to argue with the one that controlled my grade. I was told that I would practice until I got it right. So I knelt in the presence of Sgt. Lawson, breathing into the lifeless dummy on the ground. After about four minutes, I made another round of coming up for my own air, wondering how he could even tell if I was doing it right. But at that moment, I heard a sudden loud gasps for air that drowned out my own. I looked down and saw the plastic doll gasping for as much air as it could, though it was obvious that each breath couldn't satisfy it's need for oxygen. I scuttled backwards on the ground. "SHIT SHIT SHIT WHAT THE FUCK," I yelled, completely oblivious to the fact that my superior was still present. When it dawned on me that Sgt. was in fact there, I looked up at him for answers, only to further my confusion. Lawson didn't looked fazed by the events occurring at all, but actually wore a look of disappointment. He let out a sigh and muttered something along the lines of, "such a shame," to himself, as he pulled out a the handgun he kept at his waste. Without my attention diverting from him, he fired a single bullet into the hyperventilating doll, and I could hear the gasping stop. "Wha- ," I said as he aimed the gun at my head, with no expression on his face in the slightest, and pulled the trigger. "What the fuck," was the second to last thing that went through my head. The last, was eight grams of lead. | |
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air. | He blinked, staring past the thing he'd breathed to life that had no right to be living. "Um... hello."
"Hello."
Someone inside it, perhaps? A disguise? It seemed rather unlikely, what with the lack of limbs. And tongue. And lower body. But maybe, under the table--
"What are you doing?"
"I was, um... seeing if there's someone under the table, sticking their face up into like, you know, a mask."
At the first the dummy did nothing. It was, after all, a dummy. He could've walked out of the room then, chalk this one up to thirty hours without sleep cramming for finals. Some people start to hallucinate after two or three days, so it seemed a plausible --
"It's funny. I always know the answer, but ask it anyway."
"Ah! God -- *Christ*. Sorry."
The dummy laughed, its disembodied head thumping on the table. "I always enjoy this."
"So, uh, what's it like being a dummy?"
"What's it like being alive?"
"I haven't had nearly enough sleep to answer that question." He rubbed his temples. "So, uh... do I like, keep going now? Or should I stop?"
"I'm not likely to complain about it."
"Can you let me know if I do something wrong?"
"I won't have to, but sure."
He was back it. One, two. Thirty compressions. One, two. Thirty compressions.
He tried not to think about the one, two too much. Tried not think about how he was breathing into the lips of a talking thing with no heart and lungs.
Back to thirty compressions.
"You're supposed to be watching for chest rise when you breathe in, you know."
"Can't imagine why I don't wanna look."
"Also your shoulders need to be further over me. You're too far back."
"Because you're freakin' me out!" He kept going anyway, but made no effort to correct his errors.
"Have you heard about the *Stayin' Alive* trick?"
"Compress in time to the song, yeah. I got it." Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen... "Thank you."
"It's what I do." The way the dummy stared straight ahead while talking never got any easier to deal with, but he supposed it made sense. She didn't exactly have any working neck muscles.
"And what are those muscles?"
"*Shit,* lady, you're freakin' me out."
"Go on."
"Scaleneus Madeus, Scaleneus anterior.Trapezius?"
"Pretty good, but there's more."
"There's always more. Why didn't they just name 'em neck muscles?"
"Because on an operating table, you wouldn't know which muscle is 'neck muscle.' Last one?"
He stopped. "Sterno-clido-cledio... Mastado-masto-eus?"
The dummy didn't shrug, but if it could, it would have. "Close enough."
He backed up and leaned against the white board, accidentally wiping away a two-day old drawing of the arm bones. (Humerus, Radius, Ulna.)
"I know you're feeling it now," said the dummy.
"I'm feelin' nothin. Afraid maybe, of a talking head."
"No no, not the test. Not me. The weight of human life, in your hands. Me, I am nothing. For the past six months, I have been nothing, easily replaced with any other dummy in the building, whatever other floozies you happen to grab and breathe into for a day. And we go back on the shelf, and you think nothing of it."
The dummy went still. From a distance, he could see the impossibility of it all, this tiny thing on a desk, in a room late at night, speaking straight at the ceiling.
It spoke again.
"But now, this one spoke. This one time, this one night, it spoke, and now you will remember it as *your* dummy. You may even mark me, as many have in the past, with a single line of ink on the back. A scratch. Initials. None of it is new to me."
It stopped.
And started again.
"You feel the weight of life in me, because you breathed it into me."
"And... that's a good thing? This weight?"
"It is. For now. You will feel a tremendous connection to the people you save, but you also set yourself up each time to let it crush you when you fail. Years from now, after this moment, please try to remember -- once you are performing this task, something has already gone horribly wrong. Sometimes your best will not be enough. When that happens, do not drop the weight on yourself."
He nodded. He rubbed the back of his neck and assured himself he'd earned a rest. As he slumped against the wall, he asked one last question. "How's a dummy know so much about life?"
"Because I envy it. I am designed to help you protect something I will never experience."
"Yeah, well, you got to experience it tonight."
If the dummy could smile, it would have. | Sgt. Lawson made me stay after school, but I honestly wasn't surprised in the slightest. You see we were doing CPR training in JROTC, and if I had to actually give somebody CPR, I would probably just crush a few of there ribs before they died. So I was told to stay after to practice and get it right, "You'll save someone's life some day," Lawson told me, "and you'll look back and think that it was a good thing you stayed after." So sure I stayed after, I wasn't about to argue with the one that controlled my grade. I was told that I would practice until I got it right. So I knelt in the presence of Sgt. Lawson, breathing into the lifeless dummy on the ground. After about four minutes, I made another round of coming up for my own air, wondering how he could even tell if I was doing it right. But at that moment, I heard a sudden loud gasps for air that drowned out my own. I looked down and saw the plastic doll gasping for as much air as it could, though it was obvious that each breath couldn't satisfy it's need for oxygen. I scuttled backwards on the ground. "SHIT SHIT SHIT WHAT THE FUCK," I yelled, completely oblivious to the fact that my superior was still present. When it dawned on me that Sgt. was in fact there, I looked up at him for answers, only to further my confusion. Lawson didn't looked fazed by the events occurring at all, but actually wore a look of disappointment. He let out a sigh and muttered something along the lines of, "such a shame," to himself, as he pulled out a the handgun he kept at his waste. Without my attention diverting from him, he fired a single bullet into the hyperventilating doll, and I could hear the gasping stop. "Wha- ," I said as he aimed the gun at my head, with no expression on his face in the slightest, and pulled the trigger. "What the fuck," was the second to last thing that went through my head. The last, was eight grams of lead. | |
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air. | I lie motionless, unable to see, unable to breath. I feel my mouth open, but my chest is still. Blank blackness fills the corners of my...of my...of my focus...of my thoughts. I cannot move. I know that I cannot move, therefore I’ve moved before. Where would I go? Where have I gone?
I’m making pictures in my mind. I see.. Brightness, I see.. Light. I feel it. It’s warm. It’s red and bright and in the center of my thought, it feels just in front of me. It burns... It burns my chest, it burns my face. It doesn’t burn my legs or my arms. I can feel… Is it real? It’s warm and bright. I try to move but cannot. I try to see but cannot. Just the light. Just the red center that glows hot.
I think of feeling. I focus on the heat. I find it on my body. I find my eyes and feel the heat there strongly. I find my nose and lips and feel the heat. I feel my chest and nipples and bellybutton - but not my arms or legs. They are cool, so cool that I can’t feel them. I feel my open mouth and I long to breath air into my lungs. I imagine the feeling of cool air pulling across the back of my tongue, giving my body calm and relief. I cannot feel it. The air is cold like my arms and legs, the light is warm on the rest of me.
Hours pass, I lie here stuck; thinking. Somehow I remain calm. I try to move and can’t, breath and can’t, see and can’t, yet I stay calm... even though I know what panic is. I think about the warmth and why I can only feel it on my chest and my face. I can feel nothing below my waist. Nothing. And nothing past my shoulders... But my chest is warm, my belly is warm. The heat got so hot that it almost hurt, but it never did, and now it’s better. I’ve heard things.. in my mind. I hear them now. Soft pattering.. footsteps I think. My mind creates them. Sometimes I even hear memories of laughter. It’s nice. It calms me like everything else. Memories, I know what they are yet I don’t know who I am. My memories are of sounds and feelings not of people or places. I look. I search my thoughts for them.. the people and the places.. but like my arms and legs I cannot find them.
More noises…I can hear them. Are they getting closer?.. they’re louder.My thoughts..am I dreaming? The sounds are louder and the pattering…the footsteps I can feel them approaching. I can almost feel the vibrations on my back.
Suddenly my head moves.
It moves. I feel it. It’s moved. I feel hands on my head, I feel hands moving my head from side to side, I can FEEL it. Ouch! My chest… Ouch! ...Ouch!! Pressing… pain… I FEEL it… Is this real?? What is this… I’m still.. It’s warm again… I’m calm. Is it over? I feel dread wash over me for an instant before I’m calm again. I think. What happened? Did I feel my heart beating? I know it’s been beating because I’m thinking but I haven’t felt it before. It’s my mind, it’s just my mind giving me memories of feelings…
Whooooosh… air in my lungs! Is this a memory? Whooooosh! Again! Whooooosh! Ow! Ow! Ow! My heart…. Whooooosh! AHH! I feel it….
My eyes… I feel my eyelids… I feel them. My ears… I hear… so many voices… so many small voices…
I’m grabbed.. I’m dropped.
OW! My head. I FELT it… The warmth is back… I try to suck in air… I feel it enter my mouth and slide down the back of my open throat. It doesn’t go far but I make it to my lungs so I can push to exhale. I hear a small wheeze… was that me?? I try again, I feel the air rush in and my lungs fill up and my chest rise...but it stops and.. OW!.. OW!.. OW!.. Whooooosh! Huuuuah.. I breath in… on my own.. .a full breath. My eye.. I can squeeze them. I hear so much.. I hear close voices, I hear many far away voices...I squeeze my eyes as tight as I can and rip them open. I see. I see faces, I see eyes that are wide and afraid. I see shock. I see fear. I turn and see so many young people. A moment of silence is here where I can see so many faces and so many expressions. It ends and I hear a terrible sound as every child I see opens their mouths and screams for the safety of their lives. I feel a tear fall down my face as I turn back to those close to me. I see the hands of a grown man reach for me and feel them grab me at the throat and see two fingers reach for my eyes. I hear him take a deep breath and groan as he beings to pull I feel my neck stretch and.. | It was muscle memory at this point. All I consciously did was keep count. I'd only been assessed twice so far, but my assessors always gave me perfect scores. I don't know why everyone was so impressed. CPR is such a simple task, the only tough part is exerting enough for an extended period of time.
As I began to zone out, I felt a shuddering under my hands. What is this, some new technology in the dummies that provides a physical response when you execute CPR properly? I figured that's what it was, so I kept going. But then I hear gasps from my classmates, so I look down at the dummy I was performing on.
It had opened its eyes.
I jump back as the dummy (or whatever it is) tries to sit up and take its first breaths. The expression on its rubber face is that of confusion, and by no surprise my classmates have similar expressions.
My face is blank. I realize my hand had instinctively gone in my pocket and is now resting on the knife I always have with me. I take it out,
and plunge it into the dummy's chest.
A few of my classmates let out shrieks of terror as black sludge slowly oozes out of the dummy's chest. It looks up at me with eyes glazed over as I take this ungodly creature out of our world. In my mind, it was unknown how it gained life, and therefore it was a threat.
The back of its head audibly smacks against the tile floor, and I pull my knife out of its chest. The liquid sizzles as I wipe it off my blade onto a rag. I ignore the stares of my classmates, and walk to the bathroom to wash my hands. | |
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air. | He blinked, staring past the thing he'd breathed to life that had no right to be living. "Um... hello."
"Hello."
Someone inside it, perhaps? A disguise? It seemed rather unlikely, what with the lack of limbs. And tongue. And lower body. But maybe, under the table--
"What are you doing?"
"I was, um... seeing if there's someone under the table, sticking their face up into like, you know, a mask."
At the first the dummy did nothing. It was, after all, a dummy. He could've walked out of the room then, chalk this one up to thirty hours without sleep cramming for finals. Some people start to hallucinate after two or three days, so it seemed a plausible --
"It's funny. I always know the answer, but ask it anyway."
"Ah! God -- *Christ*. Sorry."
The dummy laughed, its disembodied head thumping on the table. "I always enjoy this."
"So, uh, what's it like being a dummy?"
"What's it like being alive?"
"I haven't had nearly enough sleep to answer that question." He rubbed his temples. "So, uh... do I like, keep going now? Or should I stop?"
"I'm not likely to complain about it."
"Can you let me know if I do something wrong?"
"I won't have to, but sure."
He was back it. One, two. Thirty compressions. One, two. Thirty compressions.
He tried not to think about the one, two too much. Tried not think about how he was breathing into the lips of a talking thing with no heart and lungs.
Back to thirty compressions.
"You're supposed to be watching for chest rise when you breathe in, you know."
"Can't imagine why I don't wanna look."
"Also your shoulders need to be further over me. You're too far back."
"Because you're freakin' me out!" He kept going anyway, but made no effort to correct his errors.
"Have you heard about the *Stayin' Alive* trick?"
"Compress in time to the song, yeah. I got it." Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen... "Thank you."
"It's what I do." The way the dummy stared straight ahead while talking never got any easier to deal with, but he supposed it made sense. She didn't exactly have any working neck muscles.
"And what are those muscles?"
"*Shit,* lady, you're freakin' me out."
"Go on."
"Scaleneus Madeus, Scaleneus anterior.Trapezius?"
"Pretty good, but there's more."
"There's always more. Why didn't they just name 'em neck muscles?"
"Because on an operating table, you wouldn't know which muscle is 'neck muscle.' Last one?"
He stopped. "Sterno-clido-cledio... Mastado-masto-eus?"
The dummy didn't shrug, but if it could, it would have. "Close enough."
He backed up and leaned against the white board, accidentally wiping away a two-day old drawing of the arm bones. (Humerus, Radius, Ulna.)
"I know you're feeling it now," said the dummy.
"I'm feelin' nothin. Afraid maybe, of a talking head."
"No no, not the test. Not me. The weight of human life, in your hands. Me, I am nothing. For the past six months, I have been nothing, easily replaced with any other dummy in the building, whatever other floozies you happen to grab and breathe into for a day. And we go back on the shelf, and you think nothing of it."
The dummy went still. From a distance, he could see the impossibility of it all, this tiny thing on a desk, in a room late at night, speaking straight at the ceiling.
It spoke again.
"But now, this one spoke. This one time, this one night, it spoke, and now you will remember it as *your* dummy. You may even mark me, as many have in the past, with a single line of ink on the back. A scratch. Initials. None of it is new to me."
It stopped.
And started again.
"You feel the weight of life in me, because you breathed it into me."
"And... that's a good thing? This weight?"
"It is. For now. You will feel a tremendous connection to the people you save, but you also set yourself up each time to let it crush you when you fail. Years from now, after this moment, please try to remember -- once you are performing this task, something has already gone horribly wrong. Sometimes your best will not be enough. When that happens, do not drop the weight on yourself."
He nodded. He rubbed the back of his neck and assured himself he'd earned a rest. As he slumped against the wall, he asked one last question. "How's a dummy know so much about life?"
"Because I envy it. I am designed to help you protect something I will never experience."
"Yeah, well, you got to experience it tonight."
If the dummy could smile, it would have. | It was muscle memory at this point. All I consciously did was keep count. I'd only been assessed twice so far, but my assessors always gave me perfect scores. I don't know why everyone was so impressed. CPR is such a simple task, the only tough part is exerting enough for an extended period of time.
As I began to zone out, I felt a shuddering under my hands. What is this, some new technology in the dummies that provides a physical response when you execute CPR properly? I figured that's what it was, so I kept going. But then I hear gasps from my classmates, so I look down at the dummy I was performing on.
It had opened its eyes.
I jump back as the dummy (or whatever it is) tries to sit up and take its first breaths. The expression on its rubber face is that of confusion, and by no surprise my classmates have similar expressions.
My face is blank. I realize my hand had instinctively gone in my pocket and is now resting on the knife I always have with me. I take it out,
and plunge it into the dummy's chest.
A few of my classmates let out shrieks of terror as black sludge slowly oozes out of the dummy's chest. It looks up at me with eyes glazed over as I take this ungodly creature out of our world. In my mind, it was unknown how it gained life, and therefore it was a threat.
The back of its head audibly smacks against the tile floor, and I pull my knife out of its chest. The liquid sizzles as I wipe it off my blade onto a rag. I ignore the stares of my classmates, and walk to the bathroom to wash my hands. | |
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air. | I lie motionless, unable to see, unable to breath. I feel my mouth open, but my chest is still. Blank blackness fills the corners of my...of my...of my focus...of my thoughts. I cannot move. I know that I cannot move, therefore I’ve moved before. Where would I go? Where have I gone?
I’m making pictures in my mind. I see.. Brightness, I see.. Light. I feel it. It’s warm. It’s red and bright and in the center of my thought, it feels just in front of me. It burns... It burns my chest, it burns my face. It doesn’t burn my legs or my arms. I can feel… Is it real? It’s warm and bright. I try to move but cannot. I try to see but cannot. Just the light. Just the red center that glows hot.
I think of feeling. I focus on the heat. I find it on my body. I find my eyes and feel the heat there strongly. I find my nose and lips and feel the heat. I feel my chest and nipples and bellybutton - but not my arms or legs. They are cool, so cool that I can’t feel them. I feel my open mouth and I long to breath air into my lungs. I imagine the feeling of cool air pulling across the back of my tongue, giving my body calm and relief. I cannot feel it. The air is cold like my arms and legs, the light is warm on the rest of me.
Hours pass, I lie here stuck; thinking. Somehow I remain calm. I try to move and can’t, breath and can’t, see and can’t, yet I stay calm... even though I know what panic is. I think about the warmth and why I can only feel it on my chest and my face. I can feel nothing below my waist. Nothing. And nothing past my shoulders... But my chest is warm, my belly is warm. The heat got so hot that it almost hurt, but it never did, and now it’s better. I’ve heard things.. in my mind. I hear them now. Soft pattering.. footsteps I think. My mind creates them. Sometimes I even hear memories of laughter. It’s nice. It calms me like everything else. Memories, I know what they are yet I don’t know who I am. My memories are of sounds and feelings not of people or places. I look. I search my thoughts for them.. the people and the places.. but like my arms and legs I cannot find them.
More noises…I can hear them. Are they getting closer?.. they’re louder.My thoughts..am I dreaming? The sounds are louder and the pattering…the footsteps I can feel them approaching. I can almost feel the vibrations on my back.
Suddenly my head moves.
It moves. I feel it. It’s moved. I feel hands on my head, I feel hands moving my head from side to side, I can FEEL it. Ouch! My chest… Ouch! ...Ouch!! Pressing… pain… I FEEL it… Is this real?? What is this… I’m still.. It’s warm again… I’m calm. Is it over? I feel dread wash over me for an instant before I’m calm again. I think. What happened? Did I feel my heart beating? I know it’s been beating because I’m thinking but I haven’t felt it before. It’s my mind, it’s just my mind giving me memories of feelings…
Whooooosh… air in my lungs! Is this a memory? Whooooosh! Again! Whooooosh! Ow! Ow! Ow! My heart…. Whooooosh! AHH! I feel it….
My eyes… I feel my eyelids… I feel them. My ears… I hear… so many voices… so many small voices…
I’m grabbed.. I’m dropped.
OW! My head. I FELT it… The warmth is back… I try to suck in air… I feel it enter my mouth and slide down the back of my open throat. It doesn’t go far but I make it to my lungs so I can push to exhale. I hear a small wheeze… was that me?? I try again, I feel the air rush in and my lungs fill up and my chest rise...but it stops and.. OW!.. OW!.. OW!.. Whooooosh! Huuuuah.. I breath in… on my own.. .a full breath. My eye.. I can squeeze them. I hear so much.. I hear close voices, I hear many far away voices...I squeeze my eyes as tight as I can and rip them open. I see. I see faces, I see eyes that are wide and afraid. I see shock. I see fear. I turn and see so many young people. A moment of silence is here where I can see so many faces and so many expressions. It ends and I hear a terrible sound as every child I see opens their mouths and screams for the safety of their lives. I feel a tear fall down my face as I turn back to those close to me. I see the hands of a grown man reach for me and feel them grab me at the throat and see two fingers reach for my eyes. I hear him take a deep breath and groan as he beings to pull I feel my neck stretch and.. | Lol, this kind of happened to me IRL. I was a lifeguard teaching a class in choking infants and the guards weren't actually trying. So I took the infant and started hitting on it properly and water began coming out of its mouth. | |
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air. | He blinked, staring past the thing he'd breathed to life that had no right to be living. "Um... hello."
"Hello."
Someone inside it, perhaps? A disguise? It seemed rather unlikely, what with the lack of limbs. And tongue. And lower body. But maybe, under the table--
"What are you doing?"
"I was, um... seeing if there's someone under the table, sticking their face up into like, you know, a mask."
At the first the dummy did nothing. It was, after all, a dummy. He could've walked out of the room then, chalk this one up to thirty hours without sleep cramming for finals. Some people start to hallucinate after two or three days, so it seemed a plausible --
"It's funny. I always know the answer, but ask it anyway."
"Ah! God -- *Christ*. Sorry."
The dummy laughed, its disembodied head thumping on the table. "I always enjoy this."
"So, uh, what's it like being a dummy?"
"What's it like being alive?"
"I haven't had nearly enough sleep to answer that question." He rubbed his temples. "So, uh... do I like, keep going now? Or should I stop?"
"I'm not likely to complain about it."
"Can you let me know if I do something wrong?"
"I won't have to, but sure."
He was back it. One, two. Thirty compressions. One, two. Thirty compressions.
He tried not to think about the one, two too much. Tried not think about how he was breathing into the lips of a talking thing with no heart and lungs.
Back to thirty compressions.
"You're supposed to be watching for chest rise when you breathe in, you know."
"Can't imagine why I don't wanna look."
"Also your shoulders need to be further over me. You're too far back."
"Because you're freakin' me out!" He kept going anyway, but made no effort to correct his errors.
"Have you heard about the *Stayin' Alive* trick?"
"Compress in time to the song, yeah. I got it." Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen... "Thank you."
"It's what I do." The way the dummy stared straight ahead while talking never got any easier to deal with, but he supposed it made sense. She didn't exactly have any working neck muscles.
"And what are those muscles?"
"*Shit,* lady, you're freakin' me out."
"Go on."
"Scaleneus Madeus, Scaleneus anterior.Trapezius?"
"Pretty good, but there's more."
"There's always more. Why didn't they just name 'em neck muscles?"
"Because on an operating table, you wouldn't know which muscle is 'neck muscle.' Last one?"
He stopped. "Sterno-clido-cledio... Mastado-masto-eus?"
The dummy didn't shrug, but if it could, it would have. "Close enough."
He backed up and leaned against the white board, accidentally wiping away a two-day old drawing of the arm bones. (Humerus, Radius, Ulna.)
"I know you're feeling it now," said the dummy.
"I'm feelin' nothin. Afraid maybe, of a talking head."
"No no, not the test. Not me. The weight of human life, in your hands. Me, I am nothing. For the past six months, I have been nothing, easily replaced with any other dummy in the building, whatever other floozies you happen to grab and breathe into for a day. And we go back on the shelf, and you think nothing of it."
The dummy went still. From a distance, he could see the impossibility of it all, this tiny thing on a desk, in a room late at night, speaking straight at the ceiling.
It spoke again.
"But now, this one spoke. This one time, this one night, it spoke, and now you will remember it as *your* dummy. You may even mark me, as many have in the past, with a single line of ink on the back. A scratch. Initials. None of it is new to me."
It stopped.
And started again.
"You feel the weight of life in me, because you breathed it into me."
"And... that's a good thing? This weight?"
"It is. For now. You will feel a tremendous connection to the people you save, but you also set yourself up each time to let it crush you when you fail. Years from now, after this moment, please try to remember -- once you are performing this task, something has already gone horribly wrong. Sometimes your best will not be enough. When that happens, do not drop the weight on yourself."
He nodded. He rubbed the back of his neck and assured himself he'd earned a rest. As he slumped against the wall, he asked one last question. "How's a dummy know so much about life?"
"Because I envy it. I am designed to help you protect something I will never experience."
"Yeah, well, you got to experience it tonight."
If the dummy could smile, it would have. | Lol, this kind of happened to me IRL. I was a lifeguard teaching a class in choking infants and the guards weren't actually trying. So I took the infant and started hitting on it properly and water began coming out of its mouth. | |
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air. | He blinked, staring past the thing he'd breathed to life that had no right to be living. "Um... hello."
"Hello."
Someone inside it, perhaps? A disguise? It seemed rather unlikely, what with the lack of limbs. And tongue. And lower body. But maybe, under the table--
"What are you doing?"
"I was, um... seeing if there's someone under the table, sticking their face up into like, you know, a mask."
At the first the dummy did nothing. It was, after all, a dummy. He could've walked out of the room then, chalk this one up to thirty hours without sleep cramming for finals. Some people start to hallucinate after two or three days, so it seemed a plausible --
"It's funny. I always know the answer, but ask it anyway."
"Ah! God -- *Christ*. Sorry."
The dummy laughed, its disembodied head thumping on the table. "I always enjoy this."
"So, uh, what's it like being a dummy?"
"What's it like being alive?"
"I haven't had nearly enough sleep to answer that question." He rubbed his temples. "So, uh... do I like, keep going now? Or should I stop?"
"I'm not likely to complain about it."
"Can you let me know if I do something wrong?"
"I won't have to, but sure."
He was back it. One, two. Thirty compressions. One, two. Thirty compressions.
He tried not to think about the one, two too much. Tried not think about how he was breathing into the lips of a talking thing with no heart and lungs.
Back to thirty compressions.
"You're supposed to be watching for chest rise when you breathe in, you know."
"Can't imagine why I don't wanna look."
"Also your shoulders need to be further over me. You're too far back."
"Because you're freakin' me out!" He kept going anyway, but made no effort to correct his errors.
"Have you heard about the *Stayin' Alive* trick?"
"Compress in time to the song, yeah. I got it." Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen... "Thank you."
"It's what I do." The way the dummy stared straight ahead while talking never got any easier to deal with, but he supposed it made sense. She didn't exactly have any working neck muscles.
"And what are those muscles?"
"*Shit,* lady, you're freakin' me out."
"Go on."
"Scaleneus Madeus, Scaleneus anterior.Trapezius?"
"Pretty good, but there's more."
"There's always more. Why didn't they just name 'em neck muscles?"
"Because on an operating table, you wouldn't know which muscle is 'neck muscle.' Last one?"
He stopped. "Sterno-clido-cledio... Mastado-masto-eus?"
The dummy didn't shrug, but if it could, it would have. "Close enough."
He backed up and leaned against the white board, accidentally wiping away a two-day old drawing of the arm bones. (Humerus, Radius, Ulna.)
"I know you're feeling it now," said the dummy.
"I'm feelin' nothin. Afraid maybe, of a talking head."
"No no, not the test. Not me. The weight of human life, in your hands. Me, I am nothing. For the past six months, I have been nothing, easily replaced with any other dummy in the building, whatever other floozies you happen to grab and breathe into for a day. And we go back on the shelf, and you think nothing of it."
The dummy went still. From a distance, he could see the impossibility of it all, this tiny thing on a desk, in a room late at night, speaking straight at the ceiling.
It spoke again.
"But now, this one spoke. This one time, this one night, it spoke, and now you will remember it as *your* dummy. You may even mark me, as many have in the past, with a single line of ink on the back. A scratch. Initials. None of it is new to me."
It stopped.
And started again.
"You feel the weight of life in me, because you breathed it into me."
"And... that's a good thing? This weight?"
"It is. For now. You will feel a tremendous connection to the people you save, but you also set yourself up each time to let it crush you when you fail. Years from now, after this moment, please try to remember -- once you are performing this task, something has already gone horribly wrong. Sometimes your best will not be enough. When that happens, do not drop the weight on yourself."
He nodded. He rubbed the back of his neck and assured himself he'd earned a rest. As he slumped against the wall, he asked one last question. "How's a dummy know so much about life?"
"Because I envy it. I am designed to help you protect something I will never experience."
"Yeah, well, you got to experience it tonight."
If the dummy could smile, it would have. | I lie motionless, unable to see, unable to breath. I feel my mouth open, but my chest is still. Blank blackness fills the corners of my...of my...of my focus...of my thoughts. I cannot move. I know that I cannot move, therefore I’ve moved before. Where would I go? Where have I gone?
I’m making pictures in my mind. I see.. Brightness, I see.. Light. I feel it. It’s warm. It’s red and bright and in the center of my thought, it feels just in front of me. It burns... It burns my chest, it burns my face. It doesn’t burn my legs or my arms. I can feel… Is it real? It’s warm and bright. I try to move but cannot. I try to see but cannot. Just the light. Just the red center that glows hot.
I think of feeling. I focus on the heat. I find it on my body. I find my eyes and feel the heat there strongly. I find my nose and lips and feel the heat. I feel my chest and nipples and bellybutton - but not my arms or legs. They are cool, so cool that I can’t feel them. I feel my open mouth and I long to breath air into my lungs. I imagine the feeling of cool air pulling across the back of my tongue, giving my body calm and relief. I cannot feel it. The air is cold like my arms and legs, the light is warm on the rest of me.
Hours pass, I lie here stuck; thinking. Somehow I remain calm. I try to move and can’t, breath and can’t, see and can’t, yet I stay calm... even though I know what panic is. I think about the warmth and why I can only feel it on my chest and my face. I can feel nothing below my waist. Nothing. And nothing past my shoulders... But my chest is warm, my belly is warm. The heat got so hot that it almost hurt, but it never did, and now it’s better. I’ve heard things.. in my mind. I hear them now. Soft pattering.. footsteps I think. My mind creates them. Sometimes I even hear memories of laughter. It’s nice. It calms me like everything else. Memories, I know what they are yet I don’t know who I am. My memories are of sounds and feelings not of people or places. I look. I search my thoughts for them.. the people and the places.. but like my arms and legs I cannot find them.
More noises…I can hear them. Are they getting closer?.. they’re louder.My thoughts..am I dreaming? The sounds are louder and the pattering…the footsteps I can feel them approaching. I can almost feel the vibrations on my back.
Suddenly my head moves.
It moves. I feel it. It’s moved. I feel hands on my head, I feel hands moving my head from side to side, I can FEEL it. Ouch! My chest… Ouch! ...Ouch!! Pressing… pain… I FEEL it… Is this real?? What is this… I’m still.. It’s warm again… I’m calm. Is it over? I feel dread wash over me for an instant before I’m calm again. I think. What happened? Did I feel my heart beating? I know it’s been beating because I’m thinking but I haven’t felt it before. It’s my mind, it’s just my mind giving me memories of feelings…
Whooooosh… air in my lungs! Is this a memory? Whooooosh! Again! Whooooosh! Ow! Ow! Ow! My heart…. Whooooosh! AHH! I feel it….
My eyes… I feel my eyelids… I feel them. My ears… I hear… so many voices… so many small voices…
I’m grabbed.. I’m dropped.
OW! My head. I FELT it… The warmth is back… I try to suck in air… I feel it enter my mouth and slide down the back of my open throat. It doesn’t go far but I make it to my lungs so I can push to exhale. I hear a small wheeze… was that me?? I try again, I feel the air rush in and my lungs fill up and my chest rise...but it stops and.. OW!.. OW!.. OW!.. Whooooosh! Huuuuah.. I breath in… on my own.. .a full breath. My eye.. I can squeeze them. I hear so much.. I hear close voices, I hear many far away voices...I squeeze my eyes as tight as I can and rip them open. I see. I see faces, I see eyes that are wide and afraid. I see shock. I see fear. I turn and see so many young people. A moment of silence is here where I can see so many faces and so many expressions. It ends and I hear a terrible sound as every child I see opens their mouths and screams for the safety of their lives. I feel a tear fall down my face as I turn back to those close to me. I see the hands of a grown man reach for me and feel them grab me at the throat and see two fingers reach for my eyes. I hear him take a deep breath and groan as he beings to pull I feel my neck stretch and.. | |
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air. | He blinked, staring past the thing he'd breathed to life that had no right to be living. "Um... hello."
"Hello."
Someone inside it, perhaps? A disguise? It seemed rather unlikely, what with the lack of limbs. And tongue. And lower body. But maybe, under the table--
"What are you doing?"
"I was, um... seeing if there's someone under the table, sticking their face up into like, you know, a mask."
At the first the dummy did nothing. It was, after all, a dummy. He could've walked out of the room then, chalk this one up to thirty hours without sleep cramming for finals. Some people start to hallucinate after two or three days, so it seemed a plausible --
"It's funny. I always know the answer, but ask it anyway."
"Ah! God -- *Christ*. Sorry."
The dummy laughed, its disembodied head thumping on the table. "I always enjoy this."
"So, uh, what's it like being a dummy?"
"What's it like being alive?"
"I haven't had nearly enough sleep to answer that question." He rubbed his temples. "So, uh... do I like, keep going now? Or should I stop?"
"I'm not likely to complain about it."
"Can you let me know if I do something wrong?"
"I won't have to, but sure."
He was back it. One, two. Thirty compressions. One, two. Thirty compressions.
He tried not to think about the one, two too much. Tried not think about how he was breathing into the lips of a talking thing with no heart and lungs.
Back to thirty compressions.
"You're supposed to be watching for chest rise when you breathe in, you know."
"Can't imagine why I don't wanna look."
"Also your shoulders need to be further over me. You're too far back."
"Because you're freakin' me out!" He kept going anyway, but made no effort to correct his errors.
"Have you heard about the *Stayin' Alive* trick?"
"Compress in time to the song, yeah. I got it." Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen... "Thank you."
"It's what I do." The way the dummy stared straight ahead while talking never got any easier to deal with, but he supposed it made sense. She didn't exactly have any working neck muscles.
"And what are those muscles?"
"*Shit,* lady, you're freakin' me out."
"Go on."
"Scaleneus Madeus, Scaleneus anterior.Trapezius?"
"Pretty good, but there's more."
"There's always more. Why didn't they just name 'em neck muscles?"
"Because on an operating table, you wouldn't know which muscle is 'neck muscle.' Last one?"
He stopped. "Sterno-clido-cledio... Mastado-masto-eus?"
The dummy didn't shrug, but if it could, it would have. "Close enough."
He backed up and leaned against the white board, accidentally wiping away a two-day old drawing of the arm bones. (Humerus, Radius, Ulna.)
"I know you're feeling it now," said the dummy.
"I'm feelin' nothin. Afraid maybe, of a talking head."
"No no, not the test. Not me. The weight of human life, in your hands. Me, I am nothing. For the past six months, I have been nothing, easily replaced with any other dummy in the building, whatever other floozies you happen to grab and breathe into for a day. And we go back on the shelf, and you think nothing of it."
The dummy went still. From a distance, he could see the impossibility of it all, this tiny thing on a desk, in a room late at night, speaking straight at the ceiling.
It spoke again.
"But now, this one spoke. This one time, this one night, it spoke, and now you will remember it as *your* dummy. You may even mark me, as many have in the past, with a single line of ink on the back. A scratch. Initials. None of it is new to me."
It stopped.
And started again.
"You feel the weight of life in me, because you breathed it into me."
"And... that's a good thing? This weight?"
"It is. For now. You will feel a tremendous connection to the people you save, but you also set yourself up each time to let it crush you when you fail. Years from now, after this moment, please try to remember -- once you are performing this task, something has already gone horribly wrong. Sometimes your best will not be enough. When that happens, do not drop the weight on yourself."
He nodded. He rubbed the back of his neck and assured himself he'd earned a rest. As he slumped against the wall, he asked one last question. "How's a dummy know so much about life?"
"Because I envy it. I am designed to help you protect something I will never experience."
"Yeah, well, you got to experience it tonight."
If the dummy could smile, it would have. | An older man with bristly hair and madness in his eyes slipped into the conference room full of coworkers, obviously late, mumbling an apology. "Sorry, there was a riot at Build-a-Bear."
A man in an ill-fitting business suit was arguing with the instructor, claiming he knew what he was doing. She corrected him sternly and he followed the instructions this time right down to the letter. Everyone in attendance couldn't believe it, he was terrible at following any form of instructions and was quite honestly a running joke in the workplace.
After a few breaths and a rhythmic pumping of the dummy's chest that were oddly on beat for someone known for a lack of musical talent yet thinks quite the opposite he jumped backwards and shouted almost incoherently. "It bit my tongue!" with a tone of abject terror in his voice as he crumpled back in terror.
A bitter looking woman with a flask in the back row shouted a sardonic "Why are you giving a CPR dummy tongue?" as a cough and throaty gasp silenced the room.
Everyone stared at the dummy as it gasped for air, a trickle of blood running down the corner of its mouth. It spat a bloody piece of tongue onto the carpet and began reciting Latin as the room shuddered. A darkness entered. It wasn't an absence of light, it was the presence of a nothingness that drained the light from the very air.
The smooth plastic stumps where its arms and legs should have been quivered and expanded, rapidly growing into limbs as the darkness pooled around it. Its face flexed as the chanting intensified and the foam took on the appearance of pale flesh.
With cat like reflexes a man in the back row raced into action, ripping his glasses off and tearing a picture frame containing a photo of him wielding a katana off the wall, hurling over the head of the short blond in the back row through the conference room window. With a mighty blow he shattered his fist on the stud behind the wall screaming "Who moved the photo!?"
The response came from a bloodied mouth as the suited man cowered from the dummy that was attempting to right itself with scaly limbs now the size of a toddler's. "I was reading about Feng Shui-"
"Well you did it wrong, that table is clearly over 50% clutter. Amateur" the man with the now broken fist muttered as he used his foot to punch a hole in the wall two feet to the right. Reaching into the hole with his good hand he pulled a blade identical to that of the photo out.
Whirling around he faced his now upright enemy as the rest of his coworkers sat frozen at the spectacle. Its stubby legs charged him and with a swift motion he sliced it cleanly in two, splitting the mouth diagonally ensuring no further enchantments could animated the inanimate.
The man blew a limp strand of brown hair back, straightened his his brown suit and slightly different brown colored shirt, stating with confidence. "I'll have Mose bring in the demon salt."
"Kali Ma Shakti de-"
"Shut up, Kevin." He said as he drove the blade into half of the steaming corpse and walked out.
A few moments later the older man with bristly hair and that crazy gleam in his eyes faced the unwitting camera crew that happened to be filming the CPR tutorial when it occurred in the office.
"You know, this isn't the first time I've seen the underworld reach into our realm. I remember back in 69, 1969 to be clear, the boys and I found what we thought was a cookbook. We made chili for the Altamont Free Concert. Turns out it was demon chili. Mmm. It sure had one hell of a kick to it."
"Cweed! Don't cweep the nith camewa peopwe out wui youw cwawy taw." Came the voice of the regional manager, his tongue wrapped completely in bandaids. | |
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air. | Check for a pulse. Check for vitals. Administer CPR.
A tip I learned was to press the chest to the beat of "Another One Bites the Dust" by Queen. An ironic use for an iconic song but hey, it works. I felt silly checking the pulse and vitals of a CPR dummy but once I started humming the tune by Freddy, I kinda got into it.
It was an EMT recertification course put together in the hastiest, shabbiest, sketchiest way possible. I was in a class with two other experienced EMTs who just needed to take this class for a new certificate that would allow them to save people's lives. Our captain set this class up, as she was the licensed instructor administrating the test. Our location is the basement of a church; our CPR dummy was provided by a generous lender. He stood in the back and watched.
He creeped me out when I first saw him but apparently he's a close friend of the captain. He wore baggy rags as clothing, stained and stitched he absolutely did not care what he looked like. He sweated as if we were in a sauna, but allowed us to use his high-quality $4,000 dummy, presuming we would abide by the rules he laid out for us.
First and foremost, no touching the dummy inappropriately. This dummy is top of the line, complete with arms and legs and doll-like blonde hair wrapped in a ponytail. Anatomically speaking, all the parts were there, complete with a c-cup sized chest and nipples to boot. Secondly, we were not allowed to perform mouth to mouth on it. Oh, and thirdly, we must call *it* a her.
Well when I'm doing my thing and grooving to Queen, a routine sets in. Push push push breathe, push push push breathe. Before you know it I lean over and lock lips with the lifelike dummy. I don't know what surprised me first, the taste or the shouting. The dummy lender was yelling nonsense, being held back by our captain. I looked up and tasted a strange yet familiarly salty aftertaste. Then, she coughed.
Like a drowning victim, she pulsed to life, coughing, wheezing and spitting out globs of milky white. I continue doing what I'm trained to do and sit her up as she continues to drain herself of the gallon of old semen deposited in her. I stood up after she was stabilized and wiped my lips with my arm. I looked back at the lender, still being held by the captain but no longer putting up a fight. Everyone stared in wonder at the dummy, who's silicone eyes are flicking around and observing everything.
"Is that why there was a no mouth-to-mouth rule?" I asked "you knew she was going to come alive?"
"H-honestly," the lender began "I had no idea. Stacy was never alive with me. That was a rule because I have herpes."
"Dave?" A feminine voice came from the floor in front of me. I looked down to see the dummy, who was now getting to her feet. She walked over to her owner, who was now shaking with wide eyes. He sat on the floor. She knelt down in front of him.
"Dave. I'm pregnant."
| It was late but I wanted to stay at the indoor swimming pool for as long as possible. By the time I had finished swimming lengths of the pool, the entire place was empty except for me and the owner, Tony.
I still needed to practice CPR but I was aware that closing time was rapidly approaching. I climbed out of the pool and headed over to Tony who I found tidying the locker area.
"You mind if I stick around for another 20 minutes Tony?" I asked, struggling to catch my breath. "It's just that I got my test tomorrow and haven't had a chance to practice everything yet."
Tony was a friend of my fathers and I was pretty sure he would let me hang out for a bit longer.
"Hey Christine, your crawl is looking great! Sure you can. I'm going to be in my office for the next hour or so, so just give me a yell when you're off."
I went back to the pool area and opened the supply cuboard. There were two dummies, one just a chest and head, the other a full body dummy. I took the larger dummy out. It was too heavy to carry so I dragged it to the pool side.
The dummy looked brand new. The plastic was unspoiled and the eyes were glistening.
I began. 30 rhythmic chest compressions, then I tilted the head back gently. I waited a minute and went again.
18...19...
The dummy suddenly wretched forward and threw up water from its slit mouth. It made coughing and choking sounds. What the fuck was going on.
I saw tears roll down the plastic face. I ran to get Tony but I couldn't see him in his office. There was a small knife on his table which I grabbed before I ran back to the dummy.
It was still coughing as I began to make incisions into the plastic face. After a few well placed cuts I was able to peel back the layer of plastic to reveal pale skin.
I didn't see the shadow growing bigger on the wall next to me, I didn't hear the footsteps that accompanied it, but I did feel the pain of something blunt hit the back of my head.
-------
"Have you seen Christine, Tony? She's meant to have her test today."
"No, not seen her since yesterday. Maybe she decided she's not ready. Hey, can you give me a hand with this dummy, it's frikking heavy."
"Another new dummy? Great to see! Sure thing - where do you want it?"
"Just in my office for now."
"Would you look at that, waters got on its face and it looks like it's crying. Sure do make them realistic these days."
"You ain't kidding."
| |
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air. | Check for a pulse. Check for vitals. Administer CPR.
A tip I learned was to press the chest to the beat of "Another One Bites the Dust" by Queen. An ironic use for an iconic song but hey, it works. I felt silly checking the pulse and vitals of a CPR dummy but once I started humming the tune by Freddy, I kinda got into it.
It was an EMT recertification course put together in the hastiest, shabbiest, sketchiest way possible. I was in a class with two other experienced EMTs who just needed to take this class for a new certificate that would allow them to save people's lives. Our captain set this class up, as she was the licensed instructor administrating the test. Our location is the basement of a church; our CPR dummy was provided by a generous lender. He stood in the back and watched.
He creeped me out when I first saw him but apparently he's a close friend of the captain. He wore baggy rags as clothing, stained and stitched he absolutely did not care what he looked like. He sweated as if we were in a sauna, but allowed us to use his high-quality $4,000 dummy, presuming we would abide by the rules he laid out for us.
First and foremost, no touching the dummy inappropriately. This dummy is top of the line, complete with arms and legs and doll-like blonde hair wrapped in a ponytail. Anatomically speaking, all the parts were there, complete with a c-cup sized chest and nipples to boot. Secondly, we were not allowed to perform mouth to mouth on it. Oh, and thirdly, we must call *it* a her.
Well when I'm doing my thing and grooving to Queen, a routine sets in. Push push push breathe, push push push breathe. Before you know it I lean over and lock lips with the lifelike dummy. I don't know what surprised me first, the taste or the shouting. The dummy lender was yelling nonsense, being held back by our captain. I looked up and tasted a strange yet familiarly salty aftertaste. Then, she coughed.
Like a drowning victim, she pulsed to life, coughing, wheezing and spitting out globs of milky white. I continue doing what I'm trained to do and sit her up as she continues to drain herself of the gallon of old semen deposited in her. I stood up after she was stabilized and wiped my lips with my arm. I looked back at the lender, still being held by the captain but no longer putting up a fight. Everyone stared in wonder at the dummy, who's silicone eyes are flicking around and observing everything.
"Is that why there was a no mouth-to-mouth rule?" I asked "you knew she was going to come alive?"
"H-honestly," the lender began "I had no idea. Stacy was never alive with me. That was a rule because I have herpes."
"Dave?" A feminine voice came from the floor in front of me. I looked down to see the dummy, who was now getting to her feet. She walked over to her owner, who was now shaking with wide eyes. He sat on the floor. She knelt down in front of him.
"Dave. I'm pregnant."
| The cold plastic begins to move, and I drop it like it has bitten me.
The dummy's eyes blink. They are a deep grey, like the ocean on a cloudy day.
"Where am I?"
He- no, she, struggles to sit up. A strand of her blonde hair falls down over her eyes and she pushes it away. Wait, a moment ago she didn't have hair.
"Hello?" I just stare back blankly and she looks at me like I'm crazy. Am I?
"What's going o-"
She stops in mid-sentance, clutching at her throat, gasping for air like a fish out of water.
The woman writhes on the floor, her hair loosing some of its lustre, the colour in her eyes slowly fading. *Help*, she mouthes.
Instinctively I bend down over her. Our lips meet, her's cool, mine warm.
*She is very attractive*, I can't stop thinking, as I breathe more air into her lungs.
Each breathe is hard work, and I am panting. She stops gasping and breathes more easily. I try to pull away, but she tugs me back.
"Not yet. A few more."
Her lips are burning hot. Why are they so warm? Why am I so cold?
Each of my breaths becomes more labored. But the most beautiful woman I have ever seen is practically kissing me now, her mouth and tongue mashing on mine, like she wants to eat me up. It feels so terrible and so good at the same time.
Finally she pushes me away. My hand clutches at my throat. I gasp for air that won't enter my lungs.
*Help*, I mouth.
She stands up, towering above where I lay. Over the pounding blood in my ears, I can hear her laugh, high and cold.
"Sorry, babe, but it's my turn now."
---
Read more at /r/jd_rallage | |
This is a quote from Fyodor Dostoevsky, by the way. | [WP] "The best way to keep a prisoner from escaping is to make sure he never knows he’s in prison." | The alarm clock chirps it's familiar sound at 6 in the morning. Just as shrill and disappointing as it usually is, Chris rolls over and smacks the button to turn it off.
"I'm sure I had set that for 8", he tries to remember, groggily.
Ignoring it, he rolls out of the bed and decides it's probably for the best.
"I have a meeting this morning I haven't prepared nearly enough for and winging it doesn't sound like the funnest idea", he justifies to himself.
He slides into the slippers waiting for him on the floor next to the bed. He stands idle and takes a moment to stretch his weary muscles - discovering a bruise on his thigh. He gently rubs the bruise and winces in pain.
"Wonder how that happened", he thinks aloud.
He jumps in the shower, pushing the pulsating bruise to the back of his mind. This is the only time of day he finds himself without a worry in the world. Like his own personal paradise where everything outside and all of his worries can't get to him. He finishes up and steps out of the shower and in front of the sink/mirror. He performs all his morning rituals such as shaving and teeth brushing. Feeling satisfied with his handy work, he finishes drying off and heads back into his bedroom to get dressed.
He opens the door leading to his living area and plops down on the couch and flips on the T.V.
"Thank you for tuning into Monday Night News...", the T.V. drones. The story of some man who shot and killed his family in a failed murder-suicide is the topic of tonight's news stories.
"Depressing way to start the morning", he thinks.
He turns the T.V. off and opens up his work binder and begins to review what he needs to for work. A news clipping of the same story the news was spouting fell from the binder. He picked it up and examined it for a moment before putting it back down on the table. After an hour of review, he thinks getting into the office an hour early would look good to the big boss.
He stands up and grabs his keys and heads for the door. He grasps the door handle and tries to open the door. It won't budge.
"What the hell?" he wonders.
He begins to pull on the door with all of his weight. Despite the wailing of the wood supporting the door, it wasn't budging an inch. He kicks the door in frustration and heads back to the couch. An idea pops in his head and he runs back into the bedroom and opens the bedroom window. It's jammed.
"Okay, what the fuck is going on" he stammers.
He begins to scream for help - hoping a neighbor or passerby will hear him.
As he's screaming, he notices himself start to stagger and then begins to cough uncontrollably. "Fire!" he thinks. But before he has time to react his vision starts to fade and he falls to his knees and then the floor. Barely conscious, he sees his closet door open and two suited men step into his room.
"I thought they were supposed to make him think he was working from home so we didn't have to do this every single day" one says, exasperated.
"They are. There must have been a hiccup or something, they'll get it right. You have to remember that this is a beta program. We can't expect perfection."
"Honestly, I don't know why this guy gets to be in a program like this. The sick fuck should be forced to remember what he did to his woman and little girl" the first man said, casting a disgusted look at the man on the floor.
"That's the entire point of this, Bill. They have to realize what they did every day, for the rest of their lives."
Sighing, the first man comes and slides a needle into Chris' neck. He lets out a small groan and a tear escapes his eye as memories of Helen and Mallory flood his mind before before he loses consciousness.
He wakes up to the chirping of his alarm clock at 6 in the morning, blaring as it normally does. He rolls over and shuts it off.
"Could have sworn I had set that for 8" he says, groggily.
"Oh well", he thinks, "at least I get to work from home today" | Tim awoke at his desk with a start, groggy-eyed and disoriented. The warmth of a hand placed on his shoulder prompted him to swivel his chair around. Adrenaline replaced fatigue as Tim's eyes met his boss's stern gaze.
"2nd time this week, Timothy," Tim's boss said with a raised eyebrow. "I hope the dream was different this time."
"Matter of fact, no. Not really," came Tim's smooth reply. The boss silently rolled his eyes and left his cubicle. A smile creeped onto Tim's face as he turned his chair and returned to his work. He did love it when he made glib remarks without missing a beat.
***
"Ell, How's Tim?", Neil asked.
"You mean 87? Stable for now. We had to sedate him, but he should sink back into the conditioning."
Neil and Ellie entered a doorway, and the lights flashed on, revealing a long, clean white room. Lined along the sides were dozens of machines bubbling with murky, blood-colored solution. They walked for a short while before stopping at one marked "Subject 87".
"Darn it, Ell. Second time this week. You think we should sound the bosses off on this?"
"Not a chance. We can handle this."
"You think Tim-"
"Subject 87." Ellie interjected.
"-Subject 87, will remember any of this?", Neil asserted.
"In all likelihood? No. The drugs are being administered now. He will think that it was all just a wonky dream. And you know how quickly we all forget dreams."
Neil pondered into the tank. Inside, Tim's lifeless body floated, his face floating against the glass, barely visible behind the breathing mask.
"Yeah, let's hope so." |
This is a quote from Fyodor Dostoevsky, by the way. | [WP] "The best way to keep a prisoner from escaping is to make sure he never knows he’s in prison." | We start with a tempting job offer.
The job has a salary that is far above average for the prisoner's field. Most accept. If they don't, we raise the offer.
The prisoner is then flown to a small town in Alaska. This town is accessible only by planes.
The prisoner is allowed to work from home most days.
An employee approaches them, pretending to be from the local bank, and offers to sell them a house with a no interest loan. There's a small, unimportant clause stating: If you move out, the loan must immediately be payed in full. If they notice, our employee reassures them that the clause doesn't prohibit them from selling the house if they need to repay the loan. If they don't accept, we try again with a nicer house in a better location.
In our local stores, everything is overpriced, but each store has a low interest credit card that gives you a small discount on every service. These stores don't accept other credit cards and it's difficult to pay in cash.
The stores often forget to send out monthly statements. Each credit card's balance is due a different day of the month.
A month in, we begin raising the price of electricity, heating, water and internet. The utility companies let you pay your fee at a later date and their interest rate is low.
Eventually the prisoner is demoted for subpar work and their salary is cut. Their supervisor assures them that this is only temporary, just until they prove themselves.
One day, the prisoner will be unexpectedly fired. A local business will hire them for a minimum wage job.
At this point, the prisoner will want to leave.
However, the only way into, or out, of this town is by plane.
The airport is owned by the bank. The bank, it turns out, also manages all of the local credit cards.
The bank isn't willing to sell you a plane ticket until you pay your debt in full.
The prisoner will never pay their debt. | Dave sat alone in his apartment drinking his morning cup of coffee and eating a bowl of cereal. He glanced up at the clock and noticed that it was time to drive to work. His commute took roughly half an hour due to traffic and he arrived at his office building at just past 8 o'clock. As he sat in his cubicle creating slide shows for meetings and spreadsheets of data he began, briefly, to daydream about what it would be like to try surfing, or maybe spend a day relaxing on the beach. 'That would be quite nice', he though to himself.
Dave had never been to the beach even once, regardless of the fact that his city was on the coast, and he'd heard there was a very nice beach not far away. He just never felt like he had the *time*. There is always work to be done, and he must do a good job so that he can earn enough to pay his bills, and pay back his debts. Dave imagined the sand between his toes and the hot sun on his face. He imagined what waves hitting the beach would probably sound like. Dave's supervisor stopped by to ask how the slides were coming. Dave's meeting began in an hour, so he had to finish in preparation. The daydream was soon forgotten.
He glanced up at the clock and noticed that it was time to drive to home. His commute took roughly half an hour due to traffic and he arrived at his apartment building at just past 8 o'clock. Dave sat alone and enjoyed is evening meal. Dave went to bed. |
[WP] You stumble upon your ex on a dating site. Your ex who has been dead for 2 years. | My half lidded eyes droop more and more as I idly scroll through the dating site. The only light in my room is the fake white light beaming from my computer, it was starting to burn my eyes.
I glance at the time and instantly yawn when I see it's one in the morning. These sleepless nights are gonna be the death of me. The insomnia was getting worse, but instead of trying to deal with it I just stay up on the internet, listening to music, watching videos or scrolling through dating sites with no intention of dating anyone...just being nosy I guess.
I wasn't really serious about dating anyone, not any more. Not after my girlfriend of five years died two years ago. Since then I pass uninterested looks towards other girls, force small talk when I do get a message from an interested girl.
I lean back in my seat and contemplate retiring to my bed and try to force myself to sleep. Just as I'm about to close down the dating site I stumble across a profile with a familiar username, KaliKitty.
I frown at the user name and something in my stomach drops. I've seen that username before, I've seen it used as a gamer tag and I've heard it as a nickname. I know this name...
Unsure and uneasy I decide to click onto the profile and look through the details and pictures. Tears glass over my eyes as my stomach sinks. It's her.
My girlfriend, the girl I wanted to marry and start a life with, the girl who died after our car accident.
With shaky hands and a racing mind I send her a message.
**Damien242** Hey
**KaliKitty** Hi sweetie
I swallow hard and lean forward in my seat. Surly this was just a coincidence. There was no way this was my Kali.
**Damien242** How are you?
**KaliKitty** Demi, I thought you didn't like small talk? :)
My heart almost stops when I see that. Demi...a nickname that I haven't heard in over two years.
**Damien242** Why did you call me Demi?
**KaliKitty** I always call you Demi silly! Cuz I know it bugs you ;3
**Damien242** Stop
**KaliKitty** Demi sweetie, it's okay :)
**KaliKitty** I knew you would find me eventually <3
Anger and fear washes over me. I can feel a layer of cold sweat coat my body.
**Damien242** I said stop!
**Damien242** I don't know who you think you are, but nobody but my girlfriend
**Damien242** calls me Demi!
**KaliKitty** If you have a girlfriend why are you on a dating website? -_-
**KaliKitty** Sweetie, I know it's crazy but it's me :3
I can't control the silent tears as they flow freely down my cheeks. Who was this girl and why was she fucking with me?
**KaliKitty** You're Damien Harte
**KaliKitty** You live with you're brother Alan who is two years older than you
**KaliKitty** You asked me out when you were drunk and I got you a burger.
**KaliKitty** You brought me to the beech for our first date.
**KaliKitty** You called me KaliKitty because one day you bought me cat ears.
**Damien242** How the fuck do you know all this?
**KaliKitty** We were in a car crash two years ago
**KaliKitty** Slammed head first into a truck
**KaliKitty** You took me in your arms and promised everything would be okay.
**KaliKitty** I told you that you would be okay, and that I'll always love my
**KaliKitty** Demi.
I'm sobbing uncontrollably. How the hell...why...
**KaliKitty** Demi, stop being sad...I know it's hard, but I'm okay :)
**Damien242** Stop with this sick joke, please.
**Damien242** I can't take this crap
**KaliKitty** You're always so stubborn! >:/
**KaliKitty** Fine. When we were together three years you had an emotional breakdown
**KaliKitty** I found you after work eating a bottle of sleeping pills in the bedroom.
It has to be Kali. I've never told anyone that before. I kept that dark patch of my life hidden from friends and family. Only Kali knew about it, only Kali was there for my during that dark time of my life.
**Damien242** How are you doing this Kali?
**Damien242** You're dead
**Damien242** I carried your coffin
**Damien242** I watched that coffin lower into the ground
**KaliKitty** I'm sorry for that Demi sweetie
**KaliKitty** Life is a bitch, ain't it? :3
**KaliKitty** I'm sorry sweetie, but I need to go.
**KaliKitty** I still love you Demi, I always will :3 I'm glad you found me
**KaliKitty** Stop being sad sweetie. I'm always with you and I'll never stop loving you
**KaliKitty** Please move on Demi. Get help and get better, your health is important! Your friends and family are worried baby :(
I sit back in my seat and stare through glassy eyes as the text of my lover fills my screen.
**KaliKitty** I love you so much Damien
**KaliKitty** Bye baby <3
I jump forward and desperately beg for her to wait. I beg her not to leave me, not again. I can't cope without her.
It was to late. She logged off.
When I tried to access her profile I couldn't. It was deleted.
| I woke up and unstuck my cheek from the walnut desk very slowly. The skin peeled off like a sticker off of fruit. I had been drooling.
I grabbed the cold cup of coffee to my left and took a swig. The tastes or sensations of things hadn't really mattered to me since he had died. Nothing mattered.
My eyes glazed over once again, back into this living hell of my waking hours, just waiting until I could fall asleep, on enough painkillers during consciousness to keep me pacified. Nobody came over anymore. Nobody except for Jill.
She had been my best friend. I wished I could have said she was still my best friend, but honestly, I couldn't be bothered to have friends anymore. I was too busy dying.
Jill had come over that day and set up her Dinter account so that I could weed through a first round of hopeful guys who had sent her messages. She had read them to me once and I'd broken and laughed, and since then she was insisting that I "screen her calls". I know that she only wanted to make me understand that there were other humans, even other men maybe, out there, but I just didn't care.
So on this particular Tuesday evening, I had been sifting through Jill's messages when I fell asleep on my desk.
I rubbed under my eyes- despite all the sleep I got ,or maybe because of it, I had dark skin drooping beneath my eyes and frankly, I had neglected personal hygiene for a while.
I stretched, holding it at the tips. Stretches still felt good, but that was just about it. I looked at the monitor, which blinked back to life after my suggestion. Maybe I could look up the best way to do it quickly, instead of starving and hallucinating from lack of sleep...
I opened Word and began to type:
"Mom,
I'm sorry, I love you."
I deleted it.
I breathed in, getting ready to heave a sigh and turn the monitor back off, but then the computer pinged. A window had opened of its own accord. It was Jill's Dinter account.
I rubbed my eyes again. I was so tired, and I didn't want to deal with Jill's suitors, I just wanted to go to sleep. But it had made her so happy, I could do her this one last favor.
I looked at the window, and the color I'd lost in the last several months came back to me, my cheeks hot and stinging with life. He had sent me a message.
Nick-27-Chicagoooooo
Nick: Hannah, I know it's you.
This wasn't possible. It had all finally gotten to me. The lack of sleep, the thirst, the hunger- I was beginning to die. I decided to embrace it.
Jill: Yeah Nick, it's Hannah...
Nick: I miss you.
I coughed, my chest felt like something was squeezing it. I couldn't breathe right. The amount of times I had heard him say that very same phrase. When he went to visit his family, but I was working, even just with his friends sometimes. I knew he was happy with just his friends, but it was his way of checking in on the connection, affirming that all was right with our worlds.
Jill: I miss you too. I'm coming, love.
Tears started streaming down my face. I was really ready. This was it.
Nick: Come on, Hannah. I love you. Don't be stupid.
I gasped, I really had never had this hard a time breathing. But the strange thing was that I was trying so hard to breathe. Five minutes ago I would have gladly given up my air. But now I needed it. I needed to see what Nick was trying to say to me. I caught my breath a little.
Nick: ...
He was typing. That's okay, I would wait.
A full minute went by before I checked that my connection was still good. It was fine.
Jill: Nick, it's still Hannah, are you there?
Nick: ...
Still typing.
I leaned back, and I waited. I waited twelve hours and thirty-four minutes for Nick to speak again.
I cried off and on, and bashed the keyboard, and screamed, and sent him angry words I never would have said to him if he were alive. All that time he just kept typing.
It was about six in the morning when I finally gave up. The sun was coming up, and I wanted to cry for what I'm fairly sure would have been the twentieth time, but my body would not react. I was sinking back to base-level depression again.
I swiveled my chair toward the window and saw the sun coming up. I was going to do it last night, and Nick stopped me. And he'd kept me distracted all night, until I couldn't think of anything but talking to him. And suddenly I realized the distinction there. Talking to him was not the same thing as ending me.
I glanced at the computer, but I already knew what would be there- a blank screen. | |
[WP] You find out that your Grandma somehow became a very powerful drug lord, yet she does not realize this. | It all started with Little Red and a batch of cookies.
Little Red was one of the most notorious drug lords north of the Rio Grande. They said he was so short because all that anger inside him stunted his growth when he killed his first in elementary school. Others said he was named after that fairy tale character because his face got as red as her fairy-tale coat when he got angry. All I knew was that I'd seen him once in the 10th grade and that I never, *ever* wanted to see him again.
Unfortunately for me I'd gotten in some trouble with Little Red in recent months. I'd been selling my anxiety and ADHD pills on the down low to my friends in high school. Just a little pick up here, a little sedating effect there. People came up with a whole new name for my drug - the whirlygig - after figuring out if you mixed the two with alcohol you had an effect similar to speedballing and often you lost so much of the night's memories that you felt a sort of vertigo.
Well Little Red had what one might call a monopoly on the high school drug industry. He sold his pot and his cocaine and his shrooms to all the kids who wanted to experiment. But when he tired to open up his Ritalin business around finals he ran into some trouble. Some *gringo* was selling *his* ritalin and xanax, and there was even a term for the two when they were mixed together.
Little Red didn't know it was me at first - probably wouldn't still be here if he had - but he did have a message for that *gringo*: Stop selling on my turf, *ese*, or we're going to have a problem.
With great business success comes more misfortune in the face of adversity: People liked my stuff too much to let me fade into the static. They were always coming up to me, asking me for more, telling me that I had some excellent product. My doctor was a little bit suspicious as to why I kept coming in asking for more meds - at least I think she was - but she never did anything to stem them.
Then one day I saw him. Little Red in the hallway of my school. He *was* short, a whopping 5 foot at most, but his cowboy hat and boots added a bit to his height. He had one of those stereotypical Mexican mustaches - the ones that hang down over the side of your mouth and seem to clash with any clothing besides bolo ties and ponchos. His face was this tomato red that had haunted me in my dreams since that day in 10th grade - and a classmate was pointing me right out to him.
So I did what any small time 12th grade drug dealer would do. I turned on my heel and I ran like a little girl running from a wolf. I got into my car and I drove right past the security guard and let them wave me yell at me as I turned out of the school and drove like my life depended on it.
There was one last problem, though. They had to be following me. And I was not about to lead them to my house. Instead I did the only other thing that popped into my head. I drove to the nursing home where my grandmother lived. I grabbed the bags of pills that I kept in my glove box and I ran in. Panting at the front desk I was led far too slowly down one of the hallways, and looking back I could see someone in a cowboy hat and cowboy boots hot on my tail, standing at the front desk and motioning to me.
My grandma was baking. She hugged me and adjusted her ultra-thick glasses and asked me if I wanted to help her make her cookies.
I hadn't intended to throw the pills into the batter. I figured I would throw it out later and get them back. I hadn't known that the next moment when Little Red walked into the room I would be hiding behind my grandmother and watching in horror as she used the electric mixer on the pills that I had just poured into her batter.
Somehow I got Little Red off my back that day. He didn't think to look in the bowl of some old woman. After his men took me outside and searched me and my car they let me go with a warning. Last time, *ese*. Next time we see you we won't be so nice.
*Nice* was a black eye, but I took it like a man and only cried after they had left.
I went back inside and threw out the cookies my grandma had placed on the ceramic plate to cool. I hugged her and we talked for an hour or so, and then I went home to put some raw meat on my face.
That was two years ago. Somehow some of the nurses had found the cookies and eaten some. The Whirlygig Cookies became infamous. My grandmother had a huge influx of cash and was baking every weekend without really knowing what she was doing. Little Red came and threatened me and I had to pick up from Albuquerque and move to Denver where I hoped they'd never find me.
I came back last week to see my grandmother. She'd asked me to come to meet a new business partner of hers - someone who wanted to take her baking to the next level and make a cookbook.
Of course I thought it was Little Red. But blood is thicker than water and who was I to turn down my grandmother? So I went back. I went to the nursing home with my heart pounding, preparing myself to be looking down the business end of a gun by the end of the day.
Instead what I found was a tall, slim man who introduced himself as Marko. He shook my hand and then sat down next to my grandmother again.
"Jeremy," he said with a knowing smile, stretching his arms wide. "Your grandmother and I were just discussing a business proposition. She sells the best cookies on this side of the Rio Grande, you know."
"Yeah, I've heard," I nodded as I took the seat he indicated.
"Well I'm in the Ice Cream business. And what goes better with Ice Cream than cookies?"
"The...the ice cream business?" I could feel myself visibly relax until Marko pushed aside the coat of his suit to reveal a gun.
"Yes, Jeremy. I sell the premier Ice Cream product in the nation. Now your grandma sells cookies. Cookies aren't covered by Ice Cream. But I have a rival who's now trying to sell both. Little man that goes by Little Red and thinks he owns the place."
I swallowed.
"So tell me, Jeremy," Marko's hand motioned and several other men with guns walked into the room. "You think your grandma wants to take this ingenious cookie business national?"
---
For more on Marko, check out [this prompt](https://www.reddit.com/r/Celsius232/comments/4g5x3o/wp_in_an_effort_to_protect_your_innocence_when/)
If you enjoyed this, check out /r/Celsius232 for more. | My grandmother has been an avid baker for several decades, but the funny thing about her is that once she's baked you something once, you should expect it to turn into a weekly occurrence. She went from baking for friends and family, to baking for churches and youth programs, until she was able to start up her own empire that competed with Tollhouse, Little Debby, and every single other chain baked goods, sugary cocaine, business you can think of.
Amazingly enough during the 37 years she ran that company she never stopped baking for those who encouraged her to start it all. Including one young man who's parents were shot by a local gang 41 years ago. This is where the tale of Granny takes a dark turn.
Desean Shaqul was thrown into foster family after foster family, each one feeling like an even more demented tail by lemony Snicket than the last. Swearing vengeance on the gang banger who took his life away was the only thing that kept this young go-getter going, that and my grandmothers chocolate chip cookies from the local churches whenever he was able to sneak out.
After Gram noticed the second black eye she started to take Desean under her wing, showing him how to bake and quickly started building a case to get him taken away from his foster parents.
After about a week, she asked him if he would like to be a part of her family, with that simple question, she said, she was able to see a fire of passion and hope reignite in his eyes. There was just one issue, there was no visual proof of the foster parents' abuse, so she made a plan with him.
One night when the father was passed out he was to call her to meet her at the church, and that was all Desean was told about the plan. He did as he was told, and when he arrived, the night played out like a scene from the Godfather. She slammed the door behind him and started beating the poor boy to near death. "why?!" you ask? I'll tell you what she told him that night, and many years later me. "You are at the highest risk of being killed when leaving an abuser for the final time"
Within a week she was in front of a judge, with the step parents apologizing for not hitting the boy harder. Desean lived like a family member until his 16th birthday when he ran away one night leaving nothing but a note explaining that he must find the man that killed his parents. Years went by, Grandma still baked cookies, mailing them across the world, long forgetting about a young boy she saved from abuse.
Until she woke up with three men standing over her bed, she was quickly gagged and put into the passenger seat of a large cadilacalacalaca (its fun to say, bug off!) And brought to St. Mary's Hospital of Crime Lords. She was then brought face to face with Desean from all those years ago.............. | |
[WP] You are the only practical and sensible person in a group trying to survive the zombie apocalypse. The sole reason you stay with them is because of their insane plot armour. | "Forget it, Laura," Dave said, "I'm going after her, and that's all there is to it."
"Me too," Trish agreed, strapping her combat knife to her leg.
"Guys, I'm not arguing that you *shouldn't*," I said, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. "I'm just saying there's a motorcycle dealership *on the way.* Why don't we stop and get some armor? You can't just run around in jeans and a t-shirt!"
"UGH. Not this again." Dave rolled his eyes and Trish tried to hide a weary grin. I'd been traveling with these morons for about a week and a half, but was starting to feel my desire for human interaction *thoroughly* slaked.
"If there's one thing I'm glad died with the old world," Dave said, "It's helmet laws. I'll be damned if they rise from the dead, too." He swung a leg over his chopper and kicked the starter to life. Trish climbed on behind him.
The thing was *at least* 110 decibels.
"Hold on, do you have your--" but before I could finish the sentence, they had roared off down the road toward town.
A glance over at my ATV anwered the question: Their walkie-talkies were still next to the charging cradle. *Next to.* They hadn't even charged them up after I'd insisted they take them last time.
I sighed and climbed in to the cab, going over my pre-mission checklist:
--
**VEHICLE**
☑Vehicle Mechanically sound
☑No loose panels
☑Batteries fully charged
**COMBAT**
☑Armor free of defects
☑Alpenstock
☑Air tank full
☑Marker in good working order
☑Ammunition
**FANNY PACK**
☑Emergency rations
☑Water purification pump
☑Walkie-Talkie
☑Door cable
☑Door wedges
☑Soldering torch
☑Multitool
☑Ball Gag
☑Flash Light
☑GPS
☑Crybaby
--
Everything looked good, so I punched in the hospital on my GPS and trundled off after the two idiots.
Sure enough, the road into town was full of zombies, no doubt drawn by the passing cacophony of the motorcycle. When they saw my little ATV, they came shambling toward it. I pushed through the mass, the large wedge welded to the push bar parting them like the red sea. They scrabbled at the cab, but the polycarbonate panels I'd bolted over all the openings afforded no purchase to their questing fingers.
I keyed the gate signal on my walkie-talkie so it would patch me through the shortwave repeater I had set up back at base camp. "Alcatraz, this is Laura. You there?"
After a few seconds, Joey's voice came back, "Hey Laura. What's up?"
"Trying to save these idiots' kid. They fucking *left* her behind on a salvage mission. Can you believe that?"
"Shit...is she okay? Did she radio you?"
"*No.* Every time I tell them to take their walkie-talkies they act like I'm their mom asking if they packed fresh underwear."
"Jesus. So...where are you?"
"Just crossed the border into Utah. It'll probably take me a few more weeks to reach you, especially when I have to waste charge on bullshit like this."
"Well--oh, shit. I got a bite. We got 3 Salmon over 30lbs already today. I'm telling you, the zombie apocalypse was the best thing that ever happened to fishermen. Talk to you tomorrow?"
"Over and out," I confirmed.
I saw Dave and Trish's bike parked in the hospital lot, surrounded by a milling sea of zombies. I flicked a switch on the dash and the salvaged ice-cream truck PA on the back of the ATV stared blaring an off-key Turkey in the Straw. The zombies surged toward my little vehicle in a wave, and I led them on for a few blocks before shutting off the PA and dropping a crybaby through a small hole in the floor.
A crybaby was a device I built a few dozen of after scavenging a toystore in Denver. They're just the voicebox from a baby doll wired into a cheap walkie-talkie. When triggered remotely by the CTCSS from my radio, they start to cry like an infant, the perfect decoy or bait for zombies.
I triggered this one immediately and left the majority of the horde behind, searching dully for the nonexistant baby while I circled back to the hospital.
When I got there, I climbed out of the hatch on the roof, alpenstock at the ready. It's a weapon of my own device, based on the old mountaineering tool. It's a 6-foot rod of oak, topped with the head of a spontoon tomahawk. It had good reach, and in close-quarters situations I can unscrew the top two feet to make a one-handed weapon.
I cleared out the handful of stragglers that had stayed behind or followed me back, then climbed down and headed into the hospital.
As I made her way to the second floor, a pair of zombies, one in scrubs and another in a medical gown, burst out of a door and tackled me to the ground.
"God...damn it," I muttered. They bit and pawed ineffectually at me as I struggled to get to my feet. Apparently frustrated by the impregnability of the kevlar motorcycle jacket to human teeth, the doctor zombie tried to drag it up to expose my belly.
Unfortunately for him, I'm not a complete moron. My jacket is affixed to my pants, gloves and hood by heavy brass zippers, secured from working their way open by little steel clasps on the zipper pulls. Even my socks and pants are attached that way--you can never be too careful about crawlers.
I couldn't really get a good angle to swing my alpenstock, so I brought up my paintball marker and put a 12 gram lead ball into the patient's skull, then kicked the doctor off and spit his head open with the alpenstock.
I got up, checked the integrity of my armor, and was about to get back to searching when I heard the worst imaginable sound: gunfire on the roof.
I swore under my breath and sprinted up the stairs, my panting causing condensation on the inside of my mask. I burst out onto the roof to find Dave, Trish, their daughter Coral, and a couple of strangers were desperately trying to fend of an advancing swarm of zombies.
I raised my marker and peered through the reflex sight. I took down four zombies as I advanced, then dropped another with a kick to the knee with my steel-toed boot and executed it.
The paintball gun was a little .50 cal that had belonged to my neighbor's kid back in Indiana before all this started. It didn't need gunpowder, just compressed air from the SCUBA compressor I had back at base. Additionally, it made hardly any noise and I could cast my on ammunition quite easily--all I needed was some scavenged fish weights or old pipes.
Unsurprisingly, Dave was already out of ammo for his stupid revolver, and Trish was brandishing her combat knife as if it was any fucking good at all. The strangers had a shotgun and a glock, and between the three of us we managed to finish the job.
"You alright?" I called.
The shotgun and glock immediately swiveled to point at me.
"Why are you wearin' a mask?" the big bald guy with the shotgun demanded.
"Oh for fuck's sake, it's to keep the fucking zombies from biting my fucking *face!* Why are *you* wearing cutoff shorts and a wifebeater? The world is crawling with creatures that want to gnaw you to death and nobody even wears a goddamn jacket!"
"Sorry about her," Dave said, "She's kinda preachy."
I closed my eyes and counted to ten, then walked over to the door through which the zombies had been coming and closed it, jamming a doorstop wedge from my fanny pack underneath.
"Okay," I said, having regained my composure. "Was anyone bitten?"
Everyone shook their heads. The scrawny guy with the Glock surreptitiously hid his arm behind his back.
"You. Glock. Did you get bitten?"
"Uh...no."
"Tell me the truth."
Shotgun turned to Glock. "If you got bit, tell me, so I can shoot you in the head."
"Or what?" Glock demanded.
"Or I'll shoot you in the head."
"Nobody's shooting anybody in the head!" I shouted. "Look! I've got a ball gag. If anyone got bit, they can put it on for 24 hours, and if they turn, they'll be no threat to anybody."
"Laura!" Dave said sharply, "We don't give out charity! The people are more dangerous than the zombies out here!"
I stared at him. A creeping realization suddenly dawned on me.
"Oh my god," I said, "You're all infected. You're all zombies."
"Laura?" Trish said. "I think you're overheating in all that armor. Why don't you take it off?"
"No, seriously," I said, "That's why everyone I've met have been acting like idiots. You're not *full* zombies, but you *are* infected. The disease hasn't completely hollowed you out, but it has lowered your intelligence and turned you into paranoid, violent, stupid assholes who can barely utilize the resources around them. That's why people can manage to lose against an enemy that just walks toward noises in a straight line and then tries to bite them."
I suddenly felt myself smile. "Actually that makes this a lot easier. So long, idiots. I'm going to California."
I turned around to see a thick plume of black smoke coming out of the door I'd emerged onto the roof through.
"Uh...Dave. Do you know anything about this?"
The pride in Dave's voice was audible as he said, "Yeah! We lit a couple fires downstairs before coming up here, to prevent any zombies from following us. Who're the idiots *now?"* | God I hate them.
All 8 of them, it's a big group, which is hard to feed, hard to water, harder to protect, I was the 9th member, I joined when there was only 3, yet somehow more had come in, just as annoying and frustrating as the first three.
They did ridiculous things, going back into zombie infested grounds for a locket, starting fights in the middle of camp because someone slept with someone's wife.
I can give you role call, a list of these morons.
First was the 11 year old, somehow through all the zombie apocalypse his family had kept him perfectly safe, dragging him around everywhere. He hides at the slightest bang.
Next, his mother, a bitchy woman who swore up and down that the 11 year old's father was out there waiting for them some where. She's violent and somehow has managed to run into a horde and right back out the other side too.
Third, the teenager, 11 year old's older brother, angry, sulky, prone to running off or being found making out with our next contestant. He's rash and pouty.
Fourth, the OTHER teenager, a 17 year old girl we found hiding in an upside down car, cowering from zombies. Easily scared, not much of a hand with a gun. At least the older brother was a decent shot. The two are dating. Apparently.
5th came the military vet, he's drunk, he's distant, we don't know what the hell he's doing half the time but apparently he's decent at what he does, because even when he's experiencing one of his legendary heart-ful moments he still manages to be wearing enough layers the zombies can't bite him, or he turns at just the right moment, or some random shrapnel falls on the zombies head, RIGHT THEN.
6th is double denim lady, she's convinced that the zombies can't bite through denim. Somehow, she's fucking right, Jesus Christ. Even though denim isn't that tough when smoothed out over soft flesh, but it seems within the first two weeks of me knowing her she got "bit" three times and gives this stupid triumphant face when she merely has to bash their damn head in. She and the "Leader" are husband and wife.
7th, the best man, he's always got a joke, and the most amazing luck, constantly trying to get Leader to lighten up and offering emotional support. I've seen his ass be blown up and just as we were fixing to leave he crawls out from under a metal door and, "OH HOLY SHIT HE'S ALIVE."
8th, the leader, he's a "Good man with a chip on his shoulder" because he has to make all the "hard" decisions. I get shooting someone in the brain isn't the easiest thing to do, I shot my elderly grandma, I shot my parents both, and my baby sister. He takes it to another level because he's the kinda guy that takes everything to an extreme. Oh no, we can't steal that, it's wrong, look at that family. Oh no, we can't just let these suspicious kids die here, even if they do turn out to be a trap it's still the moral thing to do!
I'm just a perfectly normal person. I don't know how much longer I can take this. Our leader apparently knows how to handle every situation because he's a cop. Not even a good cop, one of the shitty ones that came from a small, racist, shitty town. Don't argue with him, he knows what he's doing, no matter how improbable the results turn out.
He's wanting us to go into a highly zombie infested part of town so that we can gain supplies, we could go to one a day's drive away and avoid all the zeds.
However no one listens to me, I would leave right now if not for the fact everyone of these damn assholes have amazing luck.
What can you do, I guess. | |
[WP] You reach the afterlife, but before you find out where you'll end up, you have to watch the entire life of someone and decide where they should go. What you don't know is all of your memories have been wiped and it's your own life you're watching. | A flash. A childhood in the slums of Old Terra. No mother, no father. A brother who takes care of him, when he can. But they pick through the detritus of the upper world, and it's not enough. The good days there are laughs and smiles, the muck and grime broken by a flash of smiling white teeth as the Youth goes to the market and sells some particularly valuable piece of scrap or tekk for enough food to last weeks.
The brother feasts freely. The Youth, however, learns to hoard for himself and his brother, and later, to lend to others.
The bad times. The days when there is nothing but hungry bellies and a kind of sullen sorrow without the water to cry tears. The brother offers his last crumbs, but it's not enough.
The worse times. Caught stealing for enough to survive. His brother is beheaded as an example by the local gang in charge. The Youth is taken, broken, and debased. He swears he will kill them all.
Another flash.
Hoarding tekk now, not just food. Learning to survive, and more. Learning from the upper world from their trash. Training, growing stronger. Driven by a burning, writhing hatred wriggling in his chest. The Youth becomes a Man.
Another flash.
Accepted into the military. It's unheard of for a slummer. But he has proven his worth with half his district in flames. The tekk..."tech" he got working. His vengeance claimed. When the planetary defense comes for him he is not surprised, too tired to fight against such an implacable foe. Instead he is offered a choice. He chooses life.
Another flash.
He boggles at the weakness of the upper world. Their corruption, their..._softness_. Food is guaranteed, tasteless rations unlike the filling (if unhealthy) food of the street, and he is disciplined each time he attempts a "feast."
Later he learns. There is so much food there is the danger of becoming fat. Of becoming weak.
But their laughter ends when he begins physical and strategic trials. Then, they are impressed, they say. He sees fear in their eyes.
Another flash.
Commander of the armies now. A thousand rebellions quelled. A thousand orders obeyed. Screams echo in his mind and blood drips down his hands. Rage curls inside him once again.
The greedy he offers treasure. The proud, glory. The righteous, justice. The rest, he sends to die in bloody engagement after bloody engagement. Then he makes his move.
The Capital burns and in a day the Man is now the Emperor. On a thousand worlds his foes are purged. Sometimes in silence. Sometimes in thunderous light and sound. The slummers are his soldiers, now, for in the darkness they grow strong, and before them the weak and the _fat_ fall. The suffering is unimaginable. Now he gives the orders.
Nor does he stop at the periphery of Man. Like wildfire he extends his Will across the cosmos. A thousand species extinguished, a thousand lights glow dim before his blaze.
"Well?" the spirits ask.
"Oh," the Tyrant says as tears slide down his cheeks. "If only he could have conquered more." | "Can you just die, already?" I asked, exasperated. "I want to see this cool 'Afterlife' place!"
The doctor looked worried, as he extracted the baby out of his mother's womb. It... He was a premature baby. His mother, a coke addict, refused to quit her drugs during pregnancy, and it showed. The baby came out, small and frail. He cried out once, quietly, and was silent. | |
[WP] You reach the afterlife, but before you find out where you'll end up, you have to watch the entire life of someone and decide where they should go. What you don't know is all of your memories have been wiped and it's your own life you're watching. | "I cannot."
the man calmly responded: "You Must. Every soul must go where it deserves to be and the Evil of this life is plain to see".
Upon the plain white wall an image resolved; a young man beating a boy viciously, breaking teeth and bone and spirit. not once, but many times, clothes, hair and places changing but the beating, the anger remaining constant.
My heart fills with a deep feeling, I do not know if there is a word for it. Pity for the young boy, anger at the man for his brutality but something more... bleak; Despair for the man he could have been had others not twisted him so.
"even so, there are reasons. He is filled with hated because hatred is all he has ever known. He never had a choice of any other way. He never knew there could be another way."
The screen shows monstrance upon monstrance; a young girl, innocent and full of joy. He had never wanted her, nor she him. But no-one cared what he wanted and so she was taken and twisted through years of impacts, burns and cuts; some with words but so, so many with no words at all. By the time she takes her life hatred is all she can remember, the memory of joy a mockery she could no longer stand to recall.
The child became a lens to him, the hatred he felt to everything now had a single focus. Misery is to be its reward for the crime of presence. all that was ever done to him is done again.
"The things that are witnessed here must be proof of damnation" the man said with a tired, disinterested voice.
"show me one moment of joy in this man's life. On moment of kindness, of love, of friendship, of peace. Show me that and I will tell you it was a choice and hell is warranted But I have just watched that man live through all of what he has done to his his son, the mother of his child, others and himself inflicted on him by his farther, i have seen him raped by a priest when he begged for salvation, for deliverance from his father by a forgiving god. I have seen him starve and steal to live and suffer the beating, abuse and worse in the prison they sent him to"
I paused, throat sore, then continued.
"all in his life I have seen is misery, hatred, spite and despair and all I can say for him is that he never ended his own suffering, even though it would have enriched the world. Show me any point in this life where he knew even a single kindness."
The screen stayed blank.
"I cannot condemn a man to hell for being what the world made him. Anyone, ANYONE who lived that life would become a monster. Any god that would admit those who lived an easy life to heaven and never grant the possibility of change, of salvation to those who so dearly needed love, is just another hell and I will not choose between two Hells, even for one who has committed crimes such as his."
"Then, again, he will be sent back, born to his son, and the cycle will repeat again."
"That is just another torture, their suffering will just continue, misery over and over again!" , I cried, "there must be another way!"
the Man smiled "maybe one day, there will be, when someone finally gives you the instant you have craved a thousand lifetimes, and a choice can finally be made".
I opened my eyes... and started screaming.
| "Can you just die, already?" I asked, exasperated. "I want to see this cool 'Afterlife' place!"
The doctor looked worried, as he extracted the baby out of his mother's womb. It... He was a premature baby. His mother, a coke addict, refused to quit her drugs during pregnancy, and it showed. The baby came out, small and frail. He cried out once, quietly, and was silent. | |
[WP] You reach the afterlife, but before you find out where you'll end up, you have to watch the entire life of someone and decide where they should go. What you don't know is all of your memories have been wiped and it's your own life you're watching. | Step by step in another's eyes
Every handshake, every kiss
From three to sixty-three
Lurking, lusting, loving
Families built and ruined
A helping hand in the dark
Unnoticed sacrifice
Every hour, every day
Step by step in another's eyes
Nirvana or Samsara
One mind to decide
A word whispered
A fate for yourself
*****
My very first post, but I don't really know how to do poems... any and all feedback is appreciated!
| "Can you just die, already?" I asked, exasperated. "I want to see this cool 'Afterlife' place!"
The doctor looked worried, as he extracted the baby out of his mother's womb. It... He was a premature baby. His mother, a coke addict, refused to quit her drugs during pregnancy, and it showed. The baby came out, small and frail. He cried out once, quietly, and was silent. | |
[WP] You reach the afterlife, but before you find out where you'll end up, you have to watch the entire life of someone and decide where they should go. What you don't know is all of your memories have been wiped and it's your own life you're watching. | "Oh. My. God." I said, then looked up. "err, sorry. But this is so boring. I mean look all he does is sit there. He doesn't even do anything. Sometimes he yell at that computer, but he doesn't do anything else. Oh wait, here comes my favorite part. Look he's going to work. It's the same thing, but at a different place. And here he is looking at the little computer in his pocket. Again. He doesn't really do *anything* worth noting."
My eyes met a pair that seem as ancient as the universe itself. Looking into them, I could almost see through eternity. The figure was an elderly man, his back nearly bent double as though all the pressure of the world rested on his shoulders. He was much thinner than I expected. I felt the urge to fill his silence, so I continued speaking.
"I mean, he's a bit blasphemous at times, but who isn't? I guess he may have just stolen that movie, but that seems to be a social grey area, doesn't it? He didn't physically take it, but then again it wasn't really his property. He didn't even watch the whole thing either. I guess that's bad, but not evil. He watches a lot of violent things on those screens, but he doesn't reenact them. He just seems really boring. I bet he's nice, but he doesn't really go out and do good."
The imploring eyes continued to stare. For some reason I was supposed to judge this man's life, and determine his eternal fate, yet I couldn't come up with anything to tip the scale. I felt that this wouldn't be accepted.
After a considerable amount of consideration, I was still unsure of what to do. Finally I replied, "you know what, I think this guy should just be forced to watch his own life to see how boring it was. Maybe given enough time he'll have an answer for you." | "Can you just die, already?" I asked, exasperated. "I want to see this cool 'Afterlife' place!"
The doctor looked worried, as he extracted the baby out of his mother's womb. It... He was a premature baby. His mother, a coke addict, refused to quit her drugs during pregnancy, and it showed. The baby came out, small and frail. He cried out once, quietly, and was silent. | |
[WP] You reach the afterlife, but before you find out where you'll end up, you have to watch the entire life of someone and decide where they should go. What you don't know is all of your memories have been wiped and it's your own life you're watching. | "What do you remember of your old life?", asked a somber voice. It came from behind, you thought, but the chamber echoed such that you weren't entirely sure. In any case, you could not see the voice's owner. In fact, you couldn't see anything. It was pitch black.
"Not much," you reply, "some blurs of color and sound. Like a dream." There are faint whispers, but you can't make out any figures in the darkness. You can make out the faint lines of a chair in the corner of your vision. "What happens now? Will I go to heaven or..."
The voice lets you trail off. Even the whispers fall silent as you anxiously await an answer.
Finally, "First you must judge. You will measure the worth of a soul by watching through one's eyes. You will decide what fate is deserved."
"So there <i>is<i/> a heaven and hell?"
"These are constructs by which the living understand the afterlife, but they are, in essence, true. Souls may pass on to new life, or whither away. You will decide what fate is deserved", the phantom voice repeats.
"I don't have the right to judge anyone," you protest, and a flurry of whispers erupts. You fear that you've offended- whatever or whoever they are.
Before you can explain, the spectre says again, "You will decide what fate is deserved. Sit and begin."
You hesitate for a few moments while the whispers die away, waiting for the voice to say something else, but silence falls around you. In the quiet and the darkness, you feel a restlessness grow in you. With nothing else to do, you finally take a seat.
A moment later, you see a small light. It grows larger until it engulfs you, and your senses are flooded with sights, sounds, smells and more. You watch as the life of another begins to unfold around you.
...
After a long while, the imagery fades, leaving you once again in darkness. You are so deep in contemplation that when the deep, somber voice speaks, you jump.
"You have seen and lived this soul's life. You will now decide their fate."
You nod, your shoulders heavy with the weight that rests upon them. You think of the love you've seen, and the joy, the sadness, the loss. You consider the many mistakes made, the best intentions, the darkest deeds.
"You must judge." The voice booms.
"I know," you mumble, "I know...but how? Do I judge them by their actions, or ..." you trail off, hoping for some input from your unseen host. Silence.
You begin to think aloud.
"Suicide is such a waste of life. Honestly, they wasted their life before they ended it...but they were so miserable, I suppose it's understandable. They were so full of hope and love, it's hard to accept that misery. Maybe if their circumstances were different...."
The voice, somber and gentle, asks, "Have you made your decision?"
You nod firmly. "Yes. Send them to heaven."
The whispers rise in an excited crescendo that you interpret as joyful. "Very well. You will move on and live a new life." | "Can you just die, already?" I asked, exasperated. "I want to see this cool 'Afterlife' place!"
The doctor looked worried, as he extracted the baby out of his mother's womb. It... He was a premature baby. His mother, a coke addict, refused to quit her drugs during pregnancy, and it showed. The baby came out, small and frail. He cried out once, quietly, and was silent. | |
[WP] You reach the afterlife, but before you find out where you'll end up, you have to watch the entire life of someone and decide where they should go. What you don't know is all of your memories have been wiped and it's your own life you're watching. | The movie, or whatever it was, finally ended.
A voice boomed into my mind. **You'll have a some time to think about it. If there are any parts you want to rewatch, feel free to do so.**
I didn't respond. I'd never been able to talk to whatever that was.
So does she belong in heaven or in hell? Or should she be reincarnated? What a weird question to ask me. I hope my response isn't the only one that matters... Ugh. What a system.
I debated with myself for the whole stretch. I don't know how long I was given. Time didn't really seem to pass here. It was strange.
I watched and re-watched sequences. Some of the worst moments, and some of the best. Some of the times that this woman, Kara, had compromised her beliefs. Some of the times she had stuck to her guns, like when that Muslim woman was getting yelled at on the bus. Kara had been scared, but she spoke up on behalf of that woman. The look of relief and gratitude was worth it to Kara. Unfortunately it assuaged her conscience a bit too much, and she stopped donating to a few causes before too long.
Ugh. How can you weigh a human's life? Kara seemed decent. She wasn't *bad* per se. She just wasn't a hero either. No Ghandi or Martin Luther King Jr.
**Have you come to a decision?** The voice broke into my reverie like thunder.
"I... I guess." I answered.
"I don't really know. This woman, Kara, she was nice enough. Kind to her friends and family. Kind to some strangers. She held by her ideals pretty often. Almost sixty-forty. I counted." I fell silent. The voice didn't respond.
"It's just," *sigh* "it's just that that doesn't seem like enough. Kind to friends? Sure. I'm guessing Stalin was like that too most of the time. I don't know, it just seems like Kara should have gone out of her way to help someone. Do something more. Help people she didn't know. Campaign for someone who couldn't speak up. Do more than just try to be an "authentic Kara" as she put it. Stretch her influence beyond one tiny corner of the world."
More silence.
"I guess... I guess I feel like she should be re-incarnated. She wasn't evil by any means. She doesn't deserve some sort of punishment. But she didn't really do anything with her life. She worked, had some kids, had some friends. She was just average. And it seems like an average person should take a second shot at things. Maybe be more than average."
I looked back at the screen.
"Could... Could you set her up with people to encourage that? Encourage a life that is *more*. More than just reciprocating kindness. More than just loving her friends and family. Could you have her meet someone, or someones, who would teach her about people outside of her own little sphere? Teach her about getting to know people so different from her that they may as well be from another world? Maybe a friend in high school, or a teacher. Maybe have someone make her go abroad in college, and she can meet someone wherever she is. Something to show her there is more in the world than people like her who like her. Something that shows her what life is like when the band isn't entirely brass instruments. That way she can hear a real symphony. Nobody who hears a real symphony wants to go back to all trumpets and trombones and french horns and tubas. They want the singing violins, the twirling flutes. Let her hear those this time around."
Silence. It stretched on for a while.
**Perhaps. I will give her a desire for that. It is up to you to use that desire.**
My memories returned, my mind expanding like a balloon to hold them. I saw them through both lenses, as the Kara I was, and the self that I am. For a moment, I understood why life was so hard to live well. Everything seems so logical in the moment, and so incomprehensible afterwards.
***
A smiling woman held me, and for some reason, all I could hear was a beautiful song with a thousand instruments playing in harmony. I resolved to hear that song again some day.
"Wren. We'll name her Wren." I burbled at the sound of my new name. | "Can you just die, already?" I asked, exasperated. "I want to see this cool 'Afterlife' place!"
The doctor looked worried, as he extracted the baby out of his mother's womb. It... He was a premature baby. His mother, a coke addict, refused to quit her drugs during pregnancy, and it showed. The baby came out, small and frail. He cried out once, quietly, and was silent. | |
[WP] You reach the afterlife, but before you find out where you'll end up, you have to watch the entire life of someone and decide where they should go. What you don't know is all of your memories have been wiped and it's your own life you're watching. | "Heaven."
"Are you sure? Didn't you see all the terrible things he did?"
"You mean awesome things? Did you see that explosion when he blew up the orphanage? It was amazing!"
"What about all the poor orphans?"
"I don't care about them. I barely saw them."
"Don't you think hell is cool? With all the lava and brimstone?"
"You get to do whatever you want in Heaven, right? I'm sure with this guy in Heaven, there will be plenty of lava and brimstone. If I'm going to Heaven, I want to go with that guy. I'm going to Heaven, right?"
Saint Peter sighed. "Yes, it looks like you're going to Heaven. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to have a few words with God." | "Can you just die, already?" I asked, exasperated. "I want to see this cool 'Afterlife' place!"
The doctor looked worried, as he extracted the baby out of his mother's womb. It... He was a premature baby. His mother, a coke addict, refused to quit her drugs during pregnancy, and it showed. The baby came out, small and frail. He cried out once, quietly, and was silent. | |
[WP] You reach the afterlife, but before you find out where you'll end up, you have to watch the entire life of someone and decide where they should go. What you don't know is all of your memories have been wiped and it's your own life you're watching. | "So, this is the afterlife?" I was a little confused. When you think of life after death, you think of pearly gates, angels with wings, white marble, etc. Not a courtroom.
"Well, kind of. You see, before you are assigned to heaven or hell, you are required to watch and judge the life of another" said a man who seemed much less angelic than you would anticipate.
"Wait, so I die and still have to do jury duty? This is bullshit. You know that, right?" If there was one skill I really honed in my normal life, it was getting out of things. I've gotten out of regular jury duty in New York state, so, how much harder could this really be?
"Yes my son." The divine attorney proclaimed.
"Okay. Well, just so you know, I have a really hard time maintaining objectivity. Oh, and I also am burdened with economic hardship. Oh and somebody committed a crime against me and was never caught, so I'm really mad at the legal system." I've used so many loopholes in the past, one of these has to work.
"You know we can read your mind, right? I guess not. So, before you spew anymore of that at me and further hurt your own case, I'm gonna let that one slide but you're on thin ice."
"Fuck, okay what do I have to do?"
"Well, basically, we walk in and you get to sit through somebody's entire life. Once that's done, you're going to decide where they wind up according to strict interpretation of biblical principals. Sound easy enough?"
"I guess, but what happens after I do this?" I was starting to get pretty concerned. I wasn't somebody who really lived according to religion, and if my afterlife was to be determined by 'strict interpretation' of the bible, I think it's fair to say I was pretty much fucked.
"Well, basically then somebody does the same for you."
I was really hoping he wouldn't say that, but maybe if I was pretty cool to the person in front of me, somebody would throw me a favor later on. He led me down the aisle of the room to a table adjacent to 7 men in black robes and a TV that seemed a little low tech for the USA, much less purgatory.
"How long do I have to sit here and do this? I mean a 70 year old probably has plenty of years of irrelevant an non-important stuff that we could omit." I asked begrudgingly.
"This is purgatory...you have somewhere else to be?" said one of the men donning black.
"Well, no, it just seems...tedious." I complained.
They ignored me and began rolling the tape. I watched the birth of a man who would turn into quite a character. Perhaps not the best person, but certainly not the worst. There were laughs, there were tears, and there were plenty of r/cringepics moments in his youth. I watched him through school, through work, and through retirement. He seemed like a reasonably good person (maybe aside from the hazing in college...but, you can't expect many great things out of 18-22 year olds anyways).
The tape ended after what felt like an eternity. But, we were in eternity anyways, so, I guess it wasn't that big of a deal.
I really am not the best reader, especially when it comes to old texts like the bible. I figured I could choose a few random passages, make it seem like it was a tough call, and let the guy off. Outside of a few curse words and that weekend in Cancun, this guy was a pretty chill dude. And, since the Ten Commandments kind of seem like the overall important messages here, I think he did alright.
"Your honors, after much deliberation I have reached my conclusion. While at times this man may have slipped up, he largely lived his life in a manner that followed the teachings of the bible. Although, I am kind of surprised that the Christians, out of all people, were right. I mean, what about people who follow the Quran or other religious texts?"
"Hell."
"Wow, that's a bummer" I mumbled out loud. Kind of crazy to think that you don't even get judgment if you followed another text. I didn't even follow one, so I was pretty sure I was hosed unless the fact that my parents made me go to church sometimes came in to play.
The lawyer angel leaned over and said "yeah, unfortunately following other religions doctrines kind of falls under 'you shall have no other god before me,' which is kind of a sticking point with the Big Guy."
"Please continue with your judgment." Said the 7 men, in unison.
"Well, anyways, I believe this man to be worthy of heaven. He rarely broke the larger, more important rules and none of his missteps appear to be unforgivable. He meant well, and lived his life in a moral manner. I say, he goes to heaven."
One of the 7 judges interjected, "however, did he live his life according to all of the passages of the bible, and not just those commandments?"
I wasn't sure how to respond, but since these guys could apparently read minds I figured honesty was the best route. "Well, no, but how in depth do you get with that?"
He looked back with a snarl and said "every passage, every book, every word must be used as criteria for judgment."
At this point, I was kind of angry. "Wait, but come on. There's some straight bullshit in the old testament. Have you guys read Leviticus or Deuteronomy? I mean, even you guys can admit that those are kind of suspect to begin with."
"How so?" another asked.
"I mean, you really don't get to go to heaven if you have a bowl cut? Or if you eat shellfish? Or if you don't pull out? Or if you wear gold? I mean...come on guys, but there's some bullshit in here."
"These are principals that were laid out from the beginning, and it is nobody's fault but their own if they do not abide by them."
"So, you're telling me that there are no gay people in heaven?"
"That is correct."
"And there are no muslims in heaven?"
"That is also correct."
"And there's a large protective barrier keeping everybody else out?"
"Yes, my son."
And that's when I realized: God was basically just Donald Trump.
"Fuck it, I'll take hell please."
"Works for us, that was you in the video anyways." | "Can you just die, already?" I asked, exasperated. "I want to see this cool 'Afterlife' place!"
The doctor looked worried, as he extracted the baby out of his mother's womb. It... He was a premature baby. His mother, a coke addict, refused to quit her drugs during pregnancy, and it showed. The baby came out, small and frail. He cried out once, quietly, and was silent. | |
[WP] You reach the afterlife, but before you find out where you'll end up, you have to watch the entire life of someone and decide where they should go. What you don't know is all of your memories have been wiped and it's your own life you're watching. | This prompt reminds me of a book I read. By the same author as the Gone series I believe. Usually I don't take the time to write a story, but I quite like this topic, even if I am pretty late.
------------------------------------
"Who is this?"
"This is a man called Adolf Hitler. We'll have you judge whether they go to heaven or hell. Good luck."
I'm now strapped up, with a strange VR headset attached to my head. There were small leads sending electromagnetic signals into my head. I was viewing this Adolf Hitler's life from his perspective, inside my mind.
I can see everything that ever happened in this man's life. And it's horrible. I am watching, in my own head, the life of a psychopath. I watch from when he was born, to raising an army to massacre the Jewish population, to shooting his wife, and eventually himself. This man doesn't deserve to go to heaven. I know what I'll say. I guess the angels standing around me know I have finished watching, because they take off the helmet. "SEND THE BASTARD TO HELL, PLEASE!" I shout. They simply smile.
I wake up in a scorching hot room. It takes me a moment to remember what just happened. And then I remember my previous memories, as Adolf Hitler.
I realize what I've done now. I've banished myself to an eternity of burning in hell. I shudder, despite the intense heat.
At least there are no Jews here.
| "Can you just die, already?" I asked, exasperated. "I want to see this cool 'Afterlife' place!"
The doctor looked worried, as he extracted the baby out of his mother's womb. It... He was a premature baby. His mother, a coke addict, refused to quit her drugs during pregnancy, and it showed. The baby came out, small and frail. He cried out once, quietly, and was silent. | |
[WP] You reach the afterlife, but before you find out where you'll end up, you have to watch the entire life of someone and decide where they should go. What you don't know is all of your memories have been wiped and it's your own life you're watching. | It's odd watching the expanse of someone's life play out before you. A seemingly endless collection of memories that cycle over and over, floating about like iridescent bubbles moving pictures on them. You can touch one and the memory unfolds, spanning into a flat surface, simply hovering in the air a few feet above what one imagines to be a floor.
I was told I had one purpose in this room; to watch, observe, and reflect upon what I was seeing. Afterward, I was to judge their actions. *You shall determine their fate. By what you see, you shall deem them worthy of endless bliss or eternal agony.*
Those words still echoed in my ears. It seemed so odd, but nevertheless, I felt a compulsion to follow as instructed. I touched the first memory and within seconds, I felt regret.
The scene that unfolded was, like the others I would watch, a few minutes through the eyes of the one I would judge and they were horrible. All that I could see was a woman's face, tear-stained, sobbing, crying out for help. Every second, her body jerked and jarred as if something pounded against her. Her voice cracked and pleaded, staring back, begging that whatever was happening stop.
I felt tears well within my eyes and I touched the memory. The face of the woman paused in a horrified gasp of dawning. I felt relief as soon as her voice echoed into silence.
Nearby, I touched another memory. A man in a suit, red-faced, angry, was yelling at the one I was to judge, screaming about his wife. Just behind the man in the suit was a half naked woman, smiling, winking. I felt a wave of disgust, not just for this memory's owner, but for the woman who chose to defile her marriage AND of all things, be smug about it. I touched the memory, pausing it just as the man in the suit raised his fist.
I was told to refrain from making snap judgments until all the memories had been viewed and reflected upon. In my gut, I knew I would send this man to a painful agony unlike any had suffered, but I would do as asked.
Over and over, I would touch memory after memory, watching this *monster* commit unspeakable acts; rape, murder, abuse. And they took pleasure in it! With every passing memory, all I could feel toward this person was hate, revulsion, anger, and rage. I wanted to make them suffer with my bare hands.
After watching a memory of this disgusting beast raping some teen girl and killing her brutally, I stepped over to a new memory and touched it without thinking.
A small voice cried in darkness. Light shattered the dark, and for a moment, even I could not make out any detail, until a booming angry slurred voice erupted in my ears. Suddenly, a man appeared, towering over this person. Fists lashed out and slammed against the surface of the memory, the image jarring back and forth. A child's scream of agony and pain pierced my ears with a shrill sound that hurt. The face of the man was screwed and twisted in a rictus of drunken rage. The words he spit were cold, cruel, filled with malice and spite.
This was my person....as a child.
I found these memories, all huddled together, away from the others. Each one was more painful than the last. I watched as the person whose life I was to judge was subjected to every kind of abuse and torture one could think of. From family members touching them in ways that made me want to retch, a mother who burned skin with cigarettes, a father who got drunk and beat them mercilessly to children taunting, jeering, punching, kicking, beating.
Every memory was more jarring than the last until I came to a single memory that hovered between the two groups, alone. I reached out and touched it.
It unfolded slowly, like a flower blooming in the morning sun. Before me, I watched as this person was being pushed along through dim woods by a large man who talked and jeered, saying horrible things about what he would do to my person. Suddenly, my person lunged for a thick branch. I watched as small hands wrapped tightly around the thick wood and swung it hard toward the face of the large man. There was a sickening crack and the man crumpled to the ground.
The view of the memory shifted until it was clear my person was standing over the large man and they began swinging the branch down onto their face, over and over, crying and sobbing with each wet smack of the branch on this man's bloodied face. The voice cried louder and louder with every strike until the branch broke apart and my person collapsed to their knees.
"I'm free," I heard their voice say with elation.
The memory froze.
I sat there, crying silently in the dark. I could never decide their fate. To condemn someone who had already suffered so much seemed so unfair, but to grant them endless pleasure was as equally wrong for all the pain they had caused.
The ones who brought me here said I cannot leave until I decide, but I know in my heart, I can't.
All I can do is watch. And reflect.
EDIT: a word | "Can you just die, already?" I asked, exasperated. "I want to see this cool 'Afterlife' place!"
The doctor looked worried, as he extracted the baby out of his mother's womb. It... He was a premature baby. His mother, a coke addict, refused to quit her drugs during pregnancy, and it showed. The baby came out, small and frail. He cried out once, quietly, and was silent. | |
[WP] You reach the afterlife, but before you find out where you'll end up, you have to watch the entire life of someone and decide where they should go. What you don't know is all of your memories have been wiped and it's your own life you're watching. | "Oh. My. God." I said, then looked up. "err, sorry. But this is so boring. I mean look all he does is sit there. He doesn't even do anything. Sometimes he yell at that computer, but he doesn't do anything else. Oh wait, here comes my favorite part. Look he's going to work. It's the same thing, but at a different place. And here he is looking at the little computer in his pocket. Again. He doesn't really do *anything* worth noting."
My eyes met a pair that seem as ancient as the universe itself. Looking into them, I could almost see through eternity. The figure was an elderly man, his back nearly bent double as though all the pressure of the world rested on his shoulders. He was much thinner than I expected. I felt the urge to fill his silence, so I continued speaking.
"I mean, he's a bit blasphemous at times, but who isn't? I guess he may have just stolen that movie, but that seems to be a social grey area, doesn't it? He didn't physically take it, but then again it wasn't really his property. He didn't even watch the whole thing either. I guess that's bad, but not evil. He watches a lot of violent things on those screens, but he doesn't reenact them. He just seems really boring. I bet he's nice, but he doesn't really go out and do good."
The imploring eyes continued to stare. For some reason I was supposed to judge this man's life, and determine his eternal fate, yet I couldn't come up with anything to tip the scale. I felt that this wouldn't be accepted.
After a considerable amount of consideration, I was still unsure of what to do. Finally I replied, "you know what, I think this guy should just be forced to watch his own life to see how boring it was. Maybe given enough time he'll have an answer for you." | I honestly didn't know what to say. I mean its awful knowing that someday someone will judge my life. And so I was kind. I chose it exclusively to the extent that I let go of the murders he had committed and all the crimes against humanity that he had accomplished. It seemed wrong but in many ways it seemed right. I wouldn't want to live it any other way. Its the mean of the mind that makes it divine. |
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