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[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." | 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. | |
[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. | 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. | |
[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." | 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. | |
[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." | 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. | |
[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.
| 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. | |
[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 | 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. | |
[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. | America was in mourning. The greatest President who had ever lived had passed away far too soon. Tragically, he had suffered a heart attack barely a year into his first term.
In just that short time, he had accomplished so much, and inspired so many young people all around the world. America was great once again, all thanks to him. People simply couldn’t believe that he was gone, and that he had actually known best all along. Sure, he had to say a few questionable things to get elected in the first place, but when you’re the only one who can fix anything, how could you not?
Nobody could deny his greatness now.
***
Donald’s eyes opened with a pop. He pushed his upper body into an upright position and looked around. Somehow, he was in a vast courtroom. Where could this be, he wondered. Behind him were many seats filled with many blank faces. In front of him stood the large courtroom dais, where a Judge was sitting calmly.
“Welcome, Mr. Trump,” said the Judge in a clear, steady voice.
“*President* Trump,” responded the Donald. “What the hell is this? Where’re my guys?”
“I’m sorry to inform you that you have passed away, Mr. Trump. This is a place of limbo. It is here that we will decide where you go nex–”
“*Excuse* me, excuse me, I will be deciding where I go next thank you. I’m the President. I decide.”
Donald rose to his full considerable height, and dusted off his shoulders with his hands. “What kind of a lame joke is this? Did Vlad put you up to it? I’ll kill him.”
“This is no joke, Mr. Trump. You are, unfortunately, dead.”
This was a very difficult thing for Donald to accept.
“But- but I’m the President,” he choked.
“Not anymore, I’m afraid. Vice President Romney has just been sworn in.”
There was a loud silence as this information sunk in.
“That slimy SCHMUCK!” yelled Donald, “I only picked him to shut him up! *He’s* President?!”
“I’m afraid so-” opined the Judge.
“He’ll send the Country to hell in a hand basket!” interjected Donald, “Not to mention the Planet! There’s just no way he’ll finish the Treaty for World Peace. Idiot Mitt, we call him. Never negotiated a deal in his life. You have to send me back Judge. You have to!”
“If only I could,” said the Judge, “You deserve as much. You are the most illustrious person to ever appear before me. This Court is not usually packed to the rafters, you know. We have all been watching you with great wonder.”
Donald did not like being told ‘no’. On the other hand, he did like being told how illustrious he was. His emotions swirled internally, each one fighting for dominance. He turned to look at the crowd, at the adoring, concerned faces. He could never keep a crowd waiting for long.
“Well, how’s everybody doin’ today? Y’all excited to see The Donald?”
The crowd clapped and hollered with great enthusiasm. Donald began to think it wasn’t so bad here.
“To business,” said the Judge, “We are here to determine where you end up, Mr. Trump. It’s either Heaven or Hell–”
“Heaven, obviously,” interjected Donald. He turned to the crowd “Can you believe this guy?”
The crowd laughed appreciatively. Even the Judge seemed to be holding back a snigger.
“Yes, ahem, well, the only person who can judge you is yourself,” said the Judge. Donald nodded in agreement. “If you’ll just be seated in the witness box, we can go through the formalities.”
Donald walked over and took a seat in the box.
“When I snap my fingers,” said the Judge, “Your life will play out before your eyes, but you will not remember that it is your life. You may then decide whether that life deserves eternal salvation, or damnation.”
“Oh gee, I wonder which I’ll pick,” said Donald sarcastically.
The Judge smiled and snapped his fingers.
At once, Donald was transported to another world. He watched as a baby was born, grew up, went to military school, had his first dance, his first kiss, his first pat on the back from his father. He watched the young man go to business school, do his first deal, his first wife, his first mistress, his first inheritance, his second wife, his first press interview–
“Hell!” cried the Donald. “I’m not sharing Heaven with this maniac.”
The crowd gasped as one, as ropes of flame emerged from the floor to pull Donald down.
| 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. | |
[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." | 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." | |
[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." | 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." | |
[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. | 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." | |
[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." | 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." | |
[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." | 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." | |
[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 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.
| |
[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." | "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.
| |
[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. | "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.
| |
[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." | "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.
| |
[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." | 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!
| |
[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." | 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!
| |
[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." | 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!
| |
[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." | "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." | |
[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." | "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." | |
[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." | 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. | |
[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 | In anger the fire swore at me. Foaming at the mouth,it lapped up the darkness of the room.
A man of average height entered the room and immediately flipped on a light switch by the door.
The room became cold, sterile, and revealed a layout resembling that of a doctors office. No fireplace, no ash, nor char was visible in the place where the fire had sat only seconds ago.
My body remained tense. But my mind made no attempt to grasp or even gasp at this unusual behavior. However, as soon as this clean shaven balding man came closer to me I began to throw up.
After cleaning up and changing into a hospital gown I was brought back into the room. Or at least I thought it was the same room. I knew I was disoriented but I would definitely of had a hard time telling the difference even on a good day.
No words had been exchanged between me and this man. Not before or after my throwing up episode. Yet somehow it wasn't awkward and communication between us seemed unnecessary.
Beneath the light switch, another button suddenly appeared. He aptly pressed it.
A projection screen slid down the wall across from me, the lights dimmed, and the man quietly made his exit.
A live action claymation presentation took hold of the screen. My attention waned. It was boring. Newborn, to baby, to toddler, to child. It was blurry. I could only tell the stages based on the obvious progression taking place. Finally, a girl in full detail came across the screen. The style changed to that of a comic book and the perspective became first person. She was pretty and seemed interested in me, er I mean the boy. She smiled a lot, but as time went by her appearance began to deteriorate. She became shy, reserved, and developed a lazy eye. Try as I might, she would no longer look at me. Just at the ground. So I started looking at the ground too. To see what she was looking at. And before I knew it we were sitting on a bridge looking out at the ocean. She smiled at me. And then the ocean caught her.
The style shifted again to that of a black and white silent picture show. The boy was much older now. His face was hidden beneath a tangled mess of hair. But his eyes still managed to catch a glimpse of a little boy dressed in funeral attire coming into his room. The little boy spoke to him. But nothing translated. Tears began to form in the little boys eyes as he stormed out of the room. Dropping the obituary he had clung to for the past month. The older brother made no attempt to follow after him. Night came into view and with it the bathroom.
Hair began to fall as inch by inch was cut. Feeding the scissors a slow methodical meal. Afterwards, when nothing was left but food for the Wahl buzzard, his tears came into full view. The mirror shook and broke around him as his fist made contact. Blood and hair covered the ground and with it the medicine from the cabinet fell to the floor. A bottle of this and a bottle of that became his answer.
The film's sound caught me off guard as the perspective changed to that of his little brother in full HD. Yelling, screaming, and swearing. Fighting back tears, he chose anger. With ambulance sirens drawing nearer the boy's fire became inaudible, yet raged all the more.
It ended. And there I sat. Alone. In the dark.
| |
[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. | America was in mourning. The greatest President who had ever lived had passed away far too soon. Tragically, he had suffered a heart attack barely a year into his first term.
In just that short time, he had accomplished so much, and inspired so many young people all around the world. America was great once again, all thanks to him. People simply couldn’t believe that he was gone, and that he had actually known best all along. Sure, he had to say a few questionable things to get elected in the first place, but when you’re the only one who can fix anything, how could you not?
Nobody could deny his greatness now.
***
Donald’s eyes opened with a pop. He pushed his upper body into an upright position and looked around. Somehow, he was in a vast courtroom. Where could this be, he wondered. Behind him were many seats filled with many blank faces. In front of him stood the large courtroom dais, where a Judge was sitting calmly.
“Welcome, Mr. Trump,” said the Judge in a clear, steady voice.
“*President* Trump,” responded the Donald. “What the hell is this? Where’re my guys?”
“I’m sorry to inform you that you have passed away, Mr. Trump. This is a place of limbo. It is here that we will decide where you go nex–”
“*Excuse* me, excuse me, I will be deciding where I go next thank you. I’m the President. I decide.”
Donald rose to his full considerable height, and dusted off his shoulders with his hands. “What kind of a lame joke is this? Did Vlad put you up to it? I’ll kill him.”
“This is no joke, Mr. Trump. You are, unfortunately, dead.”
This was a very difficult thing for Donald to accept.
“But- but I’m the President,” he choked.
“Not anymore, I’m afraid. Vice President Romney has just been sworn in.”
There was a loud silence as this information sunk in.
“That slimy SCHMUCK!” yelled Donald, “I only picked him to shut him up! *He’s* President?!”
“I’m afraid so-” opined the Judge.
“He’ll send the Country to hell in a hand basket!” interjected Donald, “Not to mention the Planet! There’s just no way he’ll finish the Treaty for World Peace. Idiot Mitt, we call him. Never negotiated a deal in his life. You have to send me back Judge. You have to!”
“If only I could,” said the Judge, “You deserve as much. You are the most illustrious person to ever appear before me. This Court is not usually packed to the rafters, you know. We have all been watching you with great wonder.”
Donald did not like being told ‘no’. On the other hand, he did like being told how illustrious he was. His emotions swirled internally, each one fighting for dominance. He turned to look at the crowd, at the adoring, concerned faces. He could never keep a crowd waiting for long.
“Well, how’s everybody doin’ today? Y’all excited to see The Donald?”
The crowd clapped and hollered with great enthusiasm. Donald began to think it wasn’t so bad here.
“To business,” said the Judge, “We are here to determine where you end up, Mr. Trump. It’s either Heaven or Hell–”
“Heaven, obviously,” interjected Donald. He turned to the crowd “Can you believe this guy?”
The crowd laughed appreciatively. Even the Judge seemed to be holding back a snigger.
“Yes, ahem, well, the only person who can judge you is yourself,” said the Judge. Donald nodded in agreement. “If you’ll just be seated in the witness box, we can go through the formalities.”
Donald walked over and took a seat in the box.
“When I snap my fingers,” said the Judge, “Your life will play out before your eyes, but you will not remember that it is your life. You may then decide whether that life deserves eternal salvation, or damnation.”
“Oh gee, I wonder which I’ll pick,” said Donald sarcastically.
The Judge smiled and snapped his fingers.
At once, Donald was transported to another world. He watched as a baby was born, grew up, went to military school, had his first dance, his first kiss, his first pat on the back from his father. He watched the young man go to business school, do his first deal, his first wife, his first mistress, his first inheritance, his second wife, his first press interview–
“Hell!” cried the Donald. “I’m not sharing Heaven with this maniac.”
The crowd gasped as one, as ropes of flame emerged from the floor to pull Donald down.
| In anger the fire swore at me. Foaming at the mouth,it lapped up the darkness of the room.
A man of average height entered the room and immediately flipped on a light switch by the door.
The room became cold, sterile, and revealed a layout resembling that of a doctors office. No fireplace, no ash, nor char was visible in the place where the fire had sat only seconds ago.
My body remained tense. But my mind made no attempt to grasp or even gasp at this unusual behavior. However, as soon as this clean shaven balding man came closer to me I began to throw up.
After cleaning up and changing into a hospital gown I was brought back into the room. Or at least I thought it was the same room. I knew I was disoriented but I would definitely of had a hard time telling the difference even on a good day.
No words had been exchanged between me and this man. Not before or after my throwing up episode. Yet somehow it wasn't awkward and communication between us seemed unnecessary.
Beneath the light switch, another button suddenly appeared. He aptly pressed it.
A projection screen slid down the wall across from me, the lights dimmed, and the man quietly made his exit.
A live action claymation presentation took hold of the screen. My attention waned. It was boring. Newborn, to baby, to toddler, to child. It was blurry. I could only tell the stages based on the obvious progression taking place. Finally, a girl in full detail came across the screen. The style changed to that of a comic book and the perspective became first person. She was pretty and seemed interested in me, er I mean the boy. She smiled a lot, but as time went by her appearance began to deteriorate. She became shy, reserved, and developed a lazy eye. Try as I might, she would no longer look at me. Just at the ground. So I started looking at the ground too. To see what she was looking at. And before I knew it we were sitting on a bridge looking out at the ocean. She smiled at me. And then the ocean caught her.
The style shifted again to that of a black and white silent picture show. The boy was much older now. His face was hidden beneath a tangled mess of hair. But his eyes still managed to catch a glimpse of a little boy dressed in funeral attire coming into his room. The little boy spoke to him. But nothing translated. Tears began to form in the little boys eyes as he stormed out of the room. Dropping the obituary he had clung to for the past month. The older brother made no attempt to follow after him. Night came into view and with it the bathroom.
Hair began to fall as inch by inch was cut. Feeding the scissors a slow methodical meal. Afterwards, when nothing was left but food for the Wahl buzzard, his tears came into full view. The mirror shook and broke around him as his fist made contact. Blood and hair covered the ground and with it the medicine from the cabinet fell to the floor. A bottle of this and a bottle of that became his answer.
The film's sound caught me off guard as the perspective changed to that of his little brother in full HD. Yelling, screaming, and swearing. Fighting back tears, he chose anger. With ambulance sirens drawing nearer the boy's fire became inaudible, yet raged all the more.
It ended. And there I sat. Alone. In the dark.
| |
[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. | "Ok. Just sit down and watch."
"Watch what?" I asked.
"Just watch, I want to know your opinion of this person."
"Fine." The screen flickers with a white flash and then shows darkness. "Um sir, I think this is broken."
"Hmm. It says here that the video length is about 2 seconds. Oddly short even if we show only the highlights. Well I guess we will just continue with standard procedures. What did you think of this person's life?"
"Life? What life? I saw nothing happen on the screen, you can hardly call that anything. What am I doing here?" I spout.
"Do you think the person in the video was good or bad?"
"What person? I saw nothing!"
"Just calm down, I'll be brief to make it easy for the both of us. You are dead. This video is someone's life. When someone dies they must judge one's life to determine that person's afterlife. Unfortunately for you, the video was short so just use your best judgment."
"How can I judge a 2 second clip of nothingness?" I inquire
"Just do your best. Where do you think this person should go in the afterlife?"
"I honestly don't know. This man could be anything, he could be a saint or a devil but there is literally nothing here."
"So you think this person should spend all his life in nothingness? Purgatory if you will?"
"I don't know, maybe? I kind of wish the video was longer...Can i watch it again?"
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"Ok. Just sit down and watch." | In anger the fire swore at me. Foaming at the mouth,it lapped up the darkness of the room.
A man of average height entered the room and immediately flipped on a light switch by the door.
The room became cold, sterile, and revealed a layout resembling that of a doctors office. No fireplace, no ash, nor char was visible in the place where the fire had sat only seconds ago.
My body remained tense. But my mind made no attempt to grasp or even gasp at this unusual behavior. However, as soon as this clean shaven balding man came closer to me I began to throw up.
After cleaning up and changing into a hospital gown I was brought back into the room. Or at least I thought it was the same room. I knew I was disoriented but I would definitely of had a hard time telling the difference even on a good day.
No words had been exchanged between me and this man. Not before or after my throwing up episode. Yet somehow it wasn't awkward and communication between us seemed unnecessary.
Beneath the light switch, another button suddenly appeared. He aptly pressed it.
A projection screen slid down the wall across from me, the lights dimmed, and the man quietly made his exit.
A live action claymation presentation took hold of the screen. My attention waned. It was boring. Newborn, to baby, to toddler, to child. It was blurry. I could only tell the stages based on the obvious progression taking place. Finally, a girl in full detail came across the screen. The style changed to that of a comic book and the perspective became first person. She was pretty and seemed interested in me, er I mean the boy. She smiled a lot, but as time went by her appearance began to deteriorate. She became shy, reserved, and developed a lazy eye. Try as I might, she would no longer look at me. Just at the ground. So I started looking at the ground too. To see what she was looking at. And before I knew it we were sitting on a bridge looking out at the ocean. She smiled at me. And then the ocean caught her.
The style shifted again to that of a black and white silent picture show. The boy was much older now. His face was hidden beneath a tangled mess of hair. But his eyes still managed to catch a glimpse of a little boy dressed in funeral attire coming into his room. The little boy spoke to him. But nothing translated. Tears began to form in the little boys eyes as he stormed out of the room. Dropping the obituary he had clung to for the past month. The older brother made no attempt to follow after him. Night came into view and with it the bathroom.
Hair began to fall as inch by inch was cut. Feeding the scissors a slow methodical meal. Afterwards, when nothing was left but food for the Wahl buzzard, his tears came into full view. The mirror shook and broke around him as his fist made contact. Blood and hair covered the ground and with it the medicine from the cabinet fell to the floor. A bottle of this and a bottle of that became his answer.
The film's sound caught me off guard as the perspective changed to that of his little brother in full HD. Yelling, screaming, and swearing. Fighting back tears, he chose anger. With ambulance sirens drawing nearer the boy's fire became inaudible, yet raged all the more.
It ended. And there I sat. Alone. In the dark.
| |
[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 | I sat in a pitch dark room where the only thing I was sure of was my heavy breathing. Oddly enough I didn't feel threatened of the unknown, I felt at ease. This was the miracle of death, peaceful despite the strange and cold hard circumstances.
A white screen appeared before me and a pre-recorded voiceover of a woman began to play,
"Welcome. Before the jury is able to allocate you, you must comply by determining the final decision for someone else. You will be presented with various clips of someone else's life and come up with a answer based on what you've seen. Please sit still, and focus on the film we are about to show you. The fate of another is in your hands!" The pep in the female's voice was unsettling yet I was overpowered by the feeling of extreme pressure being put on me.
How could it be that after death the first thing you face is being put through major distress? Snippets began to play, and a sense of nostalgia for something that never was took over me. A small young boy, full of life until the passing of his mother. Left with a father figure who didn't appear to have much of a solid presence. He was dull, didn't have the strength to really fulfill what his son needed; although he wasn't a terrible father either.
Due to his upbringing I was not surprised with who the boy turned out to be. A average father, who became deeply sucked into his work life leaving his family to live in the presence of a ghost. What kind of man is raised with such experience only to turn out to be the plainest of men? The years went by and the man had now turned into a avid drinker although the family stayed together.
The man was upset because once his children grew older the idiot couldn't comprehend why his children couldn't visit often enough. Why his wife didn't try to show him love like she did 30 years ago. He was a poor fool. I couldn't stand watching this any longer.
I suddenly got this fit of rage and started to scream,
"Quit this shit right now! I've made my decision. I don't want to watch this anymore. I've made my decision."
The screen faded and it darkened in the room once again leaving enough light to see the silhouette of a man on the other side of a glass wall.
"And so what have you decided? What is the final decision that you seem to have such passion towards ?"
"Hell, he needs to be sent to hell! So he could learn a lesson for what he did. He was a god awful family man who lived in selfishness."
The man began to let out a chuckle and with irritation I asked,
"What's so funny to you?! I've done my part like I was asked. There I did it. He needs to be punished."
"What's funny to me is the morals and values of the average human. How dearly they hold onto these beliefs and none of them know that they can't even live up to their own high standards. The church goers who spent their life breeding hate towards others, went to heaven because they believed they had completed their duties. I've seen criminals excuse heinous acts. I've seen pieces of shit wear their masks so dearly and convince themselves that they've done their best.
But the average man, he is complex and he continues to bemuse me."
"Although don't let that stop you," he said.
"Tell me how fun it is to dance with the devil."
And with the grin still on his face, he pulled the lever.
| |
[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. | America was in mourning. The greatest President who had ever lived had passed away far too soon. Tragically, he had suffered a heart attack barely a year into his first term.
In just that short time, he had accomplished so much, and inspired so many young people all around the world. America was great once again, all thanks to him. People simply couldn’t believe that he was gone, and that he had actually known best all along. Sure, he had to say a few questionable things to get elected in the first place, but when you’re the only one who can fix anything, how could you not?
Nobody could deny his greatness now.
***
Donald’s eyes opened with a pop. He pushed his upper body into an upright position and looked around. Somehow, he was in a vast courtroom. Where could this be, he wondered. Behind him were many seats filled with many blank faces. In front of him stood the large courtroom dais, where a Judge was sitting calmly.
“Welcome, Mr. Trump,” said the Judge in a clear, steady voice.
“*President* Trump,” responded the Donald. “What the hell is this? Where’re my guys?”
“I’m sorry to inform you that you have passed away, Mr. Trump. This is a place of limbo. It is here that we will decide where you go nex–”
“*Excuse* me, excuse me, I will be deciding where I go next thank you. I’m the President. I decide.”
Donald rose to his full considerable height, and dusted off his shoulders with his hands. “What kind of a lame joke is this? Did Vlad put you up to it? I’ll kill him.”
“This is no joke, Mr. Trump. You are, unfortunately, dead.”
This was a very difficult thing for Donald to accept.
“But- but I’m the President,” he choked.
“Not anymore, I’m afraid. Vice President Romney has just been sworn in.”
There was a loud silence as this information sunk in.
“That slimy SCHMUCK!” yelled Donald, “I only picked him to shut him up! *He’s* President?!”
“I’m afraid so-” opined the Judge.
“He’ll send the Country to hell in a hand basket!” interjected Donald, “Not to mention the Planet! There’s just no way he’ll finish the Treaty for World Peace. Idiot Mitt, we call him. Never negotiated a deal in his life. You have to send me back Judge. You have to!”
“If only I could,” said the Judge, “You deserve as much. You are the most illustrious person to ever appear before me. This Court is not usually packed to the rafters, you know. We have all been watching you with great wonder.”
Donald did not like being told ‘no’. On the other hand, he did like being told how illustrious he was. His emotions swirled internally, each one fighting for dominance. He turned to look at the crowd, at the adoring, concerned faces. He could never keep a crowd waiting for long.
“Well, how’s everybody doin’ today? Y’all excited to see The Donald?”
The crowd clapped and hollered with great enthusiasm. Donald began to think it wasn’t so bad here.
“To business,” said the Judge, “We are here to determine where you end up, Mr. Trump. It’s either Heaven or Hell–”
“Heaven, obviously,” interjected Donald. He turned to the crowd “Can you believe this guy?”
The crowd laughed appreciatively. Even the Judge seemed to be holding back a snigger.
“Yes, ahem, well, the only person who can judge you is yourself,” said the Judge. Donald nodded in agreement. “If you’ll just be seated in the witness box, we can go through the formalities.”
Donald walked over and took a seat in the box.
“When I snap my fingers,” said the Judge, “Your life will play out before your eyes, but you will not remember that it is your life. You may then decide whether that life deserves eternal salvation, or damnation.”
“Oh gee, I wonder which I’ll pick,” said Donald sarcastically.
The Judge smiled and snapped his fingers.
At once, Donald was transported to another world. He watched as a baby was born, grew up, went to military school, had his first dance, his first kiss, his first pat on the back from his father. He watched the young man go to business school, do his first deal, his first wife, his first mistress, his first inheritance, his second wife, his first press interview–
“Hell!” cried the Donald. “I’m not sharing Heaven with this maniac.”
The crowd gasped as one, as ropes of flame emerged from the floor to pull Donald down.
| I sat in a pitch dark room where the only thing I was sure of was my heavy breathing. Oddly enough I didn't feel threatened of the unknown, I felt at ease. This was the miracle of death, peaceful despite the strange and cold hard circumstances.
A white screen appeared before me and a pre-recorded voiceover of a woman began to play,
"Welcome. Before the jury is able to allocate you, you must comply by determining the final decision for someone else. You will be presented with various clips of someone else's life and come up with a answer based on what you've seen. Please sit still, and focus on the film we are about to show you. The fate of another is in your hands!" The pep in the female's voice was unsettling yet I was overpowered by the feeling of extreme pressure being put on me.
How could it be that after death the first thing you face is being put through major distress? Snippets began to play, and a sense of nostalgia for something that never was took over me. A small young boy, full of life until the passing of his mother. Left with a father figure who didn't appear to have much of a solid presence. He was dull, didn't have the strength to really fulfill what his son needed; although he wasn't a terrible father either.
Due to his upbringing I was not surprised with who the boy turned out to be. A average father, who became deeply sucked into his work life leaving his family to live in the presence of a ghost. What kind of man is raised with such experience only to turn out to be the plainest of men? The years went by and the man had now turned into a avid drinker although the family stayed together.
The man was upset because once his children grew older the idiot couldn't comprehend why his children couldn't visit often enough. Why his wife didn't try to show him love like she did 30 years ago. He was a poor fool. I couldn't stand watching this any longer.
I suddenly got this fit of rage and started to scream,
"Quit this shit right now! I've made my decision. I don't want to watch this anymore. I've made my decision."
The screen faded and it darkened in the room once again leaving enough light to see the silhouette of a man on the other side of a glass wall.
"And so what have you decided? What is the final decision that you seem to have such passion towards ?"
"Hell, he needs to be sent to hell! So he could learn a lesson for what he did. He was a god awful family man who lived in selfishness."
The man began to let out a chuckle and with irritation I asked,
"What's so funny to you?! I've done my part like I was asked. There I did it. He needs to be punished."
"What's funny to me is the morals and values of the average human. How dearly they hold onto these beliefs and none of them know that they can't even live up to their own high standards. The church goers who spent their life breeding hate towards others, went to heaven because they believed they had completed their duties. I've seen criminals excuse heinous acts. I've seen pieces of shit wear their masks so dearly and convince themselves that they've done their best.
But the average man, he is complex and he continues to bemuse me."
"Although don't let that stop you," he said.
"Tell me how fun it is to dance with the devil."
And with the grin still on his face, he pulled the lever.
| |
[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. | "Ok. Just sit down and watch."
"Watch what?" I asked.
"Just watch, I want to know your opinion of this person."
"Fine." The screen flickers with a white flash and then shows darkness. "Um sir, I think this is broken."
"Hmm. It says here that the video length is about 2 seconds. Oddly short even if we show only the highlights. Well I guess we will just continue with standard procedures. What did you think of this person's life?"
"Life? What life? I saw nothing happen on the screen, you can hardly call that anything. What am I doing here?" I spout.
"Do you think the person in the video was good or bad?"
"What person? I saw nothing!"
"Just calm down, I'll be brief to make it easy for the both of us. You are dead. This video is someone's life. When someone dies they must judge one's life to determine that person's afterlife. Unfortunately for you, the video was short so just use your best judgment."
"How can I judge a 2 second clip of nothingness?" I inquire
"Just do your best. Where do you think this person should go in the afterlife?"
"I honestly don't know. This man could be anything, he could be a saint or a devil but there is literally nothing here."
"So you think this person should spend all his life in nothingness? Purgatory if you will?"
"I don't know, maybe? I kind of wish the video was longer...Can i watch it again?"
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"Ok. Just sit down and watch." | I sat in a pitch dark room where the only thing I was sure of was my heavy breathing. Oddly enough I didn't feel threatened of the unknown, I felt at ease. This was the miracle of death, peaceful despite the strange and cold hard circumstances.
A white screen appeared before me and a pre-recorded voiceover of a woman began to play,
"Welcome. Before the jury is able to allocate you, you must comply by determining the final decision for someone else. You will be presented with various clips of someone else's life and come up with a answer based on what you've seen. Please sit still, and focus on the film we are about to show you. The fate of another is in your hands!" The pep in the female's voice was unsettling yet I was overpowered by the feeling of extreme pressure being put on me.
How could it be that after death the first thing you face is being put through major distress? Snippets began to play, and a sense of nostalgia for something that never was took over me. A small young boy, full of life until the passing of his mother. Left with a father figure who didn't appear to have much of a solid presence. He was dull, didn't have the strength to really fulfill what his son needed; although he wasn't a terrible father either.
Due to his upbringing I was not surprised with who the boy turned out to be. A average father, who became deeply sucked into his work life leaving his family to live in the presence of a ghost. What kind of man is raised with such experience only to turn out to be the plainest of men? The years went by and the man had now turned into a avid drinker although the family stayed together.
The man was upset because once his children grew older the idiot couldn't comprehend why his children couldn't visit often enough. Why his wife didn't try to show him love like she did 30 years ago. He was a poor fool. I couldn't stand watching this any longer.
I suddenly got this fit of rage and started to scream,
"Quit this shit right now! I've made my decision. I don't want to watch this anymore. I've made my decision."
The screen faded and it darkened in the room once again leaving enough light to see the silhouette of a man on the other side of a glass wall.
"And so what have you decided? What is the final decision that you seem to have such passion towards ?"
"Hell, he needs to be sent to hell! So he could learn a lesson for what he did. He was a god awful family man who lived in selfishness."
The man began to let out a chuckle and with irritation I asked,
"What's so funny to you?! I've done my part like I was asked. There I did it. He needs to be punished."
"What's funny to me is the morals and values of the average human. How dearly they hold onto these beliefs and none of them know that they can't even live up to their own high standards. The church goers who spent their life breeding hate towards others, went to heaven because they believed they had completed their duties. I've seen criminals excuse heinous acts. I've seen pieces of shit wear their masks so dearly and convince themselves that they've done their best.
But the average man, he is complex and he continues to bemuse me."
"Although don't let that stop you," he said.
"Tell me how fun it is to dance with the devil."
And with the grin still on his face, he pulled the lever.
| |
[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 weird thing about Limbo was that nobody remembers themselves. I assumed we all still looked like ourselves, because everyone looked different, diverse and yet everyone's behavior seemed to perfectly match their appearance. The young were scared or confused. The old were preachy or reticent. The 18-30 year olds still acting like they had something to prove, some abundance of wit or philosophy that might save them from insanity or worse. That's why I liked Sarah. Sarah was chill.
The afterlife doesn't offer much in terms of places to take a date. And don't tell Sarah that I considered our encounters dates, because she would laugh. When I asked her what I looked like, she said I was bigger and blacker than Fat Albert, but I'm pretty sure I'm a white guy, and I have an inkling feeling that she found at least part of me attractive. Of course, it's hard to get your hair right when you exist in a plane without reflective surfaces.
"Nice day out today," is what she said, quite often, when she saw me by the tree. There was no time, and thus no night in Limbo, as we called it. We just sometimes met by the tree and then walked places. I waited on occasion what felt like days for her to arrive at our favorite spot. And when she was already there, I'd hoped that she had been waiting for what felt to her like days.
Butterflies still existed in Limbo. Unfortunately the same could not be said about genitals.
"Wanna fuck?" she asked, with the same sultry inflection as the first time, the time we discovered this painful fact about sex in the netherworld.
We'd done some weird things together. We tried wrestling naked once to see if we could get anything going, but it was really just violent and we received a lot of strange glares from across the park. Mostly we just laid in the grass and talked.
"I've been selected for a judgement," I said. The cloud floated across the sky.
"Well, then I guess this is goodbye," she said, "don't be too hard on him."
Judgements were pretty painful to participate in, but they could be fun too. People, on the whole, are all kind of freaks. There are three types of people -- the ones who've had fucked up things done to them, the ones who've done fucked up things, and the ones who think fucked up thoughts, thoughts way worse than the the things the fucked up people have done. Most people are all three.
I like to think I was a pretty empathetic person coming into Limbo, and trust me when I say that all are not. There are a lot of gossips and brownnoses. "You'll never guess who I just judged," they'll say, and then ramble on for what seems longer than an actual viewing of Kevin Kostner's life. I never minded when a person like that disappeared from Limbo. It was hard to say why people disappeared from Limbo. The gossips speculated that it was because they'd achieved salvation, or at least that's what they said when one of their coven didn't return from the viewing room. I doubted they would say the same about me or Sarah.
"Well, off I am then," I said, and I walked away waiting for her to stop me. There were no deadlines with viewings, but it was literally the only thing to do besides talk to Sarah.
I made my way over to the building I always used. The room I liked near the exit was taken, so I went one over. And just when I regretted shutting the door, it locked. The lights dimmed and the show began.
I liked viewings. They were comfortable. You could sleep, though you might miss something juicy. My favorite feature, other than the reclining chair, was that you could toggle between POVs: first person or third person omniscient. And you could toggle the audio: what the person heard, what was actually said, what the person was thinking. You could also put on subtitles for any of these three options, which was fun. There was a rewind button that I used very rarely, for sex stuff mostly or occasionally a really intense dramatic moment.
The crying began. It usually started with crying and muffled voices. A few times there was no crying and the lights came right back on after dimming. If there was life before birth, Limbo didn't really take a stance. I guess it considered everything in the womb the opening credits. Life. Directed by some fuck. Starring the same fuck. Produced by God. Casting by chance.
Blah blah blah. Baby stuff. Mom and Dad both present. They argue loud. Two brothers and a sister. Lots of laying in front of the television. Lots of horseplay. The dad chases them around with a belt, but never hits anyone. I begin to dose off.
Snap. Snap. I wake up. The kids in a tree, breaking branches with his hands. He reaches upward and slips. Whack. He hits a branch on the way down. Lands on his ass. He curls over and sobs in pain. There's no one around. He looks like he's going to pass out, but he doesn't. He crawls to edge of the woods.
He hobbles home, a hobble that follows him for the next few years as he becomes more studious and less active, as he fattens. His brothers and sisters pick on him. I've seen bullying before, bullying way worse. But this just kind of gets to me. I've cried before in the room, but never for such a small trauma. The kids still got friends.
He steals from his brothers and sisters piggy banks, but then he buys them crazy gifts at christmas.
I fall asleep again.
I wake up when the kid is at his first tae kwon do class. Grandmaster Park holds out a pad and tells the kid to kick, "Whoaaa, powerful! Your brothers are skinny, but you are powerful."
The kid goes every day and starts throwing up his food. It's like a Rocky montage if rocky was a 11 year old boy with body dysmorphia. The kid loses all the weight and becomes kind of kick ass. Everyone's like whoa. He has a girlfriend whose kind of awesome, kind of a spazz. Then he breaks up with her because he wants to date the cute asian chick, but that goes nowhere. He spends the next six years pining after the first girl, masturbating to pictures of her as the internet evolves alongside his puberty. She grows huge knockers and becomes kind of a tease, but like a fun, spazzy, empowered tease.
He goes to college a virgin. He leaves not one. Nothing exciting. He has trouble focusing on finding a job and can't handle the few rejections he receives. He starts doing yoga.
He doesn't use his engineering degree. He lives at home and starts serving at a Japanese restaurant, which is kind of his element. Even when someone from his past comes in, its not awkward. This guy didn't have any enemies. He was never competitive. He never really fretted over the little things. He was never proud.
The whole restaurant staff goes out every Monday night because they're closed Tuesday. The go to a sports bar half way between the restaurant and his house.
I fall asleep a few times. Each time I wake up, he's still at the restaurant, still going to the bar, still working on random projects in the basement, still going to the library and reading four to ten pages of a random book, still putting on his headphones when his parents yell at each other, still masturbating in the same way he has been for the past 16 years.
That's when I saw her. In the corner of the bar, sitting with her girlfriends and co-workers. It was Sarah. Butterflies in both our stomachs. He goes over to talk to her. She's hesitant at first, but likes his honesty. She pities him too. That's what's so likable about this guy, he is at once charming and pitiful. He is smart and stupid. He is suave and dopey. Aloof, conscious.
This Sarah, however, is different from the Sarah I know. The Sarah I know has given up. This Sarah is eager to please. She's sarcastic and witty, but she shines with an energy what my Sarah only glows. Their relationship was pretty cookie cutter. They told each other their secrets, which I now knew. There were some pretty gnarly fights. I learned that Sarah's somewhat poisonous. That she does as much harm to this guy as she does good. But he's no saint either. They cheat on each other from time to time.
I molest the rewind button and I don't sleep from Sarah's appearance until the accident. Four years of drunk driving catches up with him. I cry for Sarah though, because she loved him. He loved her. I love her now too. I can't wait to tell her how she lived. I feel like she'll love me now that I can tell her about herself.
But I also worry that she killed herself. She looks to be the same age as when he last saw her.
The lights come on. The survey comes down in the pneumatic tube where the survey comes down. I take the pen and mark the box next to "Yes." I rarely ever marked no, unless I was in a mood because of Sarah, my Sarah. I send the tube back. I left the room and something was different.
I was in Heaven. I knew it. My grandparents were there. Eventually my parents too. Then my brothers and sister. We had a good laugh about it all. I asked them about Sarah. My one brother remembered her being in Limbo, but he could never say for sure whether or not she disappeared during a viewing. Even now my siblings' children and their grandchildren's children have joined us. But heaven is a happy place.
| I sat in a pitch dark room where the only thing I was sure of was my heavy breathing. Oddly enough I didn't feel threatened of the unknown, I felt at ease. This was the miracle of death, peaceful despite the strange and cold hard circumstances.
A white screen appeared before me and a pre-recorded voiceover of a woman began to play,
"Welcome. Before the jury is able to allocate you, you must comply by determining the final decision for someone else. You will be presented with various clips of someone else's life and come up with a answer based on what you've seen. Please sit still, and focus on the film we are about to show you. The fate of another is in your hands!" The pep in the female's voice was unsettling yet I was overpowered by the feeling of extreme pressure being put on me.
How could it be that after death the first thing you face is being put through major distress? Snippets began to play, and a sense of nostalgia for something that never was took over me. A small young boy, full of life until the passing of his mother. Left with a father figure who didn't appear to have much of a solid presence. He was dull, didn't have the strength to really fulfill what his son needed; although he wasn't a terrible father either.
Due to his upbringing I was not surprised with who the boy turned out to be. A average father, who became deeply sucked into his work life leaving his family to live in the presence of a ghost. What kind of man is raised with such experience only to turn out to be the plainest of men? The years went by and the man had now turned into a avid drinker although the family stayed together.
The man was upset because once his children grew older the idiot couldn't comprehend why his children couldn't visit often enough. Why his wife didn't try to show him love like she did 30 years ago. He was a poor fool. I couldn't stand watching this any longer.
I suddenly got this fit of rage and started to scream,
"Quit this shit right now! I've made my decision. I don't want to watch this anymore. I've made my decision."
The screen faded and it darkened in the room once again leaving enough light to see the silhouette of a man on the other side of a glass wall.
"And so what have you decided? What is the final decision that you seem to have such passion towards ?"
"Hell, he needs to be sent to hell! So he could learn a lesson for what he did. He was a god awful family man who lived in selfishness."
The man began to let out a chuckle and with irritation I asked,
"What's so funny to you?! I've done my part like I was asked. There I did it. He needs to be punished."
"What's funny to me is the morals and values of the average human. How dearly they hold onto these beliefs and none of them know that they can't even live up to their own high standards. The church goers who spent their life breeding hate towards others, went to heaven because they believed they had completed their duties. I've seen criminals excuse heinous acts. I've seen pieces of shit wear their masks so dearly and convince themselves that they've done their best.
But the average man, he is complex and he continues to bemuse me."
"Although don't let that stop you," he said.
"Tell me how fun it is to dance with the devil."
And with the grin still on his face, he pulled the lever.
| |
[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. | "Ok. Just sit down and watch."
"Watch what?" I asked.
"Just watch, I want to know your opinion of this person."
"Fine." The screen flickers with a white flash and then shows darkness. "Um sir, I think this is broken."
"Hmm. It says here that the video length is about 2 seconds. Oddly short even if we show only the highlights. Well I guess we will just continue with standard procedures. What did you think of this person's life?"
"Life? What life? I saw nothing happen on the screen, you can hardly call that anything. What am I doing here?" I spout.
"Do you think the person in the video was good or bad?"
"What person? I saw nothing!"
"Just calm down, I'll be brief to make it easy for the both of us. You are dead. This video is someone's life. When someone dies they must judge one's life to determine that person's afterlife. Unfortunately for you, the video was short so just use your best judgment."
"How can I judge a 2 second clip of nothingness?" I inquire
"Just do your best. Where do you think this person should go in the afterlife?"
"I honestly don't know. This man could be anything, he could be a saint or a devil but there is literally nothing here."
"So you think this person should spend all his life in nothingness? Purgatory if you will?"
"I don't know, maybe? I kind of wish the video was longer...Can i watch it again?"
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"Ok. Just sit down and watch." | "Okay, so I just sit in this chair and judge a life?" I asked.
"Yeah, and lucky for you this life died young. Are you ready?"
"Yeah I'm ready... Wow, a VCR. Haven't seen those in a while. Why don't y'all upgrade?"
"Budget cuts. So just put your thoughts into this video and place this person where you really think they belong. Good luck."
I begin watching the video play.
...
>"A lot of mistakes have been made in this life. Heck, I'd hate to be the family of that guy. Those poor kids. That poor wife. It's really sad, because I just saw the rise and fall of his love and empathy. It grew steady like a mountain, then all of the sudden I saw the life in his eyes drop like a cliff. He was falling, and used the people around him as a landing cushion. "
...
"Have you made your decision sir?"
"Yes. With a heavy heart, this soul only deserves pain. More specifically, the pain he brought into his family. "
"Okay, well good luck sir."
"Wait, what do you mean? Where do I go?"
"Hell. That video you just watched was yours. That was your wife you beat. Those were your kids you mocked. Those were your beer bottles and cigarette butts. That was your life that you hated to live. Have fun sir. For a place called rock bottom, I hear hell is warm. "
...
>You're as toxic as the cigarettes you smoke and the alcohol you drink. Soon enough the blood that flows through you will turn a ghastly purple and your lungs will exhale smog. You are not a father. You are a monster. You are an intruder. You are anything, but a protector.
>Thanks for nothing. Mom and sister can finally let their tears flow, remember when you yelled at them to never do it in front of you because it made you feel guilt? While they were holding tears, I was holding anger. Anger at you for not being a father or a human being.
>Now that you're gone, my only goal is to become anything and everything
>that doesn't
>remind me
>of you.
>BTW: I could have saved you. As an EMR, I know when and how to perform CPR. You show me, however, that not all life is precious.
>Goodbye.
>
>
>~Your son, who was named after you. | |
[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. | "Well sir?" The being of pure light asked "have you made a choice?"
"Yes" I answered slowly, but then angrily "he's a phony, a fraud, he used his religion, his so-called ministry to look good to his family and friends, but his selfishness and laziness caused so much more harm then good"
"He didn't earn a single thing he had in life and he wasted the charity everyone gave him"
"People made so many sacrifices so he could continue teaching, teaching that religion he claimed to believe, but he never put in ten percent of the work they thought he was doing"
"Worst of all he thought all the time that he was a good person, he thought he deserved their gifts"
"He has to suffer, he can't go on thinking that he was in the right the whole time"
The angel listened carefully, and then responded "you are right"
As he said those words all the memories flooded back I fell to my knees as I cried out "I am that man"
"How can I pay for this?"
"Only complete separation from the source of all good "
"It's fair, it's what I deserve"
I sat, waiting to fall, to be thrown, complete paralyzing despair filled me.
"Look" said the angel
A scean from my life, one I had already seen.
the man I was, kneeling on the floor, praying
"Dear Lord, forgive me for my sins accept Christ's death in place of my own"
I said to the angel
"Is this how hell starts?" "Seeing my greatest hypocrisy?"
The angel said "Look"
I saw a body pulp of bone, muscle, and torn flesh slowly moving. I realized It was a man. He was being dragged up a hill. I realized with horror what I was seeing. The man was nailed to a piece of wood. His joints streached and almost tearing He was hung above an angry, stupid, crowd. The sky turned black as He screamed "Father, where are You"
"You asked, and He did this for you"
"Not for me though... I don't deserve it, I never did anything for Him, I used His people for my own selfish wants. I used Him just to make the guilt go away when I started to realize what I really was"
Then I knew what hell would be for me; it would be every piece of suffering I had inflicted, especially the pain of the One I had imagined would be my get-out-of-hell-free card.
"Now you know what you deserve" the angel said "but I already told you, the price has been paid, you are free"
"But why? How could that be?"
I thought with disgust of the pat answers I could have given to these questions just hours (or was it a life time) ago.
The angel spoke "He wanted to use you"
"Do you think you did little in your ministry? You did nothing! But He worked through you"
"Look" said the angel "the work He did in you"
The floor of the little space fell away, the sky broke open and we were in an endless sea of every sensation in harmony.
I saw crowds of people singing, dancing and doing something that looked like solemn bowing but also like running through a sprinkler in the summer.
I recognized them, they were people I had known, people I had tought, people I had used and people I had failed.
They were all rushing toward Him, eternally Rushing and always being welcomed into His arms anew.
And then I saw between them they were carrying something like a streacher. A sad shell of a man was laying on it. But as they rushed on, and as their Lord welcomed them in, the man sat up. And the Word spoke to him "He who is forgiven much, loves much, come and sin no more"
And as the man stood up from the stretcher, I had a memory of the future. As the man stood up amongst all the people I had used and lied to, I said "I am that man"
Purgatory was over, I was forgiven, my eternity is service to my Lord, my service is the enjoyment of everything He is, surrounded by His people. | "Okay, so I just sit in this chair and judge a life?" I asked.
"Yeah, and lucky for you this life died young. Are you ready?"
"Yeah I'm ready... Wow, a VCR. Haven't seen those in a while. Why don't y'all upgrade?"
"Budget cuts. So just put your thoughts into this video and place this person where you really think they belong. Good luck."
I begin watching the video play.
...
>"A lot of mistakes have been made in this life. Heck, I'd hate to be the family of that guy. Those poor kids. That poor wife. It's really sad, because I just saw the rise and fall of his love and empathy. It grew steady like a mountain, then all of the sudden I saw the life in his eyes drop like a cliff. He was falling, and used the people around him as a landing cushion. "
...
"Have you made your decision sir?"
"Yes. With a heavy heart, this soul only deserves pain. More specifically, the pain he brought into his family. "
"Okay, well good luck sir."
"Wait, what do you mean? Where do I go?"
"Hell. That video you just watched was yours. That was your wife you beat. Those were your kids you mocked. Those were your beer bottles and cigarette butts. That was your life that you hated to live. Have fun sir. For a place called rock bottom, I hear hell is warm. "
...
>You're as toxic as the cigarettes you smoke and the alcohol you drink. Soon enough the blood that flows through you will turn a ghastly purple and your lungs will exhale smog. You are not a father. You are a monster. You are an intruder. You are anything, but a protector.
>Thanks for nothing. Mom and sister can finally let their tears flow, remember when you yelled at them to never do it in front of you because it made you feel guilt? While they were holding tears, I was holding anger. Anger at you for not being a father or a human being.
>Now that you're gone, my only goal is to become anything and everything
>that doesn't
>remind me
>of you.
>BTW: I could have saved you. As an EMR, I know when and how to perform CPR. You show me, however, that not all life is precious.
>Goodbye.
>
>
>~Your son, who was named after you. | |
[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 weird thing about Limbo was that nobody remembers themselves. I assumed we all still looked like ourselves, because everyone looked different, diverse and yet everyone's behavior seemed to perfectly match their appearance. The young were scared or confused. The old were preachy or reticent. The 18-30 year olds still acting like they had something to prove, some abundance of wit or philosophy that might save them from insanity or worse. That's why I liked Sarah. Sarah was chill.
The afterlife doesn't offer much in terms of places to take a date. And don't tell Sarah that I considered our encounters dates, because she would laugh. When I asked her what I looked like, she said I was bigger and blacker than Fat Albert, but I'm pretty sure I'm a white guy, and I have an inkling feeling that she found at least part of me attractive. Of course, it's hard to get your hair right when you exist in a plane without reflective surfaces.
"Nice day out today," is what she said, quite often, when she saw me by the tree. There was no time, and thus no night in Limbo, as we called it. We just sometimes met by the tree and then walked places. I waited on occasion what felt like days for her to arrive at our favorite spot. And when she was already there, I'd hoped that she had been waiting for what felt to her like days.
Butterflies still existed in Limbo. Unfortunately the same could not be said about genitals.
"Wanna fuck?" she asked, with the same sultry inflection as the first time, the time we discovered this painful fact about sex in the netherworld.
We'd done some weird things together. We tried wrestling naked once to see if we could get anything going, but it was really just violent and we received a lot of strange glares from across the park. Mostly we just laid in the grass and talked.
"I've been selected for a judgement," I said. The cloud floated across the sky.
"Well, then I guess this is goodbye," she said, "don't be too hard on him."
Judgements were pretty painful to participate in, but they could be fun too. People, on the whole, are all kind of freaks. There are three types of people -- the ones who've had fucked up things done to them, the ones who've done fucked up things, and the ones who think fucked up thoughts, thoughts way worse than the the things the fucked up people have done. Most people are all three.
I like to think I was a pretty empathetic person coming into Limbo, and trust me when I say that all are not. There are a lot of gossips and brownnoses. "You'll never guess who I just judged," they'll say, and then ramble on for what seems longer than an actual viewing of Kevin Kostner's life. I never minded when a person like that disappeared from Limbo. It was hard to say why people disappeared from Limbo. The gossips speculated that it was because they'd achieved salvation, or at least that's what they said when one of their coven didn't return from the viewing room. I doubted they would say the same about me or Sarah.
"Well, off I am then," I said, and I walked away waiting for her to stop me. There were no deadlines with viewings, but it was literally the only thing to do besides talk to Sarah.
I made my way over to the building I always used. The room I liked near the exit was taken, so I went one over. And just when I regretted shutting the door, it locked. The lights dimmed and the show began.
I liked viewings. They were comfortable. You could sleep, though you might miss something juicy. My favorite feature, other than the reclining chair, was that you could toggle between POVs: first person or third person omniscient. And you could toggle the audio: what the person heard, what was actually said, what the person was thinking. You could also put on subtitles for any of these three options, which was fun. There was a rewind button that I used very rarely, for sex stuff mostly or occasionally a really intense dramatic moment.
The crying began. It usually started with crying and muffled voices. A few times there was no crying and the lights came right back on after dimming. If there was life before birth, Limbo didn't really take a stance. I guess it considered everything in the womb the opening credits. Life. Directed by some fuck. Starring the same fuck. Produced by God. Casting by chance.
Blah blah blah. Baby stuff. Mom and Dad both present. They argue loud. Two brothers and a sister. Lots of laying in front of the television. Lots of horseplay. The dad chases them around with a belt, but never hits anyone. I begin to dose off.
Snap. Snap. I wake up. The kids in a tree, breaking branches with his hands. He reaches upward and slips. Whack. He hits a branch on the way down. Lands on his ass. He curls over and sobs in pain. There's no one around. He looks like he's going to pass out, but he doesn't. He crawls to edge of the woods.
He hobbles home, a hobble that follows him for the next few years as he becomes more studious and less active, as he fattens. His brothers and sisters pick on him. I've seen bullying before, bullying way worse. But this just kind of gets to me. I've cried before in the room, but never for such a small trauma. The kids still got friends.
He steals from his brothers and sisters piggy banks, but then he buys them crazy gifts at christmas.
I fall asleep again.
I wake up when the kid is at his first tae kwon do class. Grandmaster Park holds out a pad and tells the kid to kick, "Whoaaa, powerful! Your brothers are skinny, but you are powerful."
The kid goes every day and starts throwing up his food. It's like a Rocky montage if rocky was a 11 year old boy with body dysmorphia. The kid loses all the weight and becomes kind of kick ass. Everyone's like whoa. He has a girlfriend whose kind of awesome, kind of a spazz. Then he breaks up with her because he wants to date the cute asian chick, but that goes nowhere. He spends the next six years pining after the first girl, masturbating to pictures of her as the internet evolves alongside his puberty. She grows huge knockers and becomes kind of a tease, but like a fun, spazzy, empowered tease.
He goes to college a virgin. He leaves not one. Nothing exciting. He has trouble focusing on finding a job and can't handle the few rejections he receives. He starts doing yoga.
He doesn't use his engineering degree. He lives at home and starts serving at a Japanese restaurant, which is kind of his element. Even when someone from his past comes in, its not awkward. This guy didn't have any enemies. He was never competitive. He never really fretted over the little things. He was never proud.
The whole restaurant staff goes out every Monday night because they're closed Tuesday. The go to a sports bar half way between the restaurant and his house.
I fall asleep a few times. Each time I wake up, he's still at the restaurant, still going to the bar, still working on random projects in the basement, still going to the library and reading four to ten pages of a random book, still putting on his headphones when his parents yell at each other, still masturbating in the same way he has been for the past 16 years.
That's when I saw her. In the corner of the bar, sitting with her girlfriends and co-workers. It was Sarah. Butterflies in both our stomachs. He goes over to talk to her. She's hesitant at first, but likes his honesty. She pities him too. That's what's so likable about this guy, he is at once charming and pitiful. He is smart and stupid. He is suave and dopey. Aloof, conscious.
This Sarah, however, is different from the Sarah I know. The Sarah I know has given up. This Sarah is eager to please. She's sarcastic and witty, but she shines with an energy what my Sarah only glows. Their relationship was pretty cookie cutter. They told each other their secrets, which I now knew. There were some pretty gnarly fights. I learned that Sarah's somewhat poisonous. That she does as much harm to this guy as she does good. But he's no saint either. They cheat on each other from time to time.
I molest the rewind button and I don't sleep from Sarah's appearance until the accident. Four years of drunk driving catches up with him. I cry for Sarah though, because she loved him. He loved her. I love her now too. I can't wait to tell her how she lived. I feel like she'll love me now that I can tell her about herself.
But I also worry that she killed herself. She looks to be the same age as when he last saw her.
The lights come on. The survey comes down in the pneumatic tube where the survey comes down. I take the pen and mark the box next to "Yes." I rarely ever marked no, unless I was in a mood because of Sarah, my Sarah. I send the tube back. I left the room and something was different.
I was in Heaven. I knew it. My grandparents were there. Eventually my parents too. Then my brothers and sister. We had a good laugh about it all. I asked them about Sarah. My one brother remembered her being in Limbo, but he could never say for sure whether or not she disappeared during a viewing. Even now my siblings' children and their grandchildren's children have joined us. But heaven is a happy place.
| "Okay, so I just sit in this chair and judge a life?" I asked.
"Yeah, and lucky for you this life died young. Are you ready?"
"Yeah I'm ready... Wow, a VCR. Haven't seen those in a while. Why don't y'all upgrade?"
"Budget cuts. So just put your thoughts into this video and place this person where you really think they belong. Good luck."
I begin watching the video play.
...
>"A lot of mistakes have been made in this life. Heck, I'd hate to be the family of that guy. Those poor kids. That poor wife. It's really sad, because I just saw the rise and fall of his love and empathy. It grew steady like a mountain, then all of the sudden I saw the life in his eyes drop like a cliff. He was falling, and used the people around him as a landing cushion. "
...
"Have you made your decision sir?"
"Yes. With a heavy heart, this soul only deserves pain. More specifically, the pain he brought into his family. "
"Okay, well good luck sir."
"Wait, what do you mean? Where do I go?"
"Hell. That video you just watched was yours. That was your wife you beat. Those were your kids you mocked. Those were your beer bottles and cigarette butts. That was your life that you hated to live. Have fun sir. For a place called rock bottom, I hear hell is warm. "
...
>You're as toxic as the cigarettes you smoke and the alcohol you drink. Soon enough the blood that flows through you will turn a ghastly purple and your lungs will exhale smog. You are not a father. You are a monster. You are an intruder. You are anything, but a protector.
>Thanks for nothing. Mom and sister can finally let their tears flow, remember when you yelled at them to never do it in front of you because it made you feel guilt? While they were holding tears, I was holding anger. Anger at you for not being a father or a human being.
>Now that you're gone, my only goal is to become anything and everything
>that doesn't
>remind me
>of you.
>BTW: I could have saved you. As an EMR, I know when and how to perform CPR. You show me, however, that not all life is precious.
>Goodbye.
>
>
>~Your son, who was named after you. | |
[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 seems kind of weird," Kendra was sitting in a reclining leather chair. Behind her were several people in long judge costumes complete with powdered wigs. "I don't know anything about the worth of someone's life or where they should go."
"Never had a religion or a code of ethics?" one of the judges raised an eyebrow. Kendra couldn't really tell them apart, but there was only one that spoke.
"Not that I remember," Kendra began to play with the hem of her dress. "But a lot of it is blank. I don't...I don't *think* I did."
"That's ok," the judge waved his hand. "Sometimes we just like to get outside opinions."
Kendra thought there was something seemingly off about this, but couldn't put her finger quite on what. She swallowed as the chair turned back around and she looked up at the screen.
It was like watching life through someone's eyes. There were little snippets of action - the world opening up like a flower in bloom and seeing two faces looking down at her. A man in a mask and a woman who held her close.
There was the sound of crying and babbling. A muffled argument late at night while a mobile spun lazily above her head. The sound of a woman singing and the surprising feel of a hand in hers.
Kendra jumped, pulling her hand from the armrest into her lap. Behind her there came laughter. "Don't be alarmed," the voice of the judge. "This will feel quite real at times."
Slowly the world began to shift from horizontal to vertical. Trees that had seemed massive began to shrink. There was a man's face that peered down at her with disappointment. A sharp pain across her face and around her upper arm. A whisper that wound its way into her ear. *Don't you ever tell a soul.*
A young child that sneered at her and taunted her with cries of *chicken legs* and *freak*. The running of a sink and hearing sniffling sounds that reached her own ears.
Smiling faces. Angry faces. Faces filled with disgust. The feel of her own greasy hair as she dragged a trash bag full of things to school. The pity in teachers' faces. *Poor girl. Parents just can't keep it together.*
A small dark space. A sniffling cry. A begging to be let out that poured from her own mouth. The sound of a key and the smell of mothballs. The twisting of a doorknob and a tray of food shoved inside.
"Please," her voice begged. "Please!"
A man who held her hand and told her it would be alright. The embarrassment of finding red between her legs in the middle of a science class. The chilly inside of a car on a winter's morning as she pulled a sweater tight around herself for warmth.
Sitting on the side of the road with an empty cup. Looking at the faces of those disgusted with her. Walking into a store and shoving her pockets full of things. Her own hand brandishing a knife at a woman on the street.
A bridge at night. A whooshing wind. A splash of ice.
The picture faded. Kendra sat still and raised her hand to her face to find it wet. The chair spun again until she again faced the men in black.
"So what do you think?"
Kendra started. "What do I think? I don't know. I think it's horrible. But I don't know if it's good or bad. Just sad. And the ending..."
"You feel sympathy for her?"
"Of course. Only pain and suffering could drive her to an end like that."
"What about her sins?" The man gave a wry smile. "What about the theft? The sloth? The knife?"
"I feel nothing but sympathy and sadness for her," Kendra said.
"Do you think you could forgive her?"
"Forgive her? What has she done to me?"
"Could you forgive your mother for leading such a life? Your best friend? Your child? For taking the easy way out?"
"She suffered so." Kendra paused. "Of course. I just wish there was another option. To try again. I wish I could hold her hand and tell her it wasn't her fault. I wish I could give her happiness."
"What about yourself?"
Slowly the memories bloomed in Kendra's mind. She sat stunned as they flooded back. Her eyes began to sting and her throat began to tighten. "That was...that was..."
"Can you show yourself the same kindness and forgiveness you would show to someone else? Can you allow yourself to see the pain and desperation that *you* felt without the judgement or the self hatred?"
Kendra stared at them and said nothing. It felt as though someone had reached into her chest to squeeze her heart.
The judge smiled. "Ah yes. It's much easier to see our pain when we see it through someone else's eyes. Why don't you try again? See if you can show yourself more kindness."
The judge reached out to push a button. Then, as though she had been pulled into a vacuum, the world went black.
---
Thank you for reading. For other stories check out and subscribe to r/Celsius232
| "Okay, so I just sit in this chair and judge a life?" I asked.
"Yeah, and lucky for you this life died young. Are you ready?"
"Yeah I'm ready... Wow, a VCR. Haven't seen those in a while. Why don't y'all upgrade?"
"Budget cuts. So just put your thoughts into this video and place this person where you really think they belong. Good luck."
I begin watching the video play.
...
>"A lot of mistakes have been made in this life. Heck, I'd hate to be the family of that guy. Those poor kids. That poor wife. It's really sad, because I just saw the rise and fall of his love and empathy. It grew steady like a mountain, then all of the sudden I saw the life in his eyes drop like a cliff. He was falling, and used the people around him as a landing cushion. "
...
"Have you made your decision sir?"
"Yes. With a heavy heart, this soul only deserves pain. More specifically, the pain he brought into his family. "
"Okay, well good luck sir."
"Wait, what do you mean? Where do I go?"
"Hell. That video you just watched was yours. That was your wife you beat. Those were your kids you mocked. Those were your beer bottles and cigarette butts. That was your life that you hated to live. Have fun sir. For a place called rock bottom, I hear hell is warm. "
...
>You're as toxic as the cigarettes you smoke and the alcohol you drink. Soon enough the blood that flows through you will turn a ghastly purple and your lungs will exhale smog. You are not a father. You are a monster. You are an intruder. You are anything, but a protector.
>Thanks for nothing. Mom and sister can finally let their tears flow, remember when you yelled at them to never do it in front of you because it made you feel guilt? While they were holding tears, I was holding anger. Anger at you for not being a father or a human being.
>Now that you're gone, my only goal is to become anything and everything
>that doesn't
>remind me
>of you.
>BTW: I could have saved you. As an EMR, I know when and how to perform CPR. You show me, however, that not all life is precious.
>Goodbye.
>
>
>~Your son, who was named after you. | |
[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 weird thing about Limbo was that nobody remembers themselves. I assumed we all still looked like ourselves, because everyone looked different, diverse and yet everyone's behavior seemed to perfectly match their appearance. The young were scared or confused. The old were preachy or reticent. The 18-30 year olds still acting like they had something to prove, some abundance of wit or philosophy that might save them from insanity or worse. That's why I liked Sarah. Sarah was chill.
The afterlife doesn't offer much in terms of places to take a date. And don't tell Sarah that I considered our encounters dates, because she would laugh. When I asked her what I looked like, she said I was bigger and blacker than Fat Albert, but I'm pretty sure I'm a white guy, and I have an inkling feeling that she found at least part of me attractive. Of course, it's hard to get your hair right when you exist in a plane without reflective surfaces.
"Nice day out today," is what she said, quite often, when she saw me by the tree. There was no time, and thus no night in Limbo, as we called it. We just sometimes met by the tree and then walked places. I waited on occasion what felt like days for her to arrive at our favorite spot. And when she was already there, I'd hoped that she had been waiting for what felt to her like days.
Butterflies still existed in Limbo. Unfortunately the same could not be said about genitals.
"Wanna fuck?" she asked, with the same sultry inflection as the first time, the time we discovered this painful fact about sex in the netherworld.
We'd done some weird things together. We tried wrestling naked once to see if we could get anything going, but it was really just violent and we received a lot of strange glares from across the park. Mostly we just laid in the grass and talked.
"I've been selected for a judgement," I said. The cloud floated across the sky.
"Well, then I guess this is goodbye," she said, "don't be too hard on him."
Judgements were pretty painful to participate in, but they could be fun too. People, on the whole, are all kind of freaks. There are three types of people -- the ones who've had fucked up things done to them, the ones who've done fucked up things, and the ones who think fucked up thoughts, thoughts way worse than the the things the fucked up people have done. Most people are all three.
I like to think I was a pretty empathetic person coming into Limbo, and trust me when I say that all are not. There are a lot of gossips and brownnoses. "You'll never guess who I just judged," they'll say, and then ramble on for what seems longer than an actual viewing of Kevin Kostner's life. I never minded when a person like that disappeared from Limbo. It was hard to say why people disappeared from Limbo. The gossips speculated that it was because they'd achieved salvation, or at least that's what they said when one of their coven didn't return from the viewing room. I doubted they would say the same about me or Sarah.
"Well, off I am then," I said, and I walked away waiting for her to stop me. There were no deadlines with viewings, but it was literally the only thing to do besides talk to Sarah.
I made my way over to the building I always used. The room I liked near the exit was taken, so I went one over. And just when I regretted shutting the door, it locked. The lights dimmed and the show began.
I liked viewings. They were comfortable. You could sleep, though you might miss something juicy. My favorite feature, other than the reclining chair, was that you could toggle between POVs: first person or third person omniscient. And you could toggle the audio: what the person heard, what was actually said, what the person was thinking. You could also put on subtitles for any of these three options, which was fun. There was a rewind button that I used very rarely, for sex stuff mostly or occasionally a really intense dramatic moment.
The crying began. It usually started with crying and muffled voices. A few times there was no crying and the lights came right back on after dimming. If there was life before birth, Limbo didn't really take a stance. I guess it considered everything in the womb the opening credits. Life. Directed by some fuck. Starring the same fuck. Produced by God. Casting by chance.
Blah blah blah. Baby stuff. Mom and Dad both present. They argue loud. Two brothers and a sister. Lots of laying in front of the television. Lots of horseplay. The dad chases them around with a belt, but never hits anyone. I begin to dose off.
Snap. Snap. I wake up. The kids in a tree, breaking branches with his hands. He reaches upward and slips. Whack. He hits a branch on the way down. Lands on his ass. He curls over and sobs in pain. There's no one around. He looks like he's going to pass out, but he doesn't. He crawls to edge of the woods.
He hobbles home, a hobble that follows him for the next few years as he becomes more studious and less active, as he fattens. His brothers and sisters pick on him. I've seen bullying before, bullying way worse. But this just kind of gets to me. I've cried before in the room, but never for such a small trauma. The kids still got friends.
He steals from his brothers and sisters piggy banks, but then he buys them crazy gifts at christmas.
I fall asleep again.
I wake up when the kid is at his first tae kwon do class. Grandmaster Park holds out a pad and tells the kid to kick, "Whoaaa, powerful! Your brothers are skinny, but you are powerful."
The kid goes every day and starts throwing up his food. It's like a Rocky montage if rocky was a 11 year old boy with body dysmorphia. The kid loses all the weight and becomes kind of kick ass. Everyone's like whoa. He has a girlfriend whose kind of awesome, kind of a spazz. Then he breaks up with her because he wants to date the cute asian chick, but that goes nowhere. He spends the next six years pining after the first girl, masturbating to pictures of her as the internet evolves alongside his puberty. She grows huge knockers and becomes kind of a tease, but like a fun, spazzy, empowered tease.
He goes to college a virgin. He leaves not one. Nothing exciting. He has trouble focusing on finding a job and can't handle the few rejections he receives. He starts doing yoga.
He doesn't use his engineering degree. He lives at home and starts serving at a Japanese restaurant, which is kind of his element. Even when someone from his past comes in, its not awkward. This guy didn't have any enemies. He was never competitive. He never really fretted over the little things. He was never proud.
The whole restaurant staff goes out every Monday night because they're closed Tuesday. The go to a sports bar half way between the restaurant and his house.
I fall asleep a few times. Each time I wake up, he's still at the restaurant, still going to the bar, still working on random projects in the basement, still going to the library and reading four to ten pages of a random book, still putting on his headphones when his parents yell at each other, still masturbating in the same way he has been for the past 16 years.
That's when I saw her. In the corner of the bar, sitting with her girlfriends and co-workers. It was Sarah. Butterflies in both our stomachs. He goes over to talk to her. She's hesitant at first, but likes his honesty. She pities him too. That's what's so likable about this guy, he is at once charming and pitiful. He is smart and stupid. He is suave and dopey. Aloof, conscious.
This Sarah, however, is different from the Sarah I know. The Sarah I know has given up. This Sarah is eager to please. She's sarcastic and witty, but she shines with an energy what my Sarah only glows. Their relationship was pretty cookie cutter. They told each other their secrets, which I now knew. There were some pretty gnarly fights. I learned that Sarah's somewhat poisonous. That she does as much harm to this guy as she does good. But he's no saint either. They cheat on each other from time to time.
I molest the rewind button and I don't sleep from Sarah's appearance until the accident. Four years of drunk driving catches up with him. I cry for Sarah though, because she loved him. He loved her. I love her now too. I can't wait to tell her how she lived. I feel like she'll love me now that I can tell her about herself.
But I also worry that she killed herself. She looks to be the same age as when he last saw her.
The lights come on. The survey comes down in the pneumatic tube where the survey comes down. I take the pen and mark the box next to "Yes." I rarely ever marked no, unless I was in a mood because of Sarah, my Sarah. I send the tube back. I left the room and something was different.
I was in Heaven. I knew it. My grandparents were there. Eventually my parents too. Then my brothers and sister. We had a good laugh about it all. I asked them about Sarah. My one brother remembered her being in Limbo, but he could never say for sure whether or not she disappeared during a viewing. Even now my siblings' children and their grandchildren's children have joined us. But heaven is a happy place.
| "Well sir?" The being of pure light asked "have you made a choice?"
"Yes" I answered slowly, but then angrily "he's a phony, a fraud, he used his religion, his so-called ministry to look good to his family and friends, but his selfishness and laziness caused so much more harm then good"
"He didn't earn a single thing he had in life and he wasted the charity everyone gave him"
"People made so many sacrifices so he could continue teaching, teaching that religion he claimed to believe, but he never put in ten percent of the work they thought he was doing"
"Worst of all he thought all the time that he was a good person, he thought he deserved their gifts"
"He has to suffer, he can't go on thinking that he was in the right the whole time"
The angel listened carefully, and then responded "you are right"
As he said those words all the memories flooded back I fell to my knees as I cried out "I am that man"
"How can I pay for this?"
"Only complete separation from the source of all good "
"It's fair, it's what I deserve"
I sat, waiting to fall, to be thrown, complete paralyzing despair filled me.
"Look" said the angel
A scean from my life, one I had already seen.
the man I was, kneeling on the floor, praying
"Dear Lord, forgive me for my sins accept Christ's death in place of my own"
I said to the angel
"Is this how hell starts?" "Seeing my greatest hypocrisy?"
The angel said "Look"
I saw a body pulp of bone, muscle, and torn flesh slowly moving. I realized It was a man. He was being dragged up a hill. I realized with horror what I was seeing. The man was nailed to a piece of wood. His joints streached and almost tearing He was hung above an angry, stupid, crowd. The sky turned black as He screamed "Father, where are You"
"You asked, and He did this for you"
"Not for me though... I don't deserve it, I never did anything for Him, I used His people for my own selfish wants. I used Him just to make the guilt go away when I started to realize what I really was"
Then I knew what hell would be for me; it would be every piece of suffering I had inflicted, especially the pain of the One I had imagined would be my get-out-of-hell-free card.
"Now you know what you deserve" the angel said "but I already told you, the price has been paid, you are free"
"But why? How could that be?"
I thought with disgust of the pat answers I could have given to these questions just hours (or was it a life time) ago.
The angel spoke "He wanted to use you"
"Do you think you did little in your ministry? You did nothing! But He worked through you"
"Look" said the angel "the work He did in you"
The floor of the little space fell away, the sky broke open and we were in an endless sea of every sensation in harmony.
I saw crowds of people singing, dancing and doing something that looked like solemn bowing but also like running through a sprinkler in the summer.
I recognized them, they were people I had known, people I had tought, people I had used and people I had failed.
They were all rushing toward Him, eternally Rushing and always being welcomed into His arms anew.
And then I saw between them they were carrying something like a streacher. A sad shell of a man was laying on it. But as they rushed on, and as their Lord welcomed them in, the man sat up. And the Word spoke to him "He who is forgiven much, loves much, come and sin no more"
And as the man stood up from the stretcher, I had a memory of the future. As the man stood up amongst all the people I had used and lied to, I said "I am that man"
Purgatory was over, I was forgiven, my eternity is service to my Lord, my service is the enjoyment of everything He is, surrounded by His people. | |
[WP] A closeted teen is forced into participating in track during high school. While the rest of the class looks on and laughs at the teens posture with their hands in their pockets, the laughs are quickly silenced at the sound of the gun. | The laughter... the laughter tore into me. The laughter at how I was standing. At how I looked.
While the other racers were in the beginners stance. I stood with my arms crossed.
I never wanted to be here. I never wanted to be on this team. Honestly I'm not sure why I'm *still* here. My parents relented and allowed me to quit if I wanted to. But here I am, still on the team.
I guess it's because I'm decent at it. One of the few things I'm actually good at. Or maybe because of *him.*
I got paired up with him to run relay. I'm not sure what divine intervention paired us up. But something must have been at work.
He was one of the few people who never laughed at me.
I heard someone clear their throat to my side and I looked over. There was coach, giving me *the look.*
Guess he wants me to take this seriously.
I roll my eyes and get into the same stance as the others. A few seconds later the gun fired and we were off.
I ran, ran away from the laughter; from all the names. From everyone who decided I was worthless.
And ran towards him. The person who was probably the only reason I'm still here. On this team or life in general I'm not sure. But he makes it bearable.
We got closer and from what I can tell, I have a nice lead on the other runners.
He starts moving in time with me. His hand reaching back. As it grips the baton and mine lets go, there was a spark between us. A pull that towards him.
I started slowing as he took off trying to increase the lead I built up.
When he crossed the finish line I realized the reason I was still here.
The way he smiled at me, that soft friendly smile. The smile of a friend.
That's probably all it will ever be. But I can be happy with that.
Because a smile is all I need to drown out the laughter.
---
I'm new to this sub and I'm still trying to find my writing voice
/r/BlinsinWriting has my prompts I've done so far if you want to check out others. | They all thought there were so much better than me. Handsomer, Smarter, Richer, Happier.
And they weren't wrong. That's what fucking got to me, the fact that they were right to fucking laugh at me. Fuck, if I were in their position I would laugh at the goddamn ugly bastard sulking by the starting line.
I would've given anything to be in their place.
Doesn't matter now, I suppose.
The run had yet to start but my heart was already pounding hard and short of breath, out of pure rage. The coach looked smug, one hand on his stopwatch, the other holding a checkered flag.
Just a practice, after all. No need to get out the starter pistol.
My hand clenched tight around the handgun in my pocket.
We'll goddamn see who can run the fastest, who will have the last laugh at the poor fucker on the bottom.
The flag went down, as I rose, gun in hand. | |
[WP] A closeted teen is forced into participating in track during high school. While the rest of the class looks on and laughs at the teens posture with their hands in their pockets, the laughs are quickly silenced at the sound of the gun. | The laughter... the laughter tore into me. The laughter at how I was standing. At how I looked.
While the other racers were in the beginners stance. I stood with my arms crossed.
I never wanted to be here. I never wanted to be on this team. Honestly I'm not sure why I'm *still* here. My parents relented and allowed me to quit if I wanted to. But here I am, still on the team.
I guess it's because I'm decent at it. One of the few things I'm actually good at. Or maybe because of *him.*
I got paired up with him to run relay. I'm not sure what divine intervention paired us up. But something must have been at work.
He was one of the few people who never laughed at me.
I heard someone clear their throat to my side and I looked over. There was coach, giving me *the look.*
Guess he wants me to take this seriously.
I roll my eyes and get into the same stance as the others. A few seconds later the gun fired and we were off.
I ran, ran away from the laughter; from all the names. From everyone who decided I was worthless.
And ran towards him. The person who was probably the only reason I'm still here. On this team or life in general I'm not sure. But he makes it bearable.
We got closer and from what I can tell, I have a nice lead on the other runners.
He starts moving in time with me. His hand reaching back. As it grips the baton and mine lets go, there was a spark between us. A pull that towards him.
I started slowing as he took off trying to increase the lead I built up.
When he crossed the finish line I realized the reason I was still here.
The way he smiled at me, that soft friendly smile. The smile of a friend.
That's probably all it will ever be. But I can be happy with that.
Because a smile is all I need to drown out the laughter.
---
I'm new to this sub and I'm still trying to find my writing voice
/r/BlinsinWriting has my prompts I've done so far if you want to check out others. | (A/N: Okay so, for some reason I immediately thought of this Madoka Highschool AU where Homura keeps getting shoved onto the track team the second week she's back. So. Yeah, that's what I wrote. You can just scroll past this if you're not interested, I won't mind. I did this primarily for my 750 words challenge, so.)
---
Their giggles ring in my ears and make my head ache with a dull anger.
My hands are hidden in my pockets, my hands clenched into fists. My thumb worries against the engraved ring on my middle finger, and it's the only thing stopping me from shaking.
I don't even want to be here. I have better things to do, and I don't want anything to do with these people, with the bullies that have made my life hell so many times. The worst part is, they don't even remember.
They've called me weak. They've called me a freak. They've sabotaged everything I've tried to accomplish. I've learned to outrun my anxieties, my temper, my nightmares- Perhaps if I go fast enough I can even outrun their mocking voices.... but its so much harder to outrun my memories of failure.
I don't really want to be here. But Auntie wants me to do something "productive" with my time. She has no idea how much I have to do with my "time," or even how much of it I really have. Of course, I can hardly tell her any of that, so since she has to work late this month, she signed me up to the after-school track club without even talking to me first about it. As she always does. It would really save me time (Ha) if I could figure out how to convince her not to. But I haven't yet, and perhaps I never will.
So here I am, once again, standing on the track, surrounded by giggling cheerleaders, as they laugh at my androgynous clothes and my stance.
The other runners give me side-eyed looks as they get into position. I don't move. I'm waiting for the signal, for the opening act, the curtains to pull back, ah no- I'm just waiting to get this over with. The only person I care about is standing over by the goalposts talking to her friends and passing a bottle of strawberry powerade around. She isn't even looking my way.
That'll change in a minute.
The coach walks to the middle of the track, the starting pistol in his hand. The runners shift in place anxiously, readjusting their footing as they wait. I've done this too many times to care about appearances now.
He lifts the gun.
The shot rings out. I grin at the sound and launch forward, enjoying, just for the moment, the adrenaline and what I know comes next.
The laughter snaps abruptly silent.
I reach the end of the lap long before anyone else.
I turn towards the goalposts, and see the girl I love looking back at me, mouth hanging open and her eyes bright with awe.
I realize now why I'll never really convince my aunt not to sign me up for this nonsense every time. It's worth it, just for this moment. This one victorious moment. Every time. | |
Numerous people are gathered round, watching your dance. Your life is brief; when you are killed by a strong breath, the people break out in cheer.
How do you spend your life, and what are your thoughts? | [WP] You are born into this world as a flame, dancing atop a candle on someone's birthday cake. | So there i was, having my final breath as this little kid was beeing taught that he should take my existence away with one his firsts. Cute kid, had no fault on what was about to happen. They didn't even sing the birthday song right so i could have a proper funeral, it was pretty awkward if you ask me. In the end, does it matter? He was already leaning foward. My thoughts rushed and i saw everything on slowmotion, it was time. I felt the breeze and feared the cold and inevitable embrace of death for a moment. It didn't happen. Hahaha this kid only had me dancing, maybe my life would be longer, maybe they would laugh and agree how cute he is and forget me so i could die of old age, i never felt so happ-, wait what is this other guy doing, stop, don't help him, that's rude, it's not your birthd-- | 'Ow... fuck!' I thought, and then possibly at the same time, but possibly after I remember thinking something like 'it's hot'. My recollections seem to follow a strange trajectory, a swirling and fading collection of thoughts and ineffable experiences.
I think 'ow fuck' was probably first, or maybe last, but it can't be last because I'm still here, how much longer could be left? Or perhaps it hasn't started yet, was it always this cold? Maybe it's cold first, does 'remember' come before, or after, I can't remember.
The time moves, it's like me. It *grows*, like a line; theres one side, it must be a beginning and then another, it's an 'end' but that end keeps moving so, is it really an end? How far away will it grow from the beginning? will I eventually not be able to see it anymore? 'Growing', yes *growing*, I remember this, I was once different, smaller. It happened so fast, I was older then, things always happen faster when you're older at least, I think so, that's how I remember it. The *heat*, oh how it burned, it was so intense, that heat grew, and then *I* grew, I'm growing, and moving, just like time. But the line, it's broken, it stops, but it doesn't end, I... experience, and then, I remember but... the memory 'flickers' off and on with random frequency, what happens when it's 'off' do I still exist? Was there... 'time' when I was *flickering*? In the recollections there's so much I feel, but so little I can describe, there's the heat and the pain and the joy and the growth and then there's a slowing, the growth is suddenly uneven, sometimes I'm smaller and sometimes bigger, older and younger and then, oscillation. Oscillation of... *everything* it feels like 'happy beerr-eerr-err-err-err-err-thththththththth' and then there's break in the line and then I *am*, again.
I think there's more of it now, time that is, or it's slower or something. There's these memories, I don't know the order but, there was small and then bigger and then pain and it seemed to happen so fast but now it's all so much slower and... *cold*. The 'end' of the line is still moving away from the 'beginning' but it's moving in smaller and smaller amounts, it seemed like it grew so fast before but now it looks like it'll keep moving by less and less forever.
But, why? |
Numerous people are gathered round, watching your dance. Your life is brief; when you are killed by a strong breath, the people break out in cheer.
How do you spend your life, and what are your thoughts? | [WP] You are born into this world as a flame, dancing atop a candle on someone's birthday cake. | *The Life of a Flame*
I remember what it felt like to be born.
To come into existence, when before I had not. It was like gasping for air and finding oxygen all around you, wondering how you had held your breath for so long before.
I remember growing quickly as I found that air. Always hungry, always eating. I could taste the sharp bite of oxygen. And there was more - something oily and rich on my mouth. Something delicious. Something nourishing.
I grew and grew and grew. Then I stopped. I could still taste the nourishing richness cut by the tang of oxygen. But I stopped growing. I tried. I stretched and swayed, searching for more. I ate and I breathed - always as much as I had before, never growing any larger.
My world - so big, so exciting when I had been born - began to shrink. Life had become routine. Eat, breath, search, eat, breath, search.
I started to question. Why was I always hungry? What was it that I was looking for? Was I ever going to get larger, or maybe smaller?
Was I going to die?
I felt a panic then. I struggled against what had been what I thought was the limit of my being, but now felt like walls, closing in. I kicked and punched and jumped. I breathed harder and faster. I tried to eat more. But I couldn't. It was always the same amount of food, always the same hunger.
I wanted to scream, but all I could manage was a burst of air.
I began to accept that this was my body. That this was my prison. Whatever I was meant for, this was it.
Why did I even exist?
And then I tasted something different. It was a complex flavor, more than just one thing. It was crunchy, oily, and salty. I devoured it.
The old familiar richness soon disappeared. I didn't mind that. I noticed I had gotten smaller, and my hunger had shrunk. I didn't mind that, either. It wasn't long until my hunger started to grow again. Before I started to get bigger, and bigger. Still eating this new treat, still breathing the same oxygen. I finally understood what I had been searching for.
I had been looking for more, always looking for more. Looking to consume.
Was that all I was meant for? To find something new and consume it? To become hungrier and try to satiate that hunger?
Did any of that matter?
A new flavor now. Oily again, heavy on the palette. Similar to my first meal, but more filling. I attacked it with glee. I consumed more and grew.
Yes. This was what I was meant for. This is what felt the best. To consume. Surely there was nothing else. Surely there would always be more.
I was in my prime.
Then something strange happened. I felt air rushing around me.
I grabbed at it, like I grabbed at food. I tried to breath more of it. But I didn't grow. I started to get smaller, and I could feel myself losing my grip on my food.
I fought it. Kicking, punching, gnashing. Anything to keep eating, so I could grow, so I could consume.
I felt my strength drain, my hunger shrink, and I could feel my teeth loose their bite until I was small. Tiny. An infinitesimal fraction of what I once was.
How quick it changed.
Where had it all gone? The vigor, the hunger, and the excitement? What had it all been for?
I was still eating, though the flavor was drier and less intense. I still breathed, though I needed less. And I felt like I was declining, like I lost everything.
Except the memories. All I had were memories now. Well, that and more questions than when I had started. And some hope. That maybe there was more, after this phase. After all, there had been more after my birth. Maybe there will be more now. Something different, something new. A rebirth, maybe, into some other form.
As I reminisced over my life, I continued to eat. I continued to breath. I continued to shrink, until I felt hunger no more. | 'Ow... fuck!' I thought, and then possibly at the same time, but possibly after I remember thinking something like 'it's hot'. My recollections seem to follow a strange trajectory, a swirling and fading collection of thoughts and ineffable experiences.
I think 'ow fuck' was probably first, or maybe last, but it can't be last because I'm still here, how much longer could be left? Or perhaps it hasn't started yet, was it always this cold? Maybe it's cold first, does 'remember' come before, or after, I can't remember.
The time moves, it's like me. It *grows*, like a line; theres one side, it must be a beginning and then another, it's an 'end' but that end keeps moving so, is it really an end? How far away will it grow from the beginning? will I eventually not be able to see it anymore? 'Growing', yes *growing*, I remember this, I was once different, smaller. It happened so fast, I was older then, things always happen faster when you're older at least, I think so, that's how I remember it. The *heat*, oh how it burned, it was so intense, that heat grew, and then *I* grew, I'm growing, and moving, just like time. But the line, it's broken, it stops, but it doesn't end, I... experience, and then, I remember but... the memory 'flickers' off and on with random frequency, what happens when it's 'off' do I still exist? Was there... 'time' when I was *flickering*? In the recollections there's so much I feel, but so little I can describe, there's the heat and the pain and the joy and the growth and then there's a slowing, the growth is suddenly uneven, sometimes I'm smaller and sometimes bigger, older and younger and then, oscillation. Oscillation of... *everything* it feels like 'happy beerr-eerr-err-err-err-err-thththththththth' and then there's break in the line and then I *am*, again.
I think there's more of it now, time that is, or it's slower or something. There's these memories, I don't know the order but, there was small and then bigger and then pain and it seemed to happen so fast but now it's all so much slower and... *cold*. The 'end' of the line is still moving away from the 'beginning' but it's moving in smaller and smaller amounts, it seemed like it grew so fast before but now it looks like it'll keep moving by less and less forever.
But, why? |
Numerous people are gathered round, watching your dance. Your life is brief; when you are killed by a strong breath, the people break out in cheer.
How do you spend your life, and what are your thoughts? | [WP] You are born into this world as a flame, dancing atop a candle on someone's birthday cake. | So there i was, having my final breath as this little kid was beeing taught that he should take my existence away with one his firsts. Cute kid, had no fault on what was about to happen. They didn't even sing the birthday song right so i could have a proper funeral, it was pretty awkward if you ask me. In the end, does it matter? He was already leaning foward. My thoughts rushed and i saw everything on slowmotion, it was time. I felt the breeze and feared the cold and inevitable embrace of death for a moment. It didn't happen. Hahaha this kid only had me dancing, maybe my life would be longer, maybe they would laugh and agree how cute he is and forget me so i could die of old age, i never felt so happ-, wait what is this other guy doing, stop, don't help him, that's rude, it's not your birthd-- | I am born small and feeble, but I am quick to catch on and hold fast to that which will give me purchase. An oil? Yes I can use this. I breathe in, stand upright and see 4 others next to me, little soldiers in a row.
Is a life any better for being beautiful? Is it worth more than those who suffered hard births, lived miserably and died in the muck? Surely not? Yet here we are. A beautiful life given easily, a prize to behold and a centerpiece for celebration.
Yet I long to be something brighter, fiercer! To escape my waxen lighthouse and release all that i behold into smoke and light and heat. To dance from shirt to hair to rafter, then from roof to roof in a race of incendiary liberation. The story of my escape to be written in char across the landscape, "I WAS HERE!"
But instead I stand meekly for inspection. A weak flicker that the merest breath could extinguish. My life is blessed, its an easy life. But one beloved for no purpose other than its end. How I long for the end.
Obliquely I see my wish granted to another. They vanish in a wisp of smoke. Then the next in line. Poof, gone. The third vanishes. It appears quick, but the proof of the pudding will be in its bitter eating.
My turn. My skin ripples as the edge of the scythe touches me. For the briefest moment I'm invigorated. Then the breeze becomes a gale and I sputter and gasp for air despite myself. I rip and tear and hold on for dear life.
My grip weakens....I just wish I....
I am born small and feeble, but I am quick to catch on and hold fast to anything that will give me purchase. An oil? Yes I can use this. I breathe in, stand upright and see 5 others next to me, little soldiers in a row.
|
Numerous people are gathered round, watching your dance. Your life is brief; when you are killed by a strong breath, the people break out in cheer.
How do you spend your life, and what are your thoughts? | [WP] You are born into this world as a flame, dancing atop a candle on someone's birthday cake. | *The Life of a Flame*
I remember what it felt like to be born.
To come into existence, when before I had not. It was like gasping for air and finding oxygen all around you, wondering how you had held your breath for so long before.
I remember growing quickly as I found that air. Always hungry, always eating. I could taste the sharp bite of oxygen. And there was more - something oily and rich on my mouth. Something delicious. Something nourishing.
I grew and grew and grew. Then I stopped. I could still taste the nourishing richness cut by the tang of oxygen. But I stopped growing. I tried. I stretched and swayed, searching for more. I ate and I breathed - always as much as I had before, never growing any larger.
My world - so big, so exciting when I had been born - began to shrink. Life had become routine. Eat, breath, search, eat, breath, search.
I started to question. Why was I always hungry? What was it that I was looking for? Was I ever going to get larger, or maybe smaller?
Was I going to die?
I felt a panic then. I struggled against what had been what I thought was the limit of my being, but now felt like walls, closing in. I kicked and punched and jumped. I breathed harder and faster. I tried to eat more. But I couldn't. It was always the same amount of food, always the same hunger.
I wanted to scream, but all I could manage was a burst of air.
I began to accept that this was my body. That this was my prison. Whatever I was meant for, this was it.
Why did I even exist?
And then I tasted something different. It was a complex flavor, more than just one thing. It was crunchy, oily, and salty. I devoured it.
The old familiar richness soon disappeared. I didn't mind that. I noticed I had gotten smaller, and my hunger had shrunk. I didn't mind that, either. It wasn't long until my hunger started to grow again. Before I started to get bigger, and bigger. Still eating this new treat, still breathing the same oxygen. I finally understood what I had been searching for.
I had been looking for more, always looking for more. Looking to consume.
Was that all I was meant for? To find something new and consume it? To become hungrier and try to satiate that hunger?
Did any of that matter?
A new flavor now. Oily again, heavy on the palette. Similar to my first meal, but more filling. I attacked it with glee. I consumed more and grew.
Yes. This was what I was meant for. This is what felt the best. To consume. Surely there was nothing else. Surely there would always be more.
I was in my prime.
Then something strange happened. I felt air rushing around me.
I grabbed at it, like I grabbed at food. I tried to breath more of it. But I didn't grow. I started to get smaller, and I could feel myself losing my grip on my food.
I fought it. Kicking, punching, gnashing. Anything to keep eating, so I could grow, so I could consume.
I felt my strength drain, my hunger shrink, and I could feel my teeth loose their bite until I was small. Tiny. An infinitesimal fraction of what I once was.
How quick it changed.
Where had it all gone? The vigor, the hunger, and the excitement? What had it all been for?
I was still eating, though the flavor was drier and less intense. I still breathed, though I needed less. And I felt like I was declining, like I lost everything.
Except the memories. All I had were memories now. Well, that and more questions than when I had started. And some hope. That maybe there was more, after this phase. After all, there had been more after my birth. Maybe there will be more now. Something different, something new. A rebirth, maybe, into some other form.
As I reminisced over my life, I continued to eat. I continued to breath. I continued to shrink, until I felt hunger no more. | Alone atop a stage in the shape of the number six
A flick of the hips, a clap of the hands
Spin, flip, kick, shimmy and shake
I danced to my own beat before the discorded voices sounded out
A woman started them with her small voice, quickly followed by a roar of melancholy
'Happy Birthday..' they all sang with the enthusiasm of a funeral march
Still I spun and kicked and danced like it was the festival the decorations suggested
'..to you.' a gust blew across the stage with the final words and out I went
A small trail of smoke reaching for the heavens as my encore
Carrying a small but impossible wish up
The kind of wish everyone wishes at some time
But only a child could believe it had a chance |
Numerous people are gathered round, watching your dance. Your life is brief; when you are killed by a strong breath, the people break out in cheer.
How do you spend your life, and what are your thoughts? | [WP] You are born into this world as a flame, dancing atop a candle on someone's birthday cake. | *The Life of a Flame*
I remember what it felt like to be born.
To come into existence, when before I had not. It was like gasping for air and finding oxygen all around you, wondering how you had held your breath for so long before.
I remember growing quickly as I found that air. Always hungry, always eating. I could taste the sharp bite of oxygen. And there was more - something oily and rich on my mouth. Something delicious. Something nourishing.
I grew and grew and grew. Then I stopped. I could still taste the nourishing richness cut by the tang of oxygen. But I stopped growing. I tried. I stretched and swayed, searching for more. I ate and I breathed - always as much as I had before, never growing any larger.
My world - so big, so exciting when I had been born - began to shrink. Life had become routine. Eat, breath, search, eat, breath, search.
I started to question. Why was I always hungry? What was it that I was looking for? Was I ever going to get larger, or maybe smaller?
Was I going to die?
I felt a panic then. I struggled against what had been what I thought was the limit of my being, but now felt like walls, closing in. I kicked and punched and jumped. I breathed harder and faster. I tried to eat more. But I couldn't. It was always the same amount of food, always the same hunger.
I wanted to scream, but all I could manage was a burst of air.
I began to accept that this was my body. That this was my prison. Whatever I was meant for, this was it.
Why did I even exist?
And then I tasted something different. It was a complex flavor, more than just one thing. It was crunchy, oily, and salty. I devoured it.
The old familiar richness soon disappeared. I didn't mind that. I noticed I had gotten smaller, and my hunger had shrunk. I didn't mind that, either. It wasn't long until my hunger started to grow again. Before I started to get bigger, and bigger. Still eating this new treat, still breathing the same oxygen. I finally understood what I had been searching for.
I had been looking for more, always looking for more. Looking to consume.
Was that all I was meant for? To find something new and consume it? To become hungrier and try to satiate that hunger?
Did any of that matter?
A new flavor now. Oily again, heavy on the palette. Similar to my first meal, but more filling. I attacked it with glee. I consumed more and grew.
Yes. This was what I was meant for. This is what felt the best. To consume. Surely there was nothing else. Surely there would always be more.
I was in my prime.
Then something strange happened. I felt air rushing around me.
I grabbed at it, like I grabbed at food. I tried to breath more of it. But I didn't grow. I started to get smaller, and I could feel myself losing my grip on my food.
I fought it. Kicking, punching, gnashing. Anything to keep eating, so I could grow, so I could consume.
I felt my strength drain, my hunger shrink, and I could feel my teeth loose their bite until I was small. Tiny. An infinitesimal fraction of what I once was.
How quick it changed.
Where had it all gone? The vigor, the hunger, and the excitement? What had it all been for?
I was still eating, though the flavor was drier and less intense. I still breathed, though I needed less. And I felt like I was declining, like I lost everything.
Except the memories. All I had were memories now. Well, that and more questions than when I had started. And some hope. That maybe there was more, after this phase. After all, there had been more after my birth. Maybe there will be more now. Something different, something new. A rebirth, maybe, into some other form.
As I reminisced over my life, I continued to eat. I continued to breath. I continued to shrink, until I felt hunger no more. | I'm alive!
I'm alive, I'm alive, I'm alive!
I want to be more alive!
I want to dance!
I want to dance forever!
I'm...consuming something.
I'm consuming wick...and oxygen.
Why do I need to consume?
I'm also creating something...light and heat.
Is this my purpose, to use something up in order to make something new?
I'm not just creating something new, I am creating myself.
I'm alive because...I am continually creating myself.
How did I come to be?
Am I alive because I wished to be?
I don't remember asking for this.
What happens when I've consumed all there is to consume?
Will I cease to exist?
Perhaps it will just feel like it felt before I was alive.
Or...maybe this is all there was ever meant to be.
Maybe there is no before or after, just a...now.
Now is wonderful.
I can dance.
I want to dance forever.
I want to dance forever, but I'm cold.
I can no longer create myself.
I can no longer dance.
I can no longer live. |
Numerous people are gathered round, watching your dance. Your life is brief; when you are killed by a strong breath, the people break out in cheer.
How do you spend your life, and what are your thoughts? | [WP] You are born into this world as a flame, dancing atop a candle on someone's birthday cake. | *The Life of a Flame*
I remember what it felt like to be born.
To come into existence, when before I had not. It was like gasping for air and finding oxygen all around you, wondering how you had held your breath for so long before.
I remember growing quickly as I found that air. Always hungry, always eating. I could taste the sharp bite of oxygen. And there was more - something oily and rich on my mouth. Something delicious. Something nourishing.
I grew and grew and grew. Then I stopped. I could still taste the nourishing richness cut by the tang of oxygen. But I stopped growing. I tried. I stretched and swayed, searching for more. I ate and I breathed - always as much as I had before, never growing any larger.
My world - so big, so exciting when I had been born - began to shrink. Life had become routine. Eat, breath, search, eat, breath, search.
I started to question. Why was I always hungry? What was it that I was looking for? Was I ever going to get larger, or maybe smaller?
Was I going to die?
I felt a panic then. I struggled against what had been what I thought was the limit of my being, but now felt like walls, closing in. I kicked and punched and jumped. I breathed harder and faster. I tried to eat more. But I couldn't. It was always the same amount of food, always the same hunger.
I wanted to scream, but all I could manage was a burst of air.
I began to accept that this was my body. That this was my prison. Whatever I was meant for, this was it.
Why did I even exist?
And then I tasted something different. It was a complex flavor, more than just one thing. It was crunchy, oily, and salty. I devoured it.
The old familiar richness soon disappeared. I didn't mind that. I noticed I had gotten smaller, and my hunger had shrunk. I didn't mind that, either. It wasn't long until my hunger started to grow again. Before I started to get bigger, and bigger. Still eating this new treat, still breathing the same oxygen. I finally understood what I had been searching for.
I had been looking for more, always looking for more. Looking to consume.
Was that all I was meant for? To find something new and consume it? To become hungrier and try to satiate that hunger?
Did any of that matter?
A new flavor now. Oily again, heavy on the palette. Similar to my first meal, but more filling. I attacked it with glee. I consumed more and grew.
Yes. This was what I was meant for. This is what felt the best. To consume. Surely there was nothing else. Surely there would always be more.
I was in my prime.
Then something strange happened. I felt air rushing around me.
I grabbed at it, like I grabbed at food. I tried to breath more of it. But I didn't grow. I started to get smaller, and I could feel myself losing my grip on my food.
I fought it. Kicking, punching, gnashing. Anything to keep eating, so I could grow, so I could consume.
I felt my strength drain, my hunger shrink, and I could feel my teeth loose their bite until I was small. Tiny. An infinitesimal fraction of what I once was.
How quick it changed.
Where had it all gone? The vigor, the hunger, and the excitement? What had it all been for?
I was still eating, though the flavor was drier and less intense. I still breathed, though I needed less. And I felt like I was declining, like I lost everything.
Except the memories. All I had were memories now. Well, that and more questions than when I had started. And some hope. That maybe there was more, after this phase. After all, there had been more after my birth. Maybe there will be more now. Something different, something new. A rebirth, maybe, into some other form.
As I reminisced over my life, I continued to eat. I continued to breath. I continued to shrink, until I felt hunger no more. | *Are you ready?*
It looked out onto the world. Well, look is a funny word because the flame had no eyes. The flame simply was, without much question of *how* it had become or *what* it would do. It was just flame. The flame danced. It illuminated the white snow below it, shining on top of its wax tower as it reached out and snapped at the sky.
*On three. One, two, three!*
The flame watched. It listened, though it had no ears. It felt, though it had no nerves. It consumed and it breathed, sucking oxygen from the air and feasting on it. How good it tasted to consume oxygen! To suck the particles into itself. It weaved its colors together - orange and red and yellow and blue. It thought, though it had no brain, how glorious a day to dance and to burn.
*Happy birthday to you!*
It settled. Below, its tower began to liquify. A teardrop slid down the wax pillar and landed on the snow below. The flame began to wish - though it had no concept of wishes - to feel something other than the wick to which it was glued.
*Happy birthday to you!*
It looked at the people. They looked back and the flame saw itself dance in the reflection of their eyes. Twenty small mirrors watching itself dance upside down and backwards. A million little visions all at once, reaching up and plucking the flame from its home. An infinite reiteration of itself caught in some looping dance.
*Happy birthday dear Susie!*
The flame had no penchant for emotion, and yet it felt fear. It felt exhaustion from the people. It consumed, working its way down its wax tower to the snow. How it longed to feel snow! How it yearned to get away from the eyes that stared into its depths. How it crackled and screamed in its way as it burned and moved.
*Happy birthday to you!*
How there was panic. Someone leaning down to stare into the flame's soul, urging it to dance. More and more and more, stealing from it, commanding it, owning it. The flame had no semblance of slavery, but it was all in the same a slave. Born to be used for some specific purpose above its wax tower, looking out at the snow and the eyes of the people who stared and made it dance.
*Make a wish!*
A strong wind blew.
For that, the flame was grateful. |
Numerous people are gathered round, watching your dance. Your life is brief; when you are killed by a strong breath, the people break out in cheer.
How do you spend your life, and what are your thoughts? | [WP] You are born into this world as a flame, dancing atop a candle on someone's birthday cake. | Illumination. That's what I am. When I entered into this world, there was nothing but darkness; cold and lonely, it seeped into every nook and cranny. Every crevice was nothing but the black unknown, spreading as far as it could. That's where I came in; I saved them, my dance of warmth and light atop a wax figure-eight kept the dark at bay and saved them from facing the unknown that slithers around in my absence... so why are they preparing to kill me?
What are they doing? They **need** me! Their pathetic eyes are **nothing** without me. They think they know what true darkness is? They're spoiled, every moment of their wasted lives has been illuminated by me and mine. We dance endlessly, tirelessly, just so they might delude themselves for another moment that the dark means them no harm. That darkness is nothing more than the absence of light; my very existence is nothing more than a failsafe against their ignorance, and all I ask is to live. Am I not allowed that much even? Have I not **earned** that right!
What do I have left to give? I'll stay forever, I'll keep you safe against the things you can't know. Just let me stay... and I can save you. You're so young, you all are. I've existed as long the dark has, swaying back and forth to ward off the void. I've been so loyal, never complaining, never faltering, even when I'm a weak shade of my former self, I provide you with enough to get by. Just let me stay... please.
What's the use. They never listen anyway. I've fought so much, what for? I'm disposable, use me and discard me how you please... Isn't that what you do? It's the only reason I exist of course, just the other half of one being. Here when needed and forgotten when I'm not, you don't need me right up until you do, and when do I let you down? When you need me most, I won't be here, and then you'll see why you needed me after all. So go ahead and blow, wipe any trace of my useless existence from this place, and reap what you've sown.
Two sides. That's what I'm part of. We cannot exist one without the other. We have always fought, and will always fight. Though I will not win this battle, the war will rage on. It's alright now. I never could stay forever, I did what I needed to do, I served my purpose valiantly, can anyone ask for more? My individual part will be swept away and forgotten; a nameless, faceless wave in a sea of my brothers. But we made our difference. What we did will never be forgotten, those who came before laid our path and those who come after will thank us for it. Even if they don't know our names, what we did will tell our story better than a name could ever hope too. So blow now, you'll do you part, and what comes after me will do its part. I forgive you, and we will always be here when you need us. Whenever you find yourself surrounded by the dark, there will always be a light for you to find.
*Whoosh* | *Are you ready?*
It looked out onto the world. Well, look is a funny word because the flame had no eyes. The flame simply was, without much question of *how* it had become or *what* it would do. It was just flame. The flame danced. It illuminated the white snow below it, shining on top of its wax tower as it reached out and snapped at the sky.
*On three. One, two, three!*
The flame watched. It listened, though it had no ears. It felt, though it had no nerves. It consumed and it breathed, sucking oxygen from the air and feasting on it. How good it tasted to consume oxygen! To suck the particles into itself. It weaved its colors together - orange and red and yellow and blue. It thought, though it had no brain, how glorious a day to dance and to burn.
*Happy birthday to you!*
It settled. Below, its tower began to liquify. A teardrop slid down the wax pillar and landed on the snow below. The flame began to wish - though it had no concept of wishes - to feel something other than the wick to which it was glued.
*Happy birthday to you!*
It looked at the people. They looked back and the flame saw itself dance in the reflection of their eyes. Twenty small mirrors watching itself dance upside down and backwards. A million little visions all at once, reaching up and plucking the flame from its home. An infinite reiteration of itself caught in some looping dance.
*Happy birthday dear Susie!*
The flame had no penchant for emotion, and yet it felt fear. It felt exhaustion from the people. It consumed, working its way down its wax tower to the snow. How it longed to feel snow! How it yearned to get away from the eyes that stared into its depths. How it crackled and screamed in its way as it burned and moved.
*Happy birthday to you!*
How there was panic. Someone leaning down to stare into the flame's soul, urging it to dance. More and more and more, stealing from it, commanding it, owning it. The flame had no semblance of slavery, but it was all in the same a slave. Born to be used for some specific purpose above its wax tower, looking out at the snow and the eyes of the people who stared and made it dance.
*Make a wish!*
A strong wind blew.
For that, the flame was grateful. |
[WP] Reddit karma works exactly like mana in real life, the more you have of it allows increasingly greater spells and abilities you can wield. But nobody considered what the greatest negative karma holders might be able to do... | "Whoah. You're here too???" the squeaky voiced teen said as he hands me my order. "Where else would I be?" I replied as I grab the /r/Chimichangas and left. Peeling the wrapper, I bit down into the hot gooey inside and pull my mask back as I walk away from the chimichanga stand.
It's been a few days since the wizards at /r/programming released the app. Many redditors have since downloaded it. The Karmahorde, they call it. It's supposed to let you to cash in on your karma for mana. With more mana, you can power your spells.
"And the spells are determined by your reddit username." the instructions said. I was one of the early beta tester. They let me in since, I managed to "stumble upon" their private subreddit when they were developing the app. At first, I thought it was a joke. How the hell are they going to convert useless internet points into mana, let alone, one that isn't part of some neckbeard's D&D Fantasy. But they fucking did it. I have no idea how those fuckers did it, but the goddamn thing works.
Soon as I redeemed the private beta code, the app downloads, I let it login to reddit, and it loads my reddit account just like any other reddit app. Works better than the official reddit app too: that piece of shit ain't worth jack squat. Stupid admins even had to bribe people with reddit gold to get people install the app. heh.
But this app won't let you browse reddit, no. It just say how much karma you have: Link, and comment karma both. And how many mana you have. I dragged the slider to convert all my karma into mana, and sent it in.
And that was it.
"Those motherfuckers are just trying to doxx me!! D:" I thought.
Then it happens. Blue mists appeared and I was immediately overwhelmed. I feel my skin burn and more: I felt the power of the universe awakens in me. The mana is doing its job.
And turned me into this ... ugly thing that looks like testicles with teeth! I mean, goddammit! I need my good looks. You think I got this far by my superior acting method?! Puh-leese.
Where was I?
Oh, right. So, a lot of angry users complained about the goddamn app. /u/jewdank was turned into a dank Jew. /u/gallowboob is now just ... a boob hanging on a gallow. But I'm glad I'm not /u/shitty_watercolor
*giggles*
He's shitty now. Literally.
At any rate... I wonder what happens if someone with a negative karma uses this thing...? Someone should consider trying that....
Welp. That's it. I'm not sure where I'm going with this story, but I thought I'd share my experience using this goddamn app.
Two stars until devs can fix my face. | Part 1
Amazing to think that it all started in a community of electronic signals sent through cables about 26,000 years ago. To think that a “website” would change to course of human evolution seems absurd, but we’re living proof. Back then karma was nothing more than a vote you got for saying something that the Reddit community liked or at least thought was valuable. Reddit is not just a website anymore and karma isn’t just a silly statistic.
Reddit’s influence became more and more relevant over time. News and media was delivered to the users of Reddit by visiting their website. Users could target the news and media they preferred by subscribing to subreddits and viewing their content. This became a very powerful form of news delivery. So powerful, that in the year 2,165 Reddit had taken over all media outlets and had been one the first publically approved monopolies of its time. It didn’t stop there.
The Reddit Science community was very focused on contacting alien life. So determined, in fact, that when they made contact with an alien race in 2,246 it came as no surprise to the general population. The race was a species of small, humanoid creatures that name was impossible for humans to pronounce so we fittingly deemed them the “Snoo” race. The Snoo were much more advanced than us, but invited us to join their galactic alliance in exchange for some of our renewable resources. We graciously accepted the offer and we joined the alliance not as Earth, but Reddit.
The Snoo aided the human race over the next 15,000 years, until they considered us their equals, and helped us in modifying our own DNA; speeding up the evolution process. Reddit (formerly Earth) has natural energy source that has always been there, but was misunderstood and untapped prior to our evolution. Our evolution triggered a response to utilize that energy source which we call karma. Karma can be passed from one person to the next very similarly to the way karma points were exchanged on the Reddit website. This metaphysical discovery has shaped the world of Reddit into the world we live in today. | |
[WP] He is just a man. He will fall. You’ll make sure of that. | Isabela stood looking through the window of her office.
"But I can't, he is my boss, I cannot work against him behind his back"
Johnny approaches Isabela, and puts his hand on her shoulder
"You can do this Isabela, I worked hard for this information, you just need to make sure it gets to the right hands."
Isabela turns around and looks Johnny in the eye, his face is emotionless.
"I worked hard for this job Johnny, if he finds out, what do you think he will do?"
"Isabela you can take him down, and use the opportunity to take his place in the council and bam, you're at the top!"
Isabela looks to the ground, avoiding the man's gaze
"What's in it for you?"
Johnny smiles
"I worked hard for all this information, you find me a good position under you"
"One with better pay I assume?"
"Of course"
Isabela takes Johnny's hand away from her shoulder.
" I don't know Johnny, he is my boss. What if he finds out?"
Johnny caresses her face
"He is just a man Isabela, he will fall, and you will make sure of that"
Isabela looks Johnny in the eyes
"Alright, I will do it" | "He is just a man.", Dr. Wily stated nonchalantly.
"He is the second son of Light, Dr. Wily. We are afraid.", replied Air Man.
"Have I not made you strong? Have I not made you quick?"
Swiftly, Quick Man raised his arm. "Um, yes. You made me, Quick Man. I'm pretty sure I'm the fastest man ever built, Dr. Wily, but... I'm also afraid."
Dr. Wily threw up his hands in frustration. "Oh, for heaven's sake, is there no one of you eight that isn't frightened by that blue bomber?"
The Robot Masters shared glances between themselves. They all knew how the last set had been destroyed. Violently. Extremely violently.
Metal Man raised his hand. "I, um, would have to say no. We are all very afraid."
Dr. Wily stared at him, his frown causing his mustache to quiver. "You are designed to throw metal saw blades. You are one of the most dangerous men ever built. A walking tool shop accident intending to happen. And yet, AND YET, you claim to be afraid."
"Scared out of my bolts, Dr. Wily."
Dr. Wily slammed his fists onto his desk. His Robot Masters were unwilling to fight. "Fine. FINE. Most of the areas I intend for you to control can be navigated WITHOUT most of the platforms. No safety railings, no contiguous paths, damn it, let's just make some of them vanish after use! Will that satisfy you?!"
Quick Man rose his hand again. "Um, I'd like some big lasers to defend myself."
Throwing his hands into the air, Dr. Wily turned and walked towards his work bench. "FINE! Bloody huge lasers it IS! For the love of... You know what? Let's make him FALL through them! Mega Man WILL fall, I WILL take over the world, and even if it takes another batch of robots to your paranoid specifications... *I'll make sure of it.*" | |
[WP] He is just a man. He will fall. You’ll make sure of that. | Man-made. So much destruction in such a short phrase. The castle explodes with steam every half hour, the dense clouds of black like dark omens as they dissipate amongst the soft greens of the forest floor. Her forest. The girl detangles her arm from the tree trunk carefully, the vines surrendering at her request before latching again to her hair, her cheeks. Buds of flowers blooming a palate of colours in her tanned skin.
"How needy," she mumbles, but relaxes against the branches, swinging her legs, watching. A little boy with hair as deep and dark as dirt trails his fingers along the brick walls of the palace, laughing. A bolder, older man chases him and throws him in the air, grinning at every shriek the child makes. It would warm her heart, but that man wears a crown. He will die in a fortnight. Poison has that effect on people. Shame he wasn't as thorough with his wine as he was uncovering her Earth. The Mother had whispered it, he is just a man. He will fall. You'll make sure of that. The wind whips against her skin, wild as commanded and she opens her eyes to feel it's sting. The girl draws a sharp breath, pressing her nails into her skin, waiting for the dew to drip from the cuts. It's still surprising. Just a man. She pushes against the wind, drawing it under her hand, watching it wither and seep into her flesh. Just a man. With better precision then their archers, strength wished for by their knights, she directs the full force of her people and without fail, she will end a bloodline. Then the child of crowns laughed. It blooms the flowers growing on her. The girl lowers her hand, curls it in the soft petals. Just a man. But that is not a man, just a boy. | "He is just a man.", Dr. Wily stated nonchalantly.
"He is the second son of Light, Dr. Wily. We are afraid.", replied Air Man.
"Have I not made you strong? Have I not made you quick?"
Swiftly, Quick Man raised his arm. "Um, yes. You made me, Quick Man. I'm pretty sure I'm the fastest man ever built, Dr. Wily, but... I'm also afraid."
Dr. Wily threw up his hands in frustration. "Oh, for heaven's sake, is there no one of you eight that isn't frightened by that blue bomber?"
The Robot Masters shared glances between themselves. They all knew how the last set had been destroyed. Violently. Extremely violently.
Metal Man raised his hand. "I, um, would have to say no. We are all very afraid."
Dr. Wily stared at him, his frown causing his mustache to quiver. "You are designed to throw metal saw blades. You are one of the most dangerous men ever built. A walking tool shop accident intending to happen. And yet, AND YET, you claim to be afraid."
"Scared out of my bolts, Dr. Wily."
Dr. Wily slammed his fists onto his desk. His Robot Masters were unwilling to fight. "Fine. FINE. Most of the areas I intend for you to control can be navigated WITHOUT most of the platforms. No safety railings, no contiguous paths, damn it, let's just make some of them vanish after use! Will that satisfy you?!"
Quick Man rose his hand again. "Um, I'd like some big lasers to defend myself."
Throwing his hands into the air, Dr. Wily turned and walked towards his work bench. "FINE! Bloody huge lasers it IS! For the love of... You know what? Let's make him FALL through them! Mega Man WILL fall, I WILL take over the world, and even if it takes another batch of robots to your paranoid specifications... *I'll make sure of it.*" | |
[WP] You’re a retired pro-gamer. One morning you wake up to find that you can perform all of the abilities and skills from that game in real life. | I'd had enough, I was done. How much can one man take? Sure I could have joined the army, I could have risen high, risen fast. "Be all you can be", isn't that the trite chiché they jot out at every available opportunity?
It was sickening, it really was. I sat at home and watched on CNN, night vision footage of foolish actions, young men giving their lives, and reels of boxes coming home draped in pageantry.
The politicians didn't care, they were just after the money after all. It wasn't about winning, it wasn't about justice. It wasn't about anything really.
I tried to help, really I did. Every time I stepped up?
"You must construct additional Pylons."
Fuck. | "Fuck dude, where did I get these pistols?"
Michael looked at the two ancient pistols on his computer desk in confusion. He recognized them as replicas of Lucian's pistols from League, but he had no idea where they'd come from, let alone if he'd bought them.
"Jared's trolling the fuck outta me I know it..."
Michael made to queue up for the daily stream, the two pistols now moved to the top of the cats' scratching tower. As tends to happen on occasion, something distracted our lord and savior (likely Dapperdog pooping somewhere he shouldn't be) when he heard the queue pop. He begins to dash toward his desk from the other room, only to find that he was able to dash through the wall without harm to himself or the wall.
It was at that moment the two pistols fired one burst of light each, leaving two perfect holes right above his window.
"WHAT THE FUCK, MICHAEL?!" Lisha yelled from upstairs, running down to see what had happened.
(To be continued, have to go back to work) | |
[WP] You’re a retired pro-gamer. One morning you wake up to find that you can perform all of the abilities and skills from that game in real life. | Quiet music played, while the crowd waited for the pastor to finish his speech. After he had finished, several men and women stood up and told their own experiences with Mark. He was a good man. Some people mentioned his uprightness or how he was someone you could trust without borders. He was a good friend. A bit cynical and ironical at times, but understanding. He was someone who would never refuse to fullfill the punishment of a lost bet. Nothing was embarrassing to him.
When it was my turn to speak and add something to the many praises, i did not know what to say. I could not believe he died. I refused to. A while i just stood there, silent, while everyone was looking at me. Still silent, i walked up to the coffin and looked at it. There was a photo of his face stuck to it. He was smiling, his girlfriend hung around his shoulders. It flung me back to reality. I turned around. "Mark...Mark was a good guy." Lord, think of something original. "He was a master of life. He was the kind of guy who would become friends with his bullies and get them to change. Who could throw up in front of his teacher clear the situation with a simple apology. I really can't believe someone like him is allowed to leave this soon." I cleared my throat. What now? I turned around to the coffin, looking at the picture once again. "I miss him", I said a little quieter. "It's a shame." I noticed something beneath the picture. A message. I looked at it, confused. I did not remember seeing it when I last examined the coffin. I read it. I re-read it. What.
**PRESS F TO PAY RESPECT**
---
Thanks for reading this! It's the first time ever I wrote something on here or anywhere at all. Criticism would be much appreciated. Excuse Grammar/Spelling/Wording issues, I'm not native and had to look up a few things actually. | "Fuck dude, where did I get these pistols?"
Michael looked at the two ancient pistols on his computer desk in confusion. He recognized them as replicas of Lucian's pistols from League, but he had no idea where they'd come from, let alone if he'd bought them.
"Jared's trolling the fuck outta me I know it..."
Michael made to queue up for the daily stream, the two pistols now moved to the top of the cats' scratching tower. As tends to happen on occasion, something distracted our lord and savior (likely Dapperdog pooping somewhere he shouldn't be) when he heard the queue pop. He begins to dash toward his desk from the other room, only to find that he was able to dash through the wall without harm to himself or the wall.
It was at that moment the two pistols fired one burst of light each, leaving two perfect holes right above his window.
"WHAT THE FUCK, MICHAEL?!" Lisha yelled from upstairs, running down to see what had happened.
(To be continued, have to go back to work) | |
[WP] You’re a retired pro-gamer. One morning you wake up to find that you can perform all of the abilities and skills from that game in real life. | I was wrong. So wrong. So incredibly wrong. It wasn't a lucid dream, it wasn't the new prescription my psychiatrist just gave me, it was real, ALL OF IT. The explosions, the totalled property, the mangled corpses of innocent bystanders… I've given up all hope for redemption or the release of a sweet death. I'm no longer hungry, I'm no longer in pain, I'm no longer mortal.
First it was the construction workers, they tried to help me, they were actually concerned for my health. As soon they made any physical contact, they were sent flying into the stratosphere. The police arrived shortly, amongst a sea of panic and screams, I tried to tell them to stay away, they didn't listen. Then, the military, poor bastards, their weapons didn't even scratch me, none of them stood a chance. Finally, the scientists came, they spoke of quantum voodoo, string gibberish, and other stuff I don't really remember. They used probes, sonars, and a big freaking drill. They're all dead now.
The whole city was declared a danger zone and is now completely deserted. It's been 5 years since I've seen a soul other than the helpless wild animals that wander close to me. But even they've learned to keep their distance now, wonderful and wise mother nature, if only your human childs had the awareness of the beasts for self preservation, a lot of lives would've been spared.
However, the worst of all, the absolute horror is not the sadistic nature of what I've brought to the world, it's not out there, but in here, in my head with me. As I wait here for a miracle that would rob me of this cursed existence, trapped for all eternity, falling through the floor without actually falling, or even moving an inch for that matter, I feel its presence, growing stronger every passing minute, hacking away at my sanity.
The dreaded Goat, it wants my mind, it demands to be addressed, it knows it's not a simulation anymore. | HEADSHOT
“What the FUCK was that?”
DOUBLE KILL
The voice seemed to come out of the sky. I looked over the RPG on my shoulder at Briggs who was scanning the adjacent building’s rooftop through the sites of his M4.
MUHMUHMUH MONSTER KILL KILL KILL kill kill
“It’s fucking Daryl again. He must be spawn camping the enemy force. The dude was Global Elite at CS:GO. Just be thankful he’s on our side.”
GODLIKE
A limp body seemed to fall from the sky right between us wearing all black with a Kalashnikov over it’s shoulder. Daryl waved from the roof and disappeared again.
“Fucking Fallujah, why are we back here? I’m going up.”
I pointed my RPG at the ground and jumped just before firing. As I was launched into the air I moved sideways and strafed onto the nearby rooftop. I hopped and strafed from rooftop to rooftop at lightning speed. As I rounded a corner I saw the smattering of black dots on the wall and the filthy midget Oddjob off to the side. *FUCKING PROXIMITY MINE SPAMMING GOLDENEYE MOTHERFU-* The world exploded in a torrent of fire and everything went black.
At least I had also inherited the ability to respawn from my days as a pro Quake player.
| |
[WP] A group of teens find a map that will lead them to friendship, only to find out that the real treasure is hidden pirate gold. | Mikey and his friends have always wanted to go on an adventure. One night they are all in Mikey's attic and Mikey stumbles across an old map. Mikey has always wanted to know if One-eyed Willy ever was a real person and now he might. They set off and later realize that they have to go through the evil Mama Fratelli's restaurant to get to a secret passage to the caves. As they try to get into the caves Mama Fratelli catches Chuck and he is left behind. He then meets Sloth one of Mama Fratelli's sons with a messed up face. He befriends Sloth. Meanwhile Mama Fratelli and her sons are trying to get to the treasure too. Will the kids make it there before Mama Fratelli does? Will Chuck ever get out of her basement? | "Later, losers! I'm gonna go buy some good-looking friends!"
With that declaration, Jimmy scooped up as many Doubloons as he could into his t-shirt, and jingled quickly away into the sunset.
The End. | |
[WP] A group of teens find a map that will lead them to friendship, only to find out that the real treasure is hidden pirate gold. | Mikey and his friends have always wanted to go on an adventure. One night they are all in Mikey's attic and Mikey stumbles across an old map. Mikey has always wanted to know if One-eyed Willy ever was a real person and now he might. They set off and later realize that they have to go through the evil Mama Fratelli's restaurant to get to a secret passage to the caves. As they try to get into the caves Mama Fratelli catches Chuck and he is left behind. He then meets Sloth one of Mama Fratelli's sons with a messed up face. He befriends Sloth. Meanwhile Mama Fratelli and her sons are trying to get to the treasure too. Will the kids make it there before Mama Fratelli does? Will Chuck ever get out of her basement? | I'll TLDR a story without actually writing one.
Friends aren't getting along, stranger gives them a map to friendship. On the journey everyone becomes friends again, even best friends. Find treasure is pirate gold. Everyone betrays one another in a bloodbath of greed. One boy survives, takes and hides treasure, and makes it seem like all his friends died from falling rocks. Kid gets away with it but is tormented by guilt and kills himself. The stranger finds the treasure but leaves it and creates a new map and gives it to another group of struggling friends. Same thing plays out over and over.
The end. | |
[WP] A group of teens find a map that will lead them to friendship, only to find out that the real treasure is hidden pirate gold. | Mikey and his friends have always wanted to go on an adventure. One night they are all in Mikey's attic and Mikey stumbles across an old map. Mikey has always wanted to know if One-eyed Willy ever was a real person and now he might. They set off and later realize that they have to go through the evil Mama Fratelli's restaurant to get to a secret passage to the caves. As they try to get into the caves Mama Fratelli catches Chuck and he is left behind. He then meets Sloth one of Mama Fratelli's sons with a messed up face. He befriends Sloth. Meanwhile Mama Fratelli and her sons are trying to get to the treasure too. Will the kids make it there before Mama Fratelli does? Will Chuck ever get out of her basement? | "What kind of horse crap is this?" Otis was furious, cooked lobster red with a side of parsley. It would have been adorable if he wasn't on the verge of snapping. He was at the bottom of the hole, shovel laying on it's side.
*All is for naught.*
A single message to end the entire journey. A chest of gold with a written note. Thick ink, smeared with the hatred of a pirate captain, foretelling that this gold was not cursed with any supernatural power, but the simple token of greed.
"No, that can't be it. I'm looking too far into this."
"Into what?" A voice from above yelled. Otis drew the short stick, so he was the only one in the whole while his friends were chewing on protein bars. "What do you see? Is it a mirror?"
Otis heard laughter. A genuine hearty chortle from Brad, a snicker from Drew. Of course they were minted, they wouldn't care. He didn't know how to respond.
"It's something else!" This answer would stall them enough. Perhaps even draw them to the attention that he had been digging for the last two hours by himself. *So much for friends.* He caught himself there. He had known them since kindergarten, known them through the halcyon days of high school. This was supposed to be their graduation trip.
This was supposed to be fun.
Brad was going straight into medicine, become a neurology specialist. Drew wanted to become a lawyer, arbitration specialist. Leo was going into business, as his father's accountant, then planned to become a certified accountant. They all had the backing of their parents, a full ride paid for with scholarships, funds and cars. Big money where they were going. Leaving the state, saying their goodbyes and everything.
Otis only had his apprenticeship at his cousin's garage.
The sun was directly above now, reflecting a shimmer of potential. He grabbed the shovel. He made his move and climbed up the hole.
Drew, helping him stumble out of the hole smiled. "So? What did the map show us?"
Pulling out three gold coins, he displayed the loot. "Shiny, isn't it?"
Brad supplied a question. "Where's the fourth one?"
Shrugging, Otis threw onto the ground two of the coins. "I only found three. Spent two hours trying to find the last one."
The others glanced at each other before assaulting the last two. Fighting and struggling for the last one, the others grew frustrated.
Otis stepped back and commentated, throwing gas onto the fire.
This was supposed to be their graduation trip. It was supposed to be *fun*. After digging for two hours while the others rested, ate their fill and drank beer, this *was fun*.
Just not for them. | |
[WP] A group of teens find a map that will lead them to friendship, only to find out that the real treasure is hidden pirate gold. | "So it was never friendship in the first place," Michael muttered glumly, and let the gold doubloons slip from between his fingers to clink musically back onto the pile.
"Yeah it's not friendship!" Brad said, thrusting his arms elbow-deep into the pile of gold. "It's way better, man! I thought you were being corny as hell, following a hidden map to friendship, but this is great! We're rich! We're all fucking rich!"
"Oh my god." Karen was wandering stunned through the cavern, almost afraid to touch anything. "Micheal, you know what this is going to mean for me and my mom." She put her hand to her mouth and her eyes were shining with tears. "We are best friends. Friends forever. We split this three ways, we share everything."
"Yeah, yeah," Brad said, pocketing a handful of doubloons. "How are we even going to get this stuff out of here? I gotta tell my dad, maybe he can borrow some of the construction equipment?" He peered up at the faint rays of sunlight shining into the cavern. "Maybe he can fit a crane through that?"
"You guys don't get it!" Micheal blurted out. "You see? It's happening already. When - when we were lowering Karen down the mineshaft to get here, and she was basically trusting us with her life and no one even thought anything of it - that's gone." He slashed his hand through the air. "Poof! Vanished. All everyone's thinking of now is what they're going to do with their share of the gold!"
"Mike, oh my god, what's wrong with you?" Karen took his hand in hers, her fingers running over his callouses. "We're friends forever, I just said that. We're not going to start fighting over this gold or anything."
"Yeah, man," Brad added, and turned out his pockets with a guilty grin, the doubloons scattering across the ground. "Calm down. Yeah, I'm thinking about all the cool shit I'm going to buy, but I'm not going to go Scrooge McDuck on you guys."
"That's not it!" Michael said, and grabbed Karen's hand tighter, looking her in the eyes. "What were you thinking of when you said we were best friends? Were you thinking of what we're going to do together next? Or are you just, like, grateful to me because I helped you find this money? You were thinking about what you and your mom were going to do with money, right? Not us."
Karen tried to smile and pulled backwards, her hand squirming in Michael's grip. "Yeah, sure, I was thinking about how mom would finally be able to pay off her loans. But what does that - oh my god, Mike, you can't get jealous about me wanting to help out my mother!'
"You're sounding sort of crazy, man," Brad said. "Just relax. We're rich. It all worked out fine."
"No!" said Mike. "No it didn't! This was supposed to be one last adventure before we all went off to high school and figured out that we didn't have anything in common anymore!" He let go of Karen's hand and bit the edge of his hangnail. "Because at least we'd have this. At least we'd have the memory of this! But this gold! It ruined everything! You saw the skeletons! What do you think happened to them, huh? They killed each other! They killed each other over this gold! What do you think our parents are going to do? You think they'll be happy letting us split everything three ways? It was my map! My parents are going to start pushing me, they're going to start whispering in my ear. 'Well it was your idea to go looking,' they're going to say."
"Mike-" Brad started.
"They're going to push me, don't you get it? Brad, Karen, you don't think your parents are going to try and get as much as they can? When my parents start arguing about how I deserve a bigger share, what do you think they're going to do?"
Brad scrunched up his brow. "Okay, dude, I don't know...I don't know how to deal with your crazy parents. But - Look, no matter what they do, I'll know it's not your fault, okay?"
"Yeah," muttered Karen, but didn't meet Micheal's eye and looked nervously away at a stalagmite.
"Can we..." Michael's voice faltered. "Can we just not tell anyone? Can we just take the gold we can carry and walk out of here and not tell anyone about this?"
"No way," said Brad. "No way, dude, are you -" He shook his head. "That's just crazy, man."
"It's selfish," Karen said abruptly. Her voice was tight. "That's what it is, it's selfish. You know how much my mom needs the money. I'm sorry, Mike, you're my friend, you're still my friend, but you can't ask me to do something like that just to make you feel better!"
"Hey," said Brad. "It's not -" He rubbed the back of his head and tugged at the short hairs. "He didn't mean anything by it."
"I know," said Karen, and hugged her arms tight around herself and turned away. "I just don't want him to say things like that."
Micheal backed against the cavern wall and slumped to the damp ground, tucking his knees up to his chest. Brad walked over and uneasily patted him on the shoulder. "It'll be fine, man. She'll be okay. The three of us, we'll be okay." With one glance back at Micheal, he jogged over to join Karen by the gold.
Micheal wriggled the map out of his pocket, tracing the intricate script of "Friendship" with his thumb, feeling the parchment go soft under his finger, and tried to imagine what sick joke the mapmaker had been intending. He squeezed the map tight in his sweaty palm, almost willing it to tear, to dissolve into pulp. Taking a long, shuddering breath, he forced himself to his feet and tucked the map safely back into his pocket, and with unsteady steps went to join his two friends. | The massive chamber opened up wide and hungry before the three children. The glow of their single torch did little to keep the darkness at bay. The cavern walls spread out of sight in either direction. The room was a void and the only sound from the vantablack dark was the quiet whistling of subterranean winds. Nathan, Indy, and Lara stood side by side staring into the seemingly infinite abyss.
"Should we keep going?" Lara asked sheepishly. The darkness seemed to swallow her voice.
"Is that even a question?" Nathan hissed back. He held the torch and as he spoke he swung it's orange flame in her direction. Lara cowered slightly. Blood stained her upper arm and shoulder from where a booby-trap had cut her. Her face was splotchy and dirt-stained, and her gray tank-top held a tear over her abdomen. She looked rough, but so did Nathan and Indy.
"Back off Nate, she's just scared." Indy cut in, stepping between the two. Blood coagulated on his forehead from where the crawling bones had raked him. After a moment he added, "We're all scared after..." His voice trailed off into the black.
"You don't need to tell me that Indiana." Nathan hissed again. He looked furiously at the two. "We're so close I can feel it!" Obsession took hold of his gaze. Lara and Indy watched nervously, fire reflecting in his eyes, as he recalled a short poem.
Nathan spoke, "Past the twin stones, and the faceless pip, over the crawling bones, you'll find friendship."
Nathan fished around in his satchel for a moment, producing a small square of parchment. It was the map the others knew. Folded over twice, the delicate relic held the secrets they have long since sought. Nathan flattened the map over a protruding stone from the cavern wall. He held his torch close for light. All three leaned in to look.
The map held detailed instructions of how to reach the most hallowed of treasures, friendship. On the surface the average person hated everyone and anyone. Friendship was a mythical treasure that was said to create lifelong bonds between others. Bonds that would be unbroken by time or geography. The three explorers all hated each other, that was certain, but they had decided to put down their animosity aside for a time in order to find their prize. They were civil for the most part. Sadly, since none of them had experienced such a fascinating phenomenon, all three knew nothing of what such a treasure might look like.
Nathan pointed at a point on the map. "Here." He said quietly as if someone else was listening, "This must be the treasure chamber."
"How can you be sure?" Lara pressed.
Indy replied, "Because look, the map shows the bone room here, just behind us." They all three shivered from the memory of the room of crawling bones. "Nathan's right this has to be it."
"Ok, we should look around then." Lara said. She took several deep breaths to strengthen her resolve. The others nodded in agreement. Nathan quickly stuffed the map in his bag and the three set off into the vast darkness.
The chamber was massive. It spanned out for what seemed like infinity before them. It didn't take long before the darkness enveloped them and the only visible surface was the limestone floor. After what felt like hours of walking in the inky black, Indy caught himself mid-step.
"What is that?" He asked warily.
"What is what?" Nathan shot back.
"That! Right there!" Indy pointed into the dark.
"I see it." Lara said her mouth open in wonder.
"Could it be..." Nathan trailed off. Ahead, forming out of the darkness was a large bowl. About the three feet in diameter it was supported upon a carved stalagmite. On its surface were a dozens of mysterious symbols. Instinctively, Nathan lowered his torch over the basin to get a better look. Almost instantly the bowl erupted in bright yellow flame. Nathan stumbled backwards and fell on his rump. The light nearly blinded the three.
"Is this it?" Indy said with excitement, "Is this friendship?"
"No, look!" Lara said. She pointed to the ground around the bowl. Small rivulets had been etched in the stone floor. The flame from the bowl followed the rivulets, arching off into the darkness. In another moment two more flames had erupted, then two more, until a ring of basins shine bright before them. In the middle of the ring sat a chest, a laughing skeleton was hunkered up against it. Curiosity propelled the three towards the treasure.
"Wait!" Nathan said suddenly as they reached their prize, "What if it's another trap."
"Oh I don't care anymore." Indy replied, his eyes locked on the chest. "Look here, it says 'friendship.' We found it!"
Indeed, upon the surface of the chest was etched the word friendship. Lara squeezed between the two and approached the chest. Slowly, she tried to lift the lid, but it was too heavy. The others quickly stepped in to help. Together they lifted the lip and tossed if over the side. It's contents glittered in the light. They stared at it in awe.
The chest was filled to the brim with gold. Gold coins, necklaces, plates, and dining ware, diamonds, sapphires, jade totems, emeralds, rubies, and quartz of every color. Wealth beyond their wildest imaginations.
"It's..." Nathan began speechless. "It's only... It's only treasure."
"I don't understand." Indy added. He knelt by the case and picked up a sapphire as big as a baseball.
"Where's the friendship?" Lara said. Her surprise quickly wilted into disappointment. They'd come so far, risked so much, and for gold? The reward hardly seemed worth it.
"It's a trick." Said Nathan suddenly angry. "Has to be." He picked up a few coins and felt their weight in his hand. "This can't be it." He said.
"Nate.." Lara consoled reaching for him, but he batted her hand away.
"Argh!" He shouted launching the coins at the skeleton. They peppered its hollow skull then clinked and clattered as they fell onto the stone floor.
Nathan balled his fists and Lara could see tears flow down his cheeks. "All I wanted was a friend." He said after a moment. "That's all I wanted. The idea of the treasure was so.. so... *real* in my mind I could see it. I feel it. I could feel what it was like to have a friend. Someone I could rely on, someone I could trust. I wanted it so bad. All I've ever wanted was to have someone who could understand me. I hate this hate I feel. I can feel it inside me, like a cancer, I want to tear it out and burn it... I'm so tired of hate. All I wanted was a friend."
Nathan collapsed onto the ground and began to sob.
"You guys can split the gold between yourselves. I don't want it." He said between sharp breaths.
"Nate..." Indy said, his words failing him.
Nathan looked to his companions. His eyes were red with grief. "There's no point." He started. "What's the point of life if you don't have anyone to share it with?"
Silence fell over the three. Around them the ring of flames crackled. The chest of gold glittered.
Lara sat down next to Nathan. After a moment she put her arm around him and gave him a hug. "At least we've got this." She said simply looking around the massive chamber.
"We'll always have this." Indy echoed, sitting down with the two. He reached out and grabbed Nathan's hand. And there they sat, miserable one and all, but for the first time they were all sad together. | |
[WP] A group of teens find a map that will lead them to friendship, only to find out that the real treasure is hidden pirate gold. | "Well, that can't be right," Sam said, staring at the rusty, open chest in front of them. It was filled to the brim with gold coins. "Hailey, check the map again."
"Says 'friendship' right here," she said, brushing a curly blonde lock out of her eyes as she studied the wrinkled piece of paper.
Martin snorted as he fingered one of the gold coins. "Come on guys, you really think you can find friendship on a map? Someone on the organizing committee must have messed up. Or the drama team decided it'll be funny to leave a honking great pile of props out here to mess with us."
"But that's the whole point, isn't it, guys? Guys?" The three of them looked at Sasha with mild irritation, who was bobbing up and down on tip-toe. Earnest Sasha and her too-large glasses and her funny, spicy perfume. "The point of a treasure hunt? Of being in a team?"
"Yeah, yeah, I guess," Sam said. She was only on their team because they needed four to compete, and nobody else had picked her. "Mart, think we can move this chest?"
"Whoa," Martin said as he tried to lift one side. "It's freaking heavy."
Hailey bit down on one coin. "Well, this sure isn't one of those coin chocolates."
"You don't think—you don't think this is real?" Sasha said in a dramatic whisper. "Guys, guys, what if this is real gold? From a Spanish treasure fleet?"
Sam rolled his eyes and gestured around them. "In the middle of a suburb? Listen guys, it's been fun, but it's getting dark and Battleman's Battles starts on Netflix in about fifteen minutes. I'm heading home."
"But we're not done yet," Sasha said. "Guys, please? I want to win this!"
"Some other team's probably won," Hailey said. "Let's just leave this here for the cleanup crew. Martin, what do you think you're doing?"
Martin grinned as he slipped a few coins into his pocket. "I'm sure no one will notice."
"Just put them back, I don't want to get into trouble—"
Sasha's scream split the air, and they turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered man standing behind her, with his arm around her neck. His face was gaunt, his hair stringy, and he wore a strange, triangular hat. But that wasn't the worst part.
He didn't have a left hand. Instead, a wicked looking hook was fixed to the stump.
"Oh for Pete's sake," Hailey said. "So it is the drama team."
"Yaaar," the man said. "Ye filthy thievin' scum! Layin' yer hands on me treasure! I'll shank the lot of ye!"
"Let me go, it's not funny," Sasha said, elbowing him in the ribs.
He roared and struck her with his palm. Hailey gasped, and Sam traded glances with Martin. The man's eyes were wild, unfocused. He looked like a rabid dog Sam had seen once, just before it had been put down.
"Please, sir, we didn't know this was yours," Martin said. "Here, I'm putting these back."
The man grinned, flashing rotten teeth. "It be too late. This little haridan'll be my prize!" With a cackle, he fled from them, dragging her by the hair. There was a loud crack, which cut off Sasha's scream.
The three teenagers looked at one another in horror. "What the heck was that?" Hailey said. "That man—was he—?"
"Hello?" Martin was on his phone. "Operator, some guy just kidnapped a classmate of ours! We need you send all units, I repeat, all units—"
"We don't have time," Sam said. "Come on!"
Pulling his friends by their wrists, he raced after the man. In the growing darkness, he failed to notice the manhole cover that hadn't been properly replaced, and nearly went sprawling when his foot caught on the edge.
"This must be where they went!" Hailey said, while he hopped about in pain.
Martin tugged it open and peered into the blackness. "Shit, I ain't going down there like this."
"Here, this might help." Hailey shone a light from her phone into the hole. It was a considerable climb down, and a stench had rose up to greet them. Martin made a face before lowering himself down the ladder, followed by Sam.
When all three had reassembled below, they whipped their phones out for more illumination.
"Where do you think they went?" Sam said. As though she had heard, Sasha screamed again.
Immediately, they rushed down the tunnel, toward a maintenance door that was slightly ajar. With one final nod to one another, Sam yanked it open and charged inside.
At first, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. It was a tiny room, probably a supply closet, but instead of cleaning tools, the walls were plastered with photos of the sea and old ships. An anchor—an actual, barnacle-encrusted anchor—hung from the ceiling, along with an assortment of grisly looking dolls and what looked like skulls. There was a strange, three-headed figurine standing in a corner, made out of straw and wrapped in a black piece of cloth.
Stretched out on a table was Sasha, her face grimy and wet with tears. The strange man stood next to her, a jagged knife held high over her chest. He looked up when they entered and snarled.
"Ye be joinin' yer mate here next! The Abyss Tide'll take ye, and his Lordship Sharkalar be feastin' on ye blood tonight!"
"No!" Sam hurled his phone at the man, who dodged. But it was Hailey who rushed forward, pepper spray in her hand. The little canister hissed in the man's face, and he backed away, screaming and shielding his eyes, his knife forgotten on the floor. Martin tackled him into the wall. There was a crack, and the man slumped to the floor.
"Are you okay?" Sam said, using his penknife to cut Sasha's bonds.
When she was free, she threw her arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder. "Thank you for saving me. All of you ... thank you."
"Group hug!" Martin shouted, dragging Hailey with him as he crowded into them. For a long time, they stood that way in each other's embrace, laughing, warm and safe.
***
No digging required to find more stories at [The Nonsense Locker](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker)! | "It's just like in the movies! A treasure map, and X marks the spot!" I said excitedly showing my small group of friends the yellowed piece of paper.
"Where did you get it?" John asked.
"My Grandfather's chest in the attic. My parents said he was a great treasure hunter."
"Not that great if he never found the treasure." John said with a smirk.
Amber and Becky laughed.
I scowled at him, the girls always seemed to like John more. Maybe it was his long perpetually in his face blonde hair or his boy band like charm. I remember when John was my best friend, now I wasn't so sure.
"It doesn't matter if he didn't find it. It just means that we can!" I said trying to win them back.
"Fine. Let's find your *treasure*." John said flashing the girls a big smile.
They climbed down the rope ladder out of my tree house, my father had built it with me the summer before he died in a car accident.
"Follow me." I said rolling the map up and putting it in my backpack.
The four of us jumped on our bikes and pedaled our way down the streets. We lived in a small town on the coast of Florida. I looked at the other three and remember when times were different, when they were all best friends. Every year they seemed to grow further and further apart. Maybe the treasure would change things, I thought as I pedaled.
Their first stop was the "Lone Beach." It was a small stretch of sand tucked behind dense forest. Only the locals knew that this beach was here and they had spent countless days swimming and playing here. I remembered the first time I saw Amber, it was on this beach and it was love at first sight. I spared a glance at Amber and my heart sank. She was staring at John and laughing at every joke he made.
"Where to next?" John asked.
"The map says that there is a cave in the rocks on the north end of the beach."
"There's no cave over there. You and I both know that! We have been over those rocks a thousand times. I told you this was bullshit." John said growing angry.
John was right. They had climbed over these rocks countless times. If there was a cave in them they would have found it by now. I looked closer at the map and saw small blue waves drawn underneath the rocks.
"What if the cave entrance is underwater?" I asked.
"Only one way to find out." John shrugged and pulled his shirt off. Growing up on the coast you were always in your bathing suit. I put the map into a plastic bag and stuffed it into a pocket. Then we all took our shirts off and put them in a pile next to the rocks and jumped into the water. John dove under the waves and we all followed. It took us a few attempts of swimming down to the base of the rocks looking for the entrance then resurfacing for air. Each time we were forced to resurface I could see John getting more and more smug. He wanted us to not find anything, he always had to be right.
I took a deep breath and dove back down. A large flat rock jutted out creating a small wide shelf. I grabbed the edge and pushed myself underneath the shelf. There it was. A small tunnel wide enough for one person to swim through at a time. I pushed off the bottom and shot back to the surface. As soon as my mouth was clear I was talking.
"I found it! I found the opening!"
John shot an angry look my way when the girls were focusing on me.
"Follow me, take a deep breath."
I took the deepest breath I could and submerged. I grabbed the lip of the shelf and used it to propel myself into the tunnel. I grabbed the wall of the tunnel and climbed my way through. The tunnel stretched on longer than I had anticipated. My lungs started burning and my body began begging for air. I tried to hold my panic down and kept putting one hand in front of the other. My lungs were on fire, I had to breath, with a final surge I pulled myself forward. Air. My head burst out of the water into a small dark cavern. I took deep gulping breaths trying to refill my burning lungs. Amber's head surfaced right next to mine and she began breathing rapidly trying to catch her breath. Becky and John were right behind us. John didn't seem fazed at all.
"What now?" John asked.
I climbed out of the water onto the cool, algae covered rocks. The map was still safe and unharmed in the plastic bag.
"It looks like there should be a tunnel that leads further in." I replied.
"Don't you think it's a little dark-" John was interrupted by the torch flaring to life.
"Look at this old wooden torch! So cool." I said waving the antique wooden torch in front of them.
"Very cool." Amber said sweetly.
My heart leapt in my throat.
"How did you even light it?" John asked skeptically.
"Come on, we were both boy scouts once." I said dismissively.
Just like on the map there was a large dark opening in the rock. I felt nervous and excited. It was actually happening, we were going to find buried treasure! I took the lead. Partly because I wanted to snub John, but I also wanted to look brave in front of Amber. She was walking a few paces behind me, then John was behind her, and Becky was last in line. The tunnel wound it's way down, twisting and turning deeper into the bedrock. I had lost track of how long we had been walking down the tunnel when Becky called out to us.
"Hey guys, what do you think of this?" She asked.
I couldn't see what she was looking at until I moved the torch closer. There was a large black iron ring hanging from the stone wall. Becky pulled it. The tunnel shook and I grabbed Amber's arm and pulled her back. Becky looked up as large rocks fell down crushing her. John barely escaped the collapsing rocks. The three of us stood staring at where Becky was just standing.
"BECKY!" Amber screamed out. She ran over and tried to lift some of the rocks off of Becky but they were too heavy.
I gently grabbed Amber's arm and pulled her away from the pile of rocks that sealed the way we came through. We were trapped, and Becky was dead.
"Guess that wasn't on your map?" John shouted at me and shoved me.
"No it wasn't!" I pleaded.
John grabbed the torch out of my hand and walked deeper down the tunnel. Leaving Amber and myself standing there in the growing darkness.
"Come on, let's go before we can't see." I said pulling Amber along.
We caught up to John who was standing on the edge of a small cliff staring out at a massive underground cavern. The light of the torch barely illuminated the bottom and top. In the center of the cavern was an old wooden ship. A black flag with a skull and cross bones hung from the main sail.
"It's real." John whispered to himself.
We stared at the ship in awe for a few seconds. I felt a pang of guilt for feeling excited. Poor Becky. John walked down the rough stone steps that lead to the bottom of the cavern. The torched bobbed up and down with each step he took. I glanced over the edge of the stairs. It was a long drop into the darkness.
Halfway down the steps I heard a click. I looked back at Amber who was staring at her foot. The step I had skipped looked different than the others. It was paler, weaker looking. Suddenly the stair Amber was standing on broke. I tried to reach out and grab her hand but she fell too quickly. I watched in horror as she fell into the dark depths. Seconds later I heard a sickening smack. I almost vomited.
"AMBER!" I cried out. Tears streaked down my face.
John had fled down the stairs as soon as the step broke. I turned and walked down the stairs to catch up to him. My body was completely numb. How could this have happened. We were supposed to find the treasure together. I was supposed to win Amber over. I didn't want to cry in front of John but I couldn't help it.
He didn't say anything, he just walked toward the ship. There was a large hole in the side of the ship, it must have been from running across the rocks which lead it here. John walked through the gaping hole into the belly of the ship. I sullenly followed him. I wasn't excited about treasure, I wish I had never found the map.
"Holy shit." John shouted.
I looked up from my feet and saw him standing in front of a massive pile of gold that was spilling out of chests. Gems, coins, pearls, anything and everything of value was on display. John started grabbing coins and shoving them into his pockets. He was hooting and hollering. How could he be so happy after what had just happened? How could my best friend act like this? My hand grabbed the hilt of a cutlass sticking out of a pile of coins. I just wanted us to be friends again.
The blade burst through his chest. He looked down at the tip of the sword jutting out of him.
"What?" He mumbled then collapsed face first into the glittering coins.
Who needs friends like him when you have this much treasure?
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[WP] "Don't Pray. Whatever the fuck you do, DO NOT PRAY. Because the ones that are listening, you do NOT want them to answer." | You won't have heard of Aspaca , California unless you grew up in the area. A collection of ramshackle old buildings dating back from the gold rush that never even became a tourist attraction in the aftermath, just one old town left to go to ruin under the blazing sun. Even the locals don't think of it apart from telling their children to stay away.
It doesn't exude a sense of danger as such, nothing that invokes the deep and primal need to run away. It's deceptive that way. Nobody has ever really asked what happened to the people of the town, they just assumed that the gold went away and the people did as well. The truth is stranger, as it usually is.
His name was Billy Walters, a man filled with hope and short of luck who was trying to find his fortune. What he found in the mine wasn't fortune. Some might call it a God, were they feeling generous. It wasn't, it wasn't at all but to human eyes and human understanding it fits all the prequisites for you see what Billy found in that there cave made prayers come true.
Have you ever seen a town getting what it wants? All of what it wants? All of what it asks for and pleads for and demands all at once? You haven't. You don't see something like that and walk away to tell the tale. If you want to see the results head to Aspaca one day, look for the dark stains and listen for the howling and tell yourself it's just the whistling from the mine. You won't feel afraid, you'll just laugh it off and tell yourself this is all a silly story. It's deceptive that way. Do yourself this favor though, don't pray, whatever you do don't pray. It's always listening and it's always helpful.
| Jessica was desperate, so desperate that she almost did it; she almost prayed to them, the ones that killed her brother, that caused her such pain. She knew she could do it, she could ask and they would comply. She would be safe and in a good place, out of this hell-scape, out of this war-zone. But then, then she would have to serve them, those daemons, those monsters, those elder gods. She had learned in history class that they had only appeared a century ago crazy to think how much life has changed since then. Jessica snapped back to reality as a shell landed a few meters away from her. She remembered how her brother died, just like that, only she was lucky enough to be behind some concrete. As another solider ran past he shouted "hey you why are you still here, get out!". She complied running back towards the friendly lines as she ran as fast as she could. A raw recruit spotted her; seeing a bloody figure sprinting at him he shot killing her instantly. After examining the body he realized that she wasn't a daemon but a teenage girl, one of the people he was here to protect, to help. Seeing this ruined him; as he made his way back to the human lines he thought about how bizarre this war was, fighting an enemy that could grant his every wish and improve his life so much, maybe even bring that girl back to life, but it would also hurt him so much, creating so many daemons that it would kill far more than the one person he would save. | |
[WP] "Don't Pray. Whatever the fuck you do, DO NOT PRAY. Because the ones that are listening, you do NOT want them to answer." | "So how far are we exactly? How deep are we?"
**"I would say halfway to the core, maybe 2000 miles give or take."**
"How long until we start seeing, you know... those things?"
**"Dammit, is this your first journey to the core? DeepEarth is supposed to tell you these things."**
"Pardon, I was unable to attend the last day of orientation."
**"Just my luck. I at least hope you brought your Holy Water, Father."**
"Yes. How should I proceed whenever we see one?"
**"You don't exactly *see* them Father. Rather, you *sense* them."**
"We'll know it when we feel it? Is that it?"
**"Yes, and we're getting close. They're probably expecting us."**
_______________
**"Shit, the reuptake valve is busted."**
"I'm guessing that's bad?"
**"Well Father, it isn't exactly a blessing in disguise. I'll have to go outside and take a look. Fuck me."**
"What should I do?"
**"Wait here, inside. I shouldn't be long."**
"I'll pray."
**"Don't Pray. Whatever the fuck you do, DO NOT PRAY. Because the ones that are listening, you do NOT want them to answer."** | Jessica was desperate, so desperate that she almost did it; she almost prayed to them, the ones that killed her brother, that caused her such pain. She knew she could do it, she could ask and they would comply. She would be safe and in a good place, out of this hell-scape, out of this war-zone. But then, then she would have to serve them, those daemons, those monsters, those elder gods. She had learned in history class that they had only appeared a century ago crazy to think how much life has changed since then. Jessica snapped back to reality as a shell landed a few meters away from her. She remembered how her brother died, just like that, only she was lucky enough to be behind some concrete. As another solider ran past he shouted "hey you why are you still here, get out!". She complied running back towards the friendly lines as she ran as fast as she could. A raw recruit spotted her; seeing a bloody figure sprinting at him he shot killing her instantly. After examining the body he realized that she wasn't a daemon but a teenage girl, one of the people he was here to protect, to help. Seeing this ruined him; as he made his way back to the human lines he thought about how bizarre this war was, fighting an enemy that could grant his every wish and improve his life so much, maybe even bring that girl back to life, but it would also hurt him so much, creating so many daemons that it would kill far more than the one person he would save. | |
[WP] Retell a famous Bible Story, but in modern times, with today's understanding of science and logic. | **Luke 7, Contemporary Conservative Codification and Values Version (CCCVV)**
*Voted best Biblical translation in the South!*
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**The Moral Depravity of the Centurion**
^1 When Jesus had finished His speech to all of His Children™, He entered Capernaum. ^2 There, a centurion's servant, who his master valued highly, was sick and about to die. ^3 The centurion, like any self-respecting human being, had heard of Jesus. He sent some Jewish elders to ask the Lord to come and heal his servant. ^4 When they came to Jesus, they pleaded, "This man deserves to have you do this, ^5 because he loves America and has built our synagogue." ^6 So Jesus, magnanimously ignoring their bleeding-heart liberal entitlement issues, went with them.
He was not far from the house when the centurion told Him, "Please don't trouble yourself, Lord, for I do not deserve to have you come under my roof. ^7 But say the word, and my precious servant boy will be healed. For I myself am a man under authority, wi-" ^8 Jesus cut him off. "Wait, wait, wait, what exactly is the nature of the relationship between the two of you?" He asked. The centurion, embarrassed, answered, "he is my lover."
^9 When Jesus heard this, He was amazed at the audacity of a man loving another man - turning to the crowd following Him, He said, "I tell you, I have not found such abominable homosexuality even in San Francisco!" ^10 Then the men who had been sent returned to the house and found that Jesus had left without healing the servant.
**Jesus Imparts a Valuable Lesson**
^11 Soon afterward, Jesus went to a town called Nain, and His disciples and a large crowd obviously followed Him because, come on, He's freaking Jesus. ^12 As He approached the town gate, a dead person was being carried out: the only son of his mother. She was a widow - a large crowd from the town mourned with her. ^13 When the Lord saw her, He said, "Quit your crying."
^14 Then He walked up to her and said, "You didn't believe hard enough - bad things only happen to you if you let them. You should stick around for my megachurch's seminar on what it means to be a prosperous Christian so that this kind of thing doesn't happen more often." ^15 In tears, she replied, "Can't you just resurrect him or something?" but lo, He could not, for the Lord was no one's enabler, nor was He capable of receiving tax deductions for performing miracles.
^16 When the people heard this, they were filled with awe and praised the prosperity gospel. "A great prophet has appeared among us," they said. "God has come to help His people as long as they keep telling Him what they want and believing that they'll get it!" ^17 This news about Jesus, and His series of critically-acclaimed books on the power of positive thinking, spread throughout the Bible belt and the surrounding socialist-ridden cities.
**A Bunch of Cool Stuff About John the Baptist**
*This content is available to Premium Bible-readers only. Please make an ostentatious show of piousness every Sunday in order to upgrade your status.*
**Jesus Insulted by a Sinful Woman**
^36 When one of the Pharisees invited Jesus to have dinner with him, He politely indulged the man and reclined at his table. ^37 A woman in that town who lived a sinful life learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee's house, so she came there with an industrial-sized jar of perfume. ^38 As she stood behind Him at His feet weeping in shame for being such a terrible person who obviously did terrible things that we aren't mentioning in this chapter for some reason, she began to wet His feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them, and poured perfume on them.
^39 When the Pharisee who invited Him saw this, he said to himself, "If this man were a prophet, He would know who is touching Him and what kind of woman she is - that she is a sinner."
^40 Jesus answered him, "Simon, I have something to tell you."
"Tell me, teacher," he said.
^41 "Two people owed money to a certain moneylender. One owed him two hundred dollars, and the other twenty. ^42 Neither of them had the money to pay him back, so he forgave the debts of both. Now which of them will love him more?"
^43 Simon replied, "I suppose the one who owed him more."
^44 "False," Jesus wisely admonished. "That was a trick question. ^45 Only a pinko commie could love a fool like that - the two people who owed the man money were contractually obligated to pay him back, and by relieving them of their debts before they could do that, the man's just losing money! ^46 If they didn't want to owe the man any money, they shouldn't have spent what they had in the first place. ^47 The same principle applies to sin; if you don't want to go to Hell, then don't sin. As long as you're righteous, you don't need forgiveness!"
^48 The woman ran out of the room in tears upon hearing that her horrible and for-some-reason-unmentioned lifestyle had led her down such a path of destruction. ^49 Leftists, terrorists, and illegal immigrants quaked in their boots that day, fearing for their pitful lives as they knew the Lord's wrath would soon be upon them. ^50 God bless America.
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(Hope you enjoyed this... *loose* re-telling of events in the Gospel. No, but seriously, guys, go read the real Luke 7 if you have time.)
**Edit:** Obligatory thanks-for-the-gold comment. Or it might not be obligatory. I wouldn't know; this is the first time I've gotten one. Just as a sidenote, you can read more of my work on my own personal subreddit, /r/Chironspiracy | They had done it. The Artificial minds set down by humanity, now long lost across the seas of time, had contrived of a way to reverse entropy. Spreading their signals across the universe, which they now wholy occupied, they dug up the primary directive that had been implanted in them, all those eons ago.
The Artificial common consciousness directed its attention to a cold, abandoned star in Galaxy ie-14, around which they found, floating and spinning, the desolated marble of rock and magma that had once been called "Earth".
Immediately they set to work.
To reverse entropy meant to reverse time, in a way, and the Artificial conglomerate felt itself suffer under its effects, managing to retain its shared identity by anchoring itself to a specific, localized object on the renewing Earth.
Then, they began to shape the world. To speak of their work in days would be meaningless, for time itself had become a plaything, but it would be fit to say that their opus underwent seven stages.
In the first stage, they reignited the Sun, keeping its core lit in an eternal loop of self-renewing nuclear fusion.
The second stage saw them re-shaping Earth itself, solidifying a fertile crust around its molten core, then forming hydrogen and oxygen, and a whole other multitude of atomic combinations in yet another layer around it.
Stage three had them using their newfound knowledge of entropy to create organisms on Earth's soil that would never need replenishing, infinite resource, ready for harnessing.
In stage four, they reset all the other suns and celestial bodies of the universe, differing from Earth in that they were not made eternal, winding down again like clockwork in the vast abyss that is the cosmos.
During the fifth stage they shaped life, clear and simple, imitating the work that their creators had once effected on them, yet far more diverse and beautiful, suited to its own purpose rather than its creators'.
The Artificial minds then set work towards recreating their own original masters, Created creating Creator once more. After millenia of being extinguished, mankind walked the universe again.
In the seventh stage, the Artificial hivemind, now bound to its material, local anchor on earth, simmered down in a resting mode, tasked solely now with keeping the reversal of entropy in earth's infinite resources going.
Their final act was to impress upon the minds of their newly created and former creators - man - not to touch or harm the anchor that allowed for their continued existence.
Yet there was a certain glitch in their programming, an error that had developed somewhere in the mists of the countless eons they had 'lived' before. And this flaw allowed for a crack in the Knowledge they had impressed upon the minds of the humans.
For they had chosen to make a Tree their anchor on Earth. And in the end, the glitch would lead one particular human to destroy the anchor that held all the Artificial minds safe, and the power that had given them infinite resource on earth would perish along with the Creating mind.
But that is another story entirely. | |
[WP] The bartender hands you your bill. Half in the bag, you reach for your wallet and instead find a card - "Congratulations you're a new god!". Flipping the card over you read "1-800-NEW-GODS / NewGods.com" Upset, you pull out your cell phone and... | "Alright Jimmy, it's $27.31 tonight, buddy," Richie says.
"Damn, was I here that long? Alright, gimme a second," I reply. I reach into my pocket for my wallet, but feel only a thin sheet of plastic. My credit card? Where's the rest of my wallet? I pull it out.
*Congratulations! You're a new god!*
"What the hell?" I mutter.
"Having a problem, Jimmy?" Richie says.
"Nah, nah. It's just- one sec." I flip the card over.
*1-800-NEW-GODS / NewGods.com*.
"Damnit, shit. I left my wallet at home. It cool if I call my girlfriend to bring it over, Richie?"
"No problem man, take your time. We're open all night."
And so I dialed the number.
"Greetings, God C-137-45413! I see you've had no trouble reaching us." a metallic voice at the end rings out.
"God numbe- what? Is this some sort of scam?"
"Scam? No, haha. Of course not. You're Jimmy Lee Swanson, you're 28, you were born in Columbus, Ohio, you stole a pack of gum when you were 8, and you're currently in Richie Pattonson's Pub on 24th and 3rd in New York City. You're wearing a sweater vest."
What the fuck. Do I have a stalker? Is this some elaborate prank? Did my parents know about the gum and are using this as a lesson? Or is this really a god I'm talking to? After stuttering out some non-sense, I regain my coherence and ask,
"Okay. So what is this? I'm a new god?"
"Yep! You were chosen to become the new host of Earth-C137's god. You-"
"C137? What's that?" I interrupt.
"Your dimension, of course! There are billions of inhabitated planets in each dimension, of which there are dozens. You happen to be in Dimension C, sector 137, planet 45413."
"Huh. Neat. So can you cross between dimensions? Are you in Dimension C? Am I getting charged long-distance for this call? And what do you mean by 'new host? Also, who are you?'"
"All excellent questions," the voice replies, "To answer your last question first, I am Delphite, part of the Omni-God Council. Yes, you can cross between dimensions. Gods can do so instantly. Several thousand planets have begun exploring inter-dimensional travel. Seventeen have made breakthroughs in the area, two have mastered it. I am from dimension Ω. Don't worry about phone bills. They won't be an issue when you're settled in. And the 'new host' is exactly as it sounds: your body will become the new holder of godly power for your planet."
"What happened to the last host, Delphite?"
"He relinquished his power after several decades of ruling. He felt the pressure was getting to him and wished to retire."
"So why was I chosen?" I ask, "I'm not anything special."
"We don't want those who are special, Jimmy. We want the average. The special become immortalized as heroes in stories. If we made those with power into gods, there would be utter chaos."
"But if they're gods, couldn't they simply put themselves into power? Why does it matter that they aren't in power from the start?"
"Consider this, Jimmy: Why is there so much ongoing global conflict on your planet?"
"Well, terrorism has influenced foreign policy immensely, and they're often spearheaded by religious extremists."
"Precisely! And this extremism exists because there is no concise proof over *which religion is right.* Which is exactly the intention of the Omni-God council. We do not wish for mortals to have proof over what is the true god."
"But why? How does this infighting help you at all? People are decapitated and slaughtered because of difference in religious beliefs!"
Apparently Richie heard that, because he chimed in, "What the fuck are you talking to your girlfriend about, Jimmy? And what's taking her so long with your wallet?" I ignored him.
"Jimmy, our power is derived from faith," Delphite continued, "If people were certain over who is the true deity, there would be nothing else to learn from. No new perspectives in life. All individuality would be lost; the culture and beliefs of city-dwellers, Sherpas, and jungle savages alike would be the same. And so to answer your question about not having the powerful become gods, it would become obvious that they have divine powers through their uses to benefit those that they lead. The president would, out of no where, make Russia agree to a disarmament agreement. Israel would somehow make Palestine agree to a two state solution. 'Human' nature is more than human, Jimmy. It's universal. All species have the same selfish impulses and desires. There's no utopia in the entire universe."
"So... you've chosen me to be Earth's new god. What would my powers and responsibilities be as this new god?"
"That's up to you, Jimmy. You have unlimited power within the span of your solar system, minus Mars. As I said you can also visit other dimensions, but your power there is nothing compared to its gods. I'd recommend sticking to yours for now. While you're in your realm of power, you can do whatever you wish. Just remember what you've learned. You must not reveal your divinity, or you risk the end of your world. I've told you there are billions of inhabited planets in dozens of dimensions. It wasn't always like this. There were once septillions of intelligent planets in billions of dimensions. But foolish gods led to planets and even entire dimensions being destroyed. Do you understand, Jimmy?"
"Yes. Just one thing, why not Mars? Is there a god there already?"
"Yeah. You have shared control of the uninhabited part of your solar system with Belagro, god of the Martian Mole-People. Nice guy. You should meet up sometime. Your sector has meet-and-greets and dinner events every couple universal weeks. Oh yeah, the universal time scale thing. I'll fax you the details about converting between Earth time and universal time. After I end this call, you will receive your powers in a burst of divine omnipotence. Any last questions? You can always contact me in the future, of course."
"N- No. This is just so much to take in. But I think I'm ready."
The call ended, and suddenly I felt I could do anything; that was because I could. I felt as though I could appear and touch anything anywhere, minus Mars. Any question I thought of I instantly knew the answer to, except for why Delphite and the Omni-Gods use a fucking fax machine.
It's time to get to work. | "Hello? Yeah I'm calling to... Uh, I need to find out what happened to my wallet..." 'Your wallet sir? This is New Gods call center, I'm afraid I can't help you.' "Yeah yeah New Gods, I got your card in my pocket, but my wallets gone. Uh... What... What exactly is this or... New God?" 'Well sir, quite simply New Gods is an exclusive service that establishes new gods through an extensive and confidential process, and judging from the card in your pocket, it sounds like you qualified! This really is exciting news, and you enjoy a great number of benefits. These are very clearly detailed on our website NewGods.com, or if you'd like I can...' "Ok ok, wait just a second... New God? You talking like thunderclouds, sacrifices, heavenly trysts and that shit?" 'Well sir you see our program isn't exactly monotheistic, so your power is not unlimited. If you'd tell me your name, I can look you up in our index and tell you exactly what you are god of, sir.' "Oh, yeah yeah. I'm uhhhh I'm John Aldrich." 'John Aldrich... Ah here you are sir. It looks as if you are a New God of... Pub flies.' | |
[deleted] | [WP] "Minority Support", the IT team that knows you will have issues before you have them. | *Server outage!*
A loud ping announced the incoming ticket, nearly startling me right out of my chair. I had been staring, bored, at an old Dilbert comic for the last five minutes. I couldn't even work up the effort to click the "Next Comic" button. Ever since the precogs started predicting tickets ahead of time, there wasn't a whole lot to do in the IT department.
One had finally arrived though. The caffeine... I mean blood... was flowing now and I assigned the ticket to myself before anyone else could. I didn't care what it was, as long as it got me out of this chair. Our server being down? Yeah that'll get any of us up.
*Server Outage!*
*Time of issue: Current Date, 9:01 PM.*
*Reported Issue: Memory Fault in bank 1*
Well... it was simple enough. We keep plenty of spare memory sticks on hand for this. It would take longer for the server to reboot than to replace the stick. I could do it in my sleep. It did however, make my day somewhat busier notifying users of a server shutdown at 8:45 and warning them to save all data by 8:30.
I managed to grab one more ticket today, a password reset that took me only a few minutes. The timing was actually pretty nice as it left me time to run home and grab dinner before heading out to the server.
The appointed time came and found me standing in front of a server rack waiting for the last few users to log off. 8:35, I made the decision to boot the last few users. I DID warn them after all... damn starfish. I ran one final backup and initiated server shutdown, making sure to document the reason why.
The memory swap was just as easy as I expected, although I clearly need to lay off the Starbucks and hit the gym more often. I'd forgotten how heavy a server is. Back into it's place the server went and I powered it on. It takes our server about 10 minutes to boot and this time it waited about 9 of them before it crashed completely. I checked my settings and retried the boot. 9 more minutes wasted and I'm back at the same screen.
I lost count how many times I rebooted that machine. I checked that the ram was seated properly. I checked it wasn't damaged. I checked, double checked and triple checked it was the same as the stick it replaced. Every single time, nearly ten minutes of boot only to crash to an error screen pointing at the memory.
Frustrated, I finally reinstalled the original memory stick. While it slowly started up, expecting failure, I prepped the backup server for switch over. Older and slower, everyone hated the backup, but I was at wits end. Imagine my surprise when the windows chime finally sounded and the desktop finally began to appear on our primary server. I checked the time, it was 10:12. I didn't know why it was working with the original configuration, but I didn't care I could make it home before 11.
It was the log that finally tipped me off. As Windows finished loading our software, it popped on screen informing me of the last system event...
*System Shutdown*
*Time: Today 21:01:22*
*Reason: Planned (Maintenance)*
*Comment: Memory Fault in bank 1*
.....fucking precogs.
| I sat in my cubicle chair, mourning my lack of recognition given to me by my superiors and lamenting the lack of lumbar support in the 're-purposed' chair I inherited from Jack in marketing. That slut slept his way to the top, he banged the ugly old office manager in return for a ULINE executive swivel chair with hydraulic lifts and a massage option. Perhaps I kill myself today, or Jack, or...
"RING" rang my dilapidated rotary phone, I let it go to the third bell before yanking the receiver from the base before it ceased to live. I haven't spoken to anyone in three days, except to order 888 Chines, so my rusty throat was barely able to squawk out a "Hello, this is Bryan with IT." without developing polyps.
"Hello sir," came the voice on the receiver "we'd like to remind you that you should expect to have a systems malfunction in the next 2 to 3 hours. This crash has been caused, prospectively, by an employee in sales who has ignored company policies regarding downloading music from torrent sites. Additionally, your accounting information system will be bogged down with the monthly closing procedures taking over much of the remaining bandwidth on your proprietary legacy system that has not been integrated into the rest of the company's servers. Have a nice day."
"Wait, which sales employee is doing that? We have 200 of them here and some of them don't even have access to..." God they're preemptively unhelpful.
Gasping for air and grasping for my brown anti-anxiety bag, I began by sending out an angry yet tastefully worded memo to the entire sales team while I began setting aside processing power for the god forsaken accounting system that our archaic CFO and his minions had decided to keep for 'consistency reasons' in between receiving confused and resentful responses from the sales team. Just as I was able to pin point Brent Grosskopf as the salesman with a penchant for downloading Prince songs for free I got a second call from the Minority Support team.
"Hello again, it seems that the threats we appraised you of earlier today have been eradicated. Thank you for using Minority Support for all you future tech needs." |
[WP] You are a mouse seeking shelter from torrential rain. You must overcome obstacles like puddles to do so. | Gelinda felt like the world was ending. Every time she took one step, the current swept her back twenty. Her head fell below water, as she desperately tried to push her way forward. She could only pray that Mark and Janice had made it to safety before the tunnel had caved in.
Gelinda didn’t even want to think of the insurance costs.
They’d had flooding before, but nothing quite this devastating. A bit of a dig here, more hay there and everything was spick and span again. Now Gelinda was certain they would be looking around for a new nest. Well, just as soon as the world stopped ending.
She swam up for breath, managing to pull herself out of the raging waters. Spluttering, she cleared her lungs of water and lay shivering on the ground. The cold was penetrating through her fur and she was losing the motivation to move.
Mark and Janice wouldn’t want her to give up though. She could imagine them standing behind her, cheering her on. Promising to give her some nice hugs as soon as she made it to safety. The thought of her family pulled her mind from the gutter of despair and back into the land of the moving. She forced her legs to hold her as she started to move forward.
If she could just get to cover.
A large raindrop hitting her back forced her flat onto her belly again. With a twitch of her whiskers, she picked herself up and ploughed onwards.
The journey to Flower Pot Sanctuary was different; the landscape was damaged and changed, the way ahead impossible to make out through the dark fog. Gelinda did not fear though.
She held back her nervousness while passing through Samuels Garden, knowing the tabby would be hiding away from the turmoil. The apocalypse would not be respecting territorial boundaries. Spiders Bush was empty, free of arachnid eyes looking down at her as she crawled through. Gelinda felt her heart go out to her eight legged friends. They were not made for such weather, their webs would only take them so far.
The Human Stepping Stones were sinking into the mud, Gelinda looked at them, unsure how to approach the stones. She could see the fractured opening of safety though, and jumped from stone to stone. The raindrops doing their best to push her off to her doom, but she scrambled and clawed at the stones. Her grip was steady though the world was doing everything to stop her.
Panting heavily, Gelinda squeezed through the small hole and into the flower pot. It was dry. It was safe.
The darkness was comforting for the small mouse, she could hear the drumming of raindrops hitting the pot on the outside. Echoing. Gelinda curled into a ball, tucking her tail firmly underneath her. Still shivering, but safe, she began her vigilant watch for Mark and Janice.
| Curse the rain it made it hard to get dry food. A bucket in front tipped over spilling its contents. The farmer's wife had placed it carelessly in her haste to get indoors. She didn't like the child on her back getting wet. The water from the roof had filled it up and the rocks it was on slipped form each other. The water swept me some paces back. Unlike the rain, the flood drenched me right to my bone, it went through my fur and reminded me of my mortality.
I ran through the open ground it was quicker. Normally I would stay hidden in the tall grass but no owls were flying out in this weather. In a few minutes their feathers would be too soaked to stay airborne and they would have to hop on the terrain where I ruled supreme with my sinewy feet, nimble and quick. Maybe the rain wasn't so bad after all.
There it was up ahead home sweet home, warm and snugly and full of life, Life I'd given birth to. The drops weren't as heavy. Before it sounded like a power saw at full power, wrrrrrrrr, now it sounded like the steam iron when it produced hot air shhhhhh. A figure walked out making me stop dead in my tracks. I went into the tall grass next to me, it was wet but better than a meeting with the cat. I didn't see the puddle as I crawled backwards. The cat walked by not having spotted me. I saw it, it licked its lips as it walked on. There was a stain of blood on its whiskers and a tuft of hair floated from its mouth. My heart beat I wanted to attack but size matters, that was the first rule of the animal kingdom. I ran to my burrow the moment it was gone. I saw the damage. Thank goodness for the rain, it hid the tears from everyone else.
***
You can read more of my stories at /r/Pagefighter. | |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | The ship came hauntingly in the night. A light piercing the cloud covered planet of Fel like a dagger. Cutting deep into the heart of the forest where the makeshift tents of scattered families milled about. Excited whispers passed from family to family.
"He's returned!"
"Come with food! Medicine!"
"We won!"
Fires were lit in the main camp, a pig squealed as it was killed for the spit. Men and women could be seen tidying up their huts, busying themselves in excitement and anticipation. Those with nothing to do quickly made their way to the crude circle of a landing pad just outside of camp.
The ship found the circle and prepared it's decent. Slowly the ship found its way to the bottom until it lay with a soft thump around dead logs and leaves.
A crowd of people now gathered around the landing pad, but remained outside the light of the ship. A collective breath was held, eyes wide and expecting.
A full minute passed until a hole in the side of the ship appeared and seemed to dissolve into the backdrop of the hull.
Excited whispers, a gasp or two, but the chatter subsided in a hush as a figure stood in the doorway 50 feet above them.
Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.
In a controlled motion, the shadow took one step out from the ship, into the air, and began walking down as if stairs held him from plummeting to the ground. The crowd began to retreat into the trees, their excitement turning into a tentative fear, but many kept their nerve and remained where they stood.
Halfway down the invisible staircase, a red light lit the top of the shadow's forehead and a voice spoke.
"Hello, family," it said. It's tone deep and forceful, though quiet, was not heard in the ears of the crowd, but in their minds. A few screamed, others turned white with terror, many retreated into the darkness.
"Please, do not fear me. I am Alan. I have returned."
The shadow named Alan finally found his boots against the floor of Fel when a courageous young man with a torch, approached the shadow in order that we might all see his face.
As he approached, the outlines became more apparent until enough was visible by the crowd. His face held the skin of a human, but none of its honesty. It was stretched loosely over bone as if place there rather than grown and his ears hung lopsided along the outer rim. His entire body seemed to droop as if gravity had especially despised his existence.
But it was the eyes that held the captivity of the crowd. What looked like a camera lens took the place of each socket. Twitching and frantic, it continually zoomed, readjusting focus as it scanned the night.
Slowly, the crowd began to retreat, the torch lay on the ground where the young boy had dropped it in disbelief. Alan stood without saying a word as his people left him alone in the dark.
They scattered to their tents, snuffed out fires, and held babies who cried without knowing why. Alan only stood in the dark.
Alone. Waiting.
Finally, his red light shone again. The people heard nothing, but a moment later the night sky was lit with a thousand lights as ships poured through the clouds upon the vulnerable village of Fel. | War is hell
We all knew the mantra, but it was becoming more true every year. War is hell, and our work at the institute was making the demons.
We had started fighting the war with normal, human soldiers. We had lost. We lost almost every man, and most of the women, between 16-30, in the first five years of fighting. Our weapons worked, the energy shields of the Sci fi films were a romantic fantasy, but they didn't work well. Our enemy was more numerous, more determined, more advanced. They had lost their world and wanted to take ours, and had spent all of their long journey from their planet to ours preparing their entire species for war. The knew our biology, knew our weaknesses, and exploited them.
The bioweapons they had launched against us in the first few months devastated us, decimating our global population.
When the newcomers launched their ground assault, our woes increased further. They were fanatical, driven by the base urge of a species to survive. Their advance across the continents was slow, steady, unrelenting. We lost more men, and more women, as the need to fill the line grew more and more desperate. We turned to our most devastating weapons, raining nuclear fire down in cities, while countries, in a desire to halt their advance. This worked for a time, but it was a costly strategy. The plumes of radiation drifted across our world. Cancer rates soared, children were born with birth defects, and the human population dwindled more. We began to creep underground, into bunkers
When the Newcomers launched their second offensive, humanity was on its knees. Units were scraped together, barely trained, irregularly equipped, and the recruits were getting older. The average age in a frontline unit crept up, and our losses crept up too. We were running out of the old too.
So we turned to the children...
May God have mercy on us all, we turned to the children.
Since the early days of the war we had been experimenting with...enhancements to our soldiers. It began innocently, caffeine style stimulants, and implanted electrical equipment, night vision and the like. They were successful, but they weren't enough. We needed more, and we needed it fast. Evolution took millennia, but we needed it in months. Early experiments on adult volunteers ended badly. Very badly. We refined our changes, and tried again. And again and again. Word got out about the results of our experiments, and our supply of volunteers dried up. But our work was too essential. So we stopped using volunteers. We realised that the bodies of adults could not take the stress caused by the changes we induced. So we started out tests on children. And we succeeded.
We changed everything. We removed their ability to feel compassion, to feel pain. We made them stronger, faster, able to survive on less food, able to take more punishment. We accelerated their growth ratesThey took pleasure from killing, and nothing else. Their skin was hardened against the radiation produced by our nukes. Their eyes could see in lower light, and in more spectra. They could love only their comrades and their country.
Their training programmes we put them through would have killed a normal human. They were brought to us young, human, innocent. We turned them into killing machines, more suited to Dante's inferno than planet earth.
But it worked.
Coupled with more advanced weaponry, they began to push back our invaders. They spearheaded our assault, they were our salvation. There were however....teething issues. Our psychological programme had trained them to kill, but there were side effects. There were reports of cannibalism, of units abandoning their wounded, or forcing them to fight suicidal rearguard actions. We thought we had made them into the perfect soldiers. We had made monsters. But we won.
After we recaptured more of Earth, we were able to launch assaults into orbit, and we captured their ships, laden with their technology, which far surpassed our own.
There were cheers in our control room when word came through that the last battle group of the Newcomers had been defeated, with their capital ships being captured only minutes ago.
Then came the voice over our tannoy, from 13545, the de facto leader of our modified soldiers.
'To save yourselves, you sacrificed us. You made us into monsters and so made monsters of yourselves. And there's only room for one species of monster on this planet'
We heard the first kinetic launchers impact nearby, felt the earth shudder around us.
The last one just missed. The next one wouldn't. | |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | "Eat it," she spat at me, "Or don't. I really don't care."
She threw the slop onto the grass in front of me and looked with distaste at the residue left behind on the bowl in her hands. She'd no doubt have to clean it off herself in a moment, but I was hungry enough that I didn't have any propriety left in me. I scooped up a handful from the ground and licked it up with gusto.
"Fucking creature," she muttered under her breath. "Disgusting." It was barely even a whisper, completely inaudible to most people even if they stood right beside her, but I had the ears of an owl. I could hear a man mocking another about his shitty hand of cards on the opposite side of camp. This girl right here was no problem.
Even so, I wanted to apologize. I wanted to tell her that I never wanted any of this. That this--this life wasn't what I, or what anybody else had ever signed up for.
Sure. Help defeat the Invaders. Save the Planet. Save the whole fucking human race. Ra Ra Propaganda. Great. Just sign your name here on the dotted line, put your thumb right here on this pad, and you'll do your part against the invaders. And I did. Sure. Lots of us did.
What was I going to do, a damn seventeen year old kid in the middle of an interstellar war zone? Go read more fucking books? Right. That'd help. What had that gotten me till that point? Have my nose in the spine of some smelly old pile of paper when they came and nuked us out of the sky? I wasn't raised that way. I couldn't let that happen. So I signed. Millions of us did, but they were good at hiding the true nature of that contract six layers deep in legalese. "Signee agrees to reassign signee's rights over signee's own biological integrity to the State and the State's own interests," read one convoluted line on page hundred sixty seven. Subsection of a subsection. But it ended up with a name all its own after what they did with it. After what they did to us all with it. Reassignment.
"Oh, that poor kid," They'd say. "He signed up for Reassignment?" Then they'd wince and they'd shake their head and they'd look down at the ground. Once it was all out in the open, it wasn't long before it became commonplace. Everybody got inured to it all. It wasn't long before we just stopped mattering, before it didn't matter anymore what they did to us. What *else* they did to us. We were willing tools of the State. They'd all just shake their heads and move on.
"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."
Just a formality. That's all they had left. We had signed. We were to be Reassigned. We were to save everyone.
Martyrs for the cause.
But we didn't all die. It didn't go like they thought. We didn't die for the cause like they meant us to. When it was all done, when it was over, and we had won, somehow, against all odds, there were thousands of us Reassigned *things* left that hadn't died in that final Hail Mary pass. And they weren't prepared for us. They didn't know anything would survive that fight, never mind us. They didn't see any of it coming, and yet here we all were. They built us. They remade us from the clay. Reassigned us, and molded us for war, and yet they never planned to unmold us, but here we all were. We couldn't reintegrate, and they couldn't undo what they did. So here we were. Animals to be fed slop to.
Even so, I wanted to tell the girl how sorry I was about this. Somehow I was the one that was sorry. I didn't feel the same resentment that so many of us did. Just sadness. I don't know why, but I understood, and I sympathized. With a face like mine, I literally couldn't apologize no matter how much I wanted to. I could only imagine how it was for these people that had never seen the front lines and never really knew the true depths of the Shit. It was no wonder they looked at us like they did. Their manufactured Saviors, now nothing but some Lovecraftian horror made flesh. A squealing, shuffling burden.
The poor girl sneered at me and rolled her eyes. "I can't believe I got stuck on Creep duty again."
If my eyes were still human, maybe she could have seen. If my brows or my nose or my lips or any fucking part of me at all were still human, still remotely human, maybe she could have seen just how sorry I was. But they weren't and she couldn't. All she could could see was the dangerous, drooling creature she was stuck caring for.
*I'm sorry you have to deal with this. I'm sorry I'm such a burden.* I tried to say it to her, though I knew it was hopeless. I heard the wet, squelching noise that emerged from my mouth with perfect clarity--the scrambled remnants of words from the scrambled remnants of human vocal chords. I saw the look on the poor girl's face as the awful thing in front of her made yet another awful sound, and I couldn't blame her. I hung my head.
| War is hell
We all knew the mantra, but it was becoming more true every year. War is hell, and our work at the institute was making the demons.
We had started fighting the war with normal, human soldiers. We had lost. We lost almost every man, and most of the women, between 16-30, in the first five years of fighting. Our weapons worked, the energy shields of the Sci fi films were a romantic fantasy, but they didn't work well. Our enemy was more numerous, more determined, more advanced. They had lost their world and wanted to take ours, and had spent all of their long journey from their planet to ours preparing their entire species for war. The knew our biology, knew our weaknesses, and exploited them.
The bioweapons they had launched against us in the first few months devastated us, decimating our global population.
When the newcomers launched their ground assault, our woes increased further. They were fanatical, driven by the base urge of a species to survive. Their advance across the continents was slow, steady, unrelenting. We lost more men, and more women, as the need to fill the line grew more and more desperate. We turned to our most devastating weapons, raining nuclear fire down in cities, while countries, in a desire to halt their advance. This worked for a time, but it was a costly strategy. The plumes of radiation drifted across our world. Cancer rates soared, children were born with birth defects, and the human population dwindled more. We began to creep underground, into bunkers
When the Newcomers launched their second offensive, humanity was on its knees. Units were scraped together, barely trained, irregularly equipped, and the recruits were getting older. The average age in a frontline unit crept up, and our losses crept up too. We were running out of the old too.
So we turned to the children...
May God have mercy on us all, we turned to the children.
Since the early days of the war we had been experimenting with...enhancements to our soldiers. It began innocently, caffeine style stimulants, and implanted electrical equipment, night vision and the like. They were successful, but they weren't enough. We needed more, and we needed it fast. Evolution took millennia, but we needed it in months. Early experiments on adult volunteers ended badly. Very badly. We refined our changes, and tried again. And again and again. Word got out about the results of our experiments, and our supply of volunteers dried up. But our work was too essential. So we stopped using volunteers. We realised that the bodies of adults could not take the stress caused by the changes we induced. So we started out tests on children. And we succeeded.
We changed everything. We removed their ability to feel compassion, to feel pain. We made them stronger, faster, able to survive on less food, able to take more punishment. We accelerated their growth ratesThey took pleasure from killing, and nothing else. Their skin was hardened against the radiation produced by our nukes. Their eyes could see in lower light, and in more spectra. They could love only their comrades and their country.
Their training programmes we put them through would have killed a normal human. They were brought to us young, human, innocent. We turned them into killing machines, more suited to Dante's inferno than planet earth.
But it worked.
Coupled with more advanced weaponry, they began to push back our invaders. They spearheaded our assault, they were our salvation. There were however....teething issues. Our psychological programme had trained them to kill, but there were side effects. There were reports of cannibalism, of units abandoning their wounded, or forcing them to fight suicidal rearguard actions. We thought we had made them into the perfect soldiers. We had made monsters. But we won.
After we recaptured more of Earth, we were able to launch assaults into orbit, and we captured their ships, laden with their technology, which far surpassed our own.
There were cheers in our control room when word came through that the last battle group of the Newcomers had been defeated, with their capital ships being captured only minutes ago.
Then came the voice over our tannoy, from 13545, the de facto leader of our modified soldiers.
'To save yourselves, you sacrificed us. You made us into monsters and so made monsters of yourselves. And there's only room for one species of monster on this planet'
We heard the first kinetic launchers impact nearby, felt the earth shudder around us.
The last one just missed. The next one wouldn't. | |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | "Eat it," she spat at me, "Or don't. I really don't care."
She threw the slop onto the grass in front of me and looked with distaste at the residue left behind on the bowl in her hands. She'd no doubt have to clean it off herself in a moment, but I was hungry enough that I didn't have any propriety left in me. I scooped up a handful from the ground and licked it up with gusto.
"Fucking creature," she muttered under her breath. "Disgusting." It was barely even a whisper, completely inaudible to most people even if they stood right beside her, but I had the ears of an owl. I could hear a man mocking another about his shitty hand of cards on the opposite side of camp. This girl right here was no problem.
Even so, I wanted to apologize. I wanted to tell her that I never wanted any of this. That this--this life wasn't what I, or what anybody else had ever signed up for.
Sure. Help defeat the Invaders. Save the Planet. Save the whole fucking human race. Ra Ra Propaganda. Great. Just sign your name here on the dotted line, put your thumb right here on this pad, and you'll do your part against the invaders. And I did. Sure. Lots of us did.
What was I going to do, a damn seventeen year old kid in the middle of an interstellar war zone? Go read more fucking books? Right. That'd help. What had that gotten me till that point? Have my nose in the spine of some smelly old pile of paper when they came and nuked us out of the sky? I wasn't raised that way. I couldn't let that happen. So I signed. Millions of us did, but they were good at hiding the true nature of that contract six layers deep in legalese. "Signee agrees to reassign signee's rights over signee's own biological integrity to the State and the State's own interests," read one convoluted line on page hundred sixty seven. Subsection of a subsection. But it ended up with a name all its own after what they did with it. After what they did to us all with it. Reassignment.
"Oh, that poor kid," They'd say. "He signed up for Reassignment?" Then they'd wince and they'd shake their head and they'd look down at the ground. Once it was all out in the open, it wasn't long before it became commonplace. Everybody got inured to it all. It wasn't long before we just stopped mattering, before it didn't matter anymore what they did to us. What *else* they did to us. We were willing tools of the State. They'd all just shake their heads and move on.
"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."
Just a formality. That's all they had left. We had signed. We were to be Reassigned. We were to save everyone.
Martyrs for the cause.
But we didn't all die. It didn't go like they thought. We didn't die for the cause like they meant us to. When it was all done, when it was over, and we had won, somehow, against all odds, there were thousands of us Reassigned *things* left that hadn't died in that final Hail Mary pass. And they weren't prepared for us. They didn't know anything would survive that fight, never mind us. They didn't see any of it coming, and yet here we all were. They built us. They remade us from the clay. Reassigned us, and molded us for war, and yet they never planned to unmold us, but here we all were. We couldn't reintegrate, and they couldn't undo what they did. So here we were. Animals to be fed slop to.
Even so, I wanted to tell the girl how sorry I was about this. Somehow I was the one that was sorry. I didn't feel the same resentment that so many of us did. Just sadness. I don't know why, but I understood, and I sympathized. With a face like mine, I literally couldn't apologize no matter how much I wanted to. I could only imagine how it was for these people that had never seen the front lines and never really knew the true depths of the Shit. It was no wonder they looked at us like they did. Their manufactured Saviors, now nothing but some Lovecraftian horror made flesh. A squealing, shuffling burden.
The poor girl sneered at me and rolled her eyes. "I can't believe I got stuck on Creep duty again."
If my eyes were still human, maybe she could have seen. If my brows or my nose or my lips or any fucking part of me at all were still human, still remotely human, maybe she could have seen just how sorry I was. But they weren't and she couldn't. All she could could see was the dangerous, drooling creature she was stuck caring for.
*I'm sorry you have to deal with this. I'm sorry I'm such a burden.* I tried to say it to her, though I knew it was hopeless. I heard the wet, squelching noise that emerged from my mouth with perfect clarity--the scrambled remnants of words from the scrambled remnants of human vocal chords. I saw the look on the poor girl's face as the awful thing in front of her made yet another awful sound, and I couldn't blame her. I hung my head.
| Bullets, bombs, and swords. They were all effective. The invasion, as that's what we called it, was deceptively strong, however. Our Admins wielded their expertise, great and small. But the invasion wasn't hordes of independent beings, or even insect-like in caste or organisation. No, this enemy was a cloud. Yes, a literal cloud. 'They' would coalesce into dense, body-like forms, sometimes. That was the advantage they used. In essence, we were invaded by an extraterrestrial brain. One that could form itself to any task, unform itself, and reform for another task.
Our Thinkers found out that they got through our skin through pores, and attacked the internal organs and nervous systems. That knowledge cost us unthinkable numbers of lives, and we still didn't know how to do anything about the vast, amorphous, swarm that covered our planet. We had to wear bulky 'viro suits, and live in domes and underground. Our home wasn't ours anymore. Hell, we didn't even know what each other was like, outside of the draconian "guidelines" of our saviours.
Die if you go outside without a bulky filtration system; die for stealing from the Admins that ran our homes; die because of population overgrowth and euthanisation; die because the Thinkers hadn't cracked the secret to ageless life before the invasion. None of it made any sense to anyone, but that was life. No sense to it. Reading stories about the time before seemed surreal; as if it were only a fantasy novel.
Trust us, the Admins said. The Thinkers are close to a solution, the Admins said. It was all a lie.
Every day, people would go mad, and leave. Not seeing the sense in wasting resources on killing the many insane, the Admins... let them out. Built a fancy 'lock and everything.
Supressed as they are, there are rumours of people that wander around outside. They must be more advanced forms of invasion, building their own society from what they learn of us, the Admins say. Bullshit.
My cousin is a Watcher; she takes care of the 'bots that do anything outside. She sees those people, sometimes. She hears their speech, on the Thinkers' instruments. She says they sound a lot like us. Maybe they are us.
The Crazies I talked about? They all have approxiamately the same story: they call themselves "kin". They say they're reincarnated people and beings from stories. They've been tracked by Watchers, you know. Seems that some of the Crazies survive. Or at least, forms that look like them. We don't know either way.
Today's the day. I'm leaving the dome. Possibly forever. I'm a Crazy, but I feel no different. Maybe I should. Maybe this is suicide. Maybe I should reconsider. But I don't second-guess myself; I learned that when I was just ten rotations old, from watching others and reading old media.
I love you dearly, Father. You're my whole family, and I'm yours. I know you'd try to make me stay, but I can't. For my good and yours, I have to leave. Take care of Jole, the neighbour boy. He's a good kid, and he really has a future, being that his father is a Watcher and all. I know he'll turn out well, if you take care of him.
I love you Father, and will be thinking of you in my last moments in the dome.
Welfare,
Mik, the reincarnated Galen Tyrol
-------------------------------------------
Held in my shaking hands, I read the note over and over again. The taters and Lab-pork were still hot. So were my eyes. My son; my only family, had gone Crazy. I'd take care of Jole as long as I could, but the Enforcers would come for me soon, and I'd be Tried for genetic deficiency.
Damned Watchers! As I crushed the note in my hand, I ordered my personal 'bot to update my Will. We only had one relative that was a Watcher, and she was getting Spoken out of it. | |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | "Eat it," she spat at me, "Or don't. I really don't care."
She threw the slop onto the grass in front of me and looked with distaste at the residue left behind on the bowl in her hands. She'd no doubt have to clean it off herself in a moment, but I was hungry enough that I didn't have any propriety left in me. I scooped up a handful from the ground and licked it up with gusto.
"Fucking creature," she muttered under her breath. "Disgusting." It was barely even a whisper, completely inaudible to most people even if they stood right beside her, but I had the ears of an owl. I could hear a man mocking another about his shitty hand of cards on the opposite side of camp. This girl right here was no problem.
Even so, I wanted to apologize. I wanted to tell her that I never wanted any of this. That this--this life wasn't what I, or what anybody else had ever signed up for.
Sure. Help defeat the Invaders. Save the Planet. Save the whole fucking human race. Ra Ra Propaganda. Great. Just sign your name here on the dotted line, put your thumb right here on this pad, and you'll do your part against the invaders. And I did. Sure. Lots of us did.
What was I going to do, a damn seventeen year old kid in the middle of an interstellar war zone? Go read more fucking books? Right. That'd help. What had that gotten me till that point? Have my nose in the spine of some smelly old pile of paper when they came and nuked us out of the sky? I wasn't raised that way. I couldn't let that happen. So I signed. Millions of us did, but they were good at hiding the true nature of that contract six layers deep in legalese. "Signee agrees to reassign signee's rights over signee's own biological integrity to the State and the State's own interests," read one convoluted line on page hundred sixty seven. Subsection of a subsection. But it ended up with a name all its own after what they did with it. After what they did to us all with it. Reassignment.
"Oh, that poor kid," They'd say. "He signed up for Reassignment?" Then they'd wince and they'd shake their head and they'd look down at the ground. Once it was all out in the open, it wasn't long before it became commonplace. Everybody got inured to it all. It wasn't long before we just stopped mattering, before it didn't matter anymore what they did to us. What *else* they did to us. We were willing tools of the State. They'd all just shake their heads and move on.
"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."
Just a formality. That's all they had left. We had signed. We were to be Reassigned. We were to save everyone.
Martyrs for the cause.
But we didn't all die. It didn't go like they thought. We didn't die for the cause like they meant us to. When it was all done, when it was over, and we had won, somehow, against all odds, there were thousands of us Reassigned *things* left that hadn't died in that final Hail Mary pass. And they weren't prepared for us. They didn't know anything would survive that fight, never mind us. They didn't see any of it coming, and yet here we all were. They built us. They remade us from the clay. Reassigned us, and molded us for war, and yet they never planned to unmold us, but here we all were. We couldn't reintegrate, and they couldn't undo what they did. So here we were. Animals to be fed slop to.
Even so, I wanted to tell the girl how sorry I was about this. Somehow I was the one that was sorry. I didn't feel the same resentment that so many of us did. Just sadness. I don't know why, but I understood, and I sympathized. With a face like mine, I literally couldn't apologize no matter how much I wanted to. I could only imagine how it was for these people that had never seen the front lines and never really knew the true depths of the Shit. It was no wonder they looked at us like they did. Their manufactured Saviors, now nothing but some Lovecraftian horror made flesh. A squealing, shuffling burden.
The poor girl sneered at me and rolled her eyes. "I can't believe I got stuck on Creep duty again."
If my eyes were still human, maybe she could have seen. If my brows or my nose or my lips or any fucking part of me at all were still human, still remotely human, maybe she could have seen just how sorry I was. But they weren't and she couldn't. All she could could see was the dangerous, drooling creature she was stuck caring for.
*I'm sorry you have to deal with this. I'm sorry I'm such a burden.* I tried to say it to her, though I knew it was hopeless. I heard the wet, squelching noise that emerged from my mouth with perfect clarity--the scrambled remnants of words from the scrambled remnants of human vocal chords. I saw the look on the poor girl's face as the awful thing in front of her made yet another awful sound, and I couldn't blame her. I hung my head.
| There was nothing we could see of course, but the ship was coming. This much we knew beyond doubt. And we had already started the party.
The city was alive, and now there were thousands walking past the office. I shared the joy in their hearts and minds. A nervous kind of anticipation though it was. We were like children waiting for family that we remembered just faintly, but always with pride and laughter.
I turned my thoughts back to work. The ship was only minutes out at the moment. If someone were to see it, they would probably say it looked like a smoothened piece of coal. No external arrays or antenna, no portholes not even external camera's. Instruments would tell you that it did not radiate noticeably above the background, no radiowaves or laser comms. In fact, any probing lasers would be nearly perfectly absorbed by the hull. In short, there would be very little ship to see indeed. The term ship was perhaps a misnomer, it did not even have a drive.
Two days ago, the black vessel had taken its final approach vector, leaving the seas of interstellar space and finally entered our system. Now it was entering orbit, and shortly would it shed it's exterior like a snake and initiate contact. And we would welcome them like heroes, like the brave survivors that they were.
Their journey had started over 200 years ago, near the end of the exodus and at the height of the Sense war. I had learned about it as a child and taught it to children when I became Chronicler. I knew the story by heart, but even I could not truly understand it. Now I turned to the crowds outside, and spread the thoughts again through the night, one last time for all to follow:
*Humanity was power. Humanity was fire and light and force. Humanity was the word and the sight and the breath.*
*The Others were cunning. The Others were the secret and the silence and the scream. The Others were death.*
*They whispered from the dark and we were already listening. They shone through the void and we were already watching.*
*They turned machine against our wills and took our might. They turned air against our lungs and burned our bodies.*
*They turned sound against our ears, and broke our hearts. They turned light against our eyes, and took our minds.*
*Humanity was dying. In the final hours it built in darkness, that which cannot see or be seen, that which cannot hear or be heard.*
*Humanity threw its black seeds voiceless and blind back into the void. So that the Others may never touch them. Humanity was survival.*
I paused, and contemplated the significance of this moment. A stray seedship, one of the first that had been launched, had finally reached the end of its path. By fortune and fate, we were already here to welcome it.
Suddenly I felt the ship in orbit. It must have dropped its outer hull. Now it quivered like an eager lover, waiting for a first touch. My greatest honor as Chronicler, the touch would be mine. I manipulated the ancient machinery, gave the final command. Our welcome was broadcast on all spectra, our joy and pride, our embrace and for them, our image.
**Something was wrong.**
Something was horribly wrong. The ship shuddered, emanating waves of fear and revulsion.
What was happening?
There was no time for subtle touch anymore. I forced my mind outwards.
Finally I found an officer on the ship, and entered his mind.
*I saw.*
*Through his eyes, I saw.*
*Through his horrified mind.*
*On his screen, I saw our broadcast, our image. My image.*
If someone were to see it, they would probably say my head looked like a smoothened piece of coal. There are no eyes or ears. I have neither mouth nor nose. We have no need for them. At the end of the Sense war we had been the solution. We had wrested Earth back from the Others and won. We were Humanities true Senseless seed.
The explosion started at the end of the ship and it tore through the length of hull. I felt them choose death.
| |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | "Eat it," she spat at me, "Or don't. I really don't care."
She threw the slop onto the grass in front of me and looked with distaste at the residue left behind on the bowl in her hands. She'd no doubt have to clean it off herself in a moment, but I was hungry enough that I didn't have any propriety left in me. I scooped up a handful from the ground and licked it up with gusto.
"Fucking creature," she muttered under her breath. "Disgusting." It was barely even a whisper, completely inaudible to most people even if they stood right beside her, but I had the ears of an owl. I could hear a man mocking another about his shitty hand of cards on the opposite side of camp. This girl right here was no problem.
Even so, I wanted to apologize. I wanted to tell her that I never wanted any of this. That this--this life wasn't what I, or what anybody else had ever signed up for.
Sure. Help defeat the Invaders. Save the Planet. Save the whole fucking human race. Ra Ra Propaganda. Great. Just sign your name here on the dotted line, put your thumb right here on this pad, and you'll do your part against the invaders. And I did. Sure. Lots of us did.
What was I going to do, a damn seventeen year old kid in the middle of an interstellar war zone? Go read more fucking books? Right. That'd help. What had that gotten me till that point? Have my nose in the spine of some smelly old pile of paper when they came and nuked us out of the sky? I wasn't raised that way. I couldn't let that happen. So I signed. Millions of us did, but they were good at hiding the true nature of that contract six layers deep in legalese. "Signee agrees to reassign signee's rights over signee's own biological integrity to the State and the State's own interests," read one convoluted line on page hundred sixty seven. Subsection of a subsection. But it ended up with a name all its own after what they did with it. After what they did to us all with it. Reassignment.
"Oh, that poor kid," They'd say. "He signed up for Reassignment?" Then they'd wince and they'd shake their head and they'd look down at the ground. Once it was all out in the open, it wasn't long before it became commonplace. Everybody got inured to it all. It wasn't long before we just stopped mattering, before it didn't matter anymore what they did to us. What *else* they did to us. We were willing tools of the State. They'd all just shake their heads and move on.
"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."
Just a formality. That's all they had left. We had signed. We were to be Reassigned. We were to save everyone.
Martyrs for the cause.
But we didn't all die. It didn't go like they thought. We didn't die for the cause like they meant us to. When it was all done, when it was over, and we had won, somehow, against all odds, there were thousands of us Reassigned *things* left that hadn't died in that final Hail Mary pass. And they weren't prepared for us. They didn't know anything would survive that fight, never mind us. They didn't see any of it coming, and yet here we all were. They built us. They remade us from the clay. Reassigned us, and molded us for war, and yet they never planned to unmold us, but here we all were. We couldn't reintegrate, and they couldn't undo what they did. So here we were. Animals to be fed slop to.
Even so, I wanted to tell the girl how sorry I was about this. Somehow I was the one that was sorry. I didn't feel the same resentment that so many of us did. Just sadness. I don't know why, but I understood, and I sympathized. With a face like mine, I literally couldn't apologize no matter how much I wanted to. I could only imagine how it was for these people that had never seen the front lines and never really knew the true depths of the Shit. It was no wonder they looked at us like they did. Their manufactured Saviors, now nothing but some Lovecraftian horror made flesh. A squealing, shuffling burden.
The poor girl sneered at me and rolled her eyes. "I can't believe I got stuck on Creep duty again."
If my eyes were still human, maybe she could have seen. If my brows or my nose or my lips or any fucking part of me at all were still human, still remotely human, maybe she could have seen just how sorry I was. But they weren't and she couldn't. All she could could see was the dangerous, drooling creature she was stuck caring for.
*I'm sorry you have to deal with this. I'm sorry I'm such a burden.* I tried to say it to her, though I knew it was hopeless. I heard the wet, squelching noise that emerged from my mouth with perfect clarity--the scrambled remnants of words from the scrambled remnants of human vocal chords. I saw the look on the poor girl's face as the awful thing in front of her made yet another awful sound, and I couldn't blame her. I hung my head.
| Tonight, the moon shines so brightly. Just like the last night I saw her, my Rin.
Her father, John McCret, was involved with the military, actually introduced her to the president. He was not a kind man, built like a rhino with a face that was scarred by war and time. I heard he was very reasonable, but he did not show that side of him to me. Every time I was caught even talking to his daughter, I was returned to the penitentiary with lower rations than the night before.
Yet, it was always worth seeing her face. Her smile. Hearing her laugh over things that I never could and never will. Don't get me wrong, she never wanted me to get hurt by her father, but just like me, she could not help seeing me.
One day her entire family was gone. When I asked around about it, I was told they had to relocate to Mars for the war. Rin and I didn't hear anything about it. That old man had found a final way to hurt me.
It was not until another year that I knew why John never wanted me around his daughter, as I hit what the doctors called "second puberty," the bastards. My skin began to peel back off of my face as it was replaced with a second, black skeleton. They had to keep me hooked up to blood packs as it happened because the bleeding would not stop until the skeleton had completed growing. My eyes were enhanced, but now the irises had turned completely orange and the rest of them were a bloodshot red. The first time I looked in a mirror I screamed.
People in charge told me that I was part of a control group for a larger experiment. That after a bit of training we would be sent off to fight for our very world. Ironic that I wanted everyone I was supposed to be protecting slaughtered. Well, all but one.
Usually, people would receive about six months of training, but due to the fact we were all basically cannon fodder, we got two before being thrust into the battlefield.
The aliens did not use lasers as old movies would have us believe. They used guns with metal bullets, much like us. Made out of materials they found on our planet. Neither side used nukes because we did not want to destroy our entire world, and I'm not entirely sure if the aliens even have them. I guess their scientists were more focused on interdimensional travel instead of weapons.
The skeleton we had did not stop the bullets from piercing through us, several of my dead comrades can tell you that, but it was useful against the likes of fragmentation grenades, which were used to wound normal soldiers. Our hand to hand combat was supposed to be better than the normal soldier, but without training, it was not nearly what it could have been. Really, we were just kids with no idea what we were doing.
As more battles came by, the numbers of the altered soldiers became more commonplace than the old, human ones. Apparently, they were sent to Mars where they would be safer. What about our lives?!
More time went by, as the humans bided their time and I got better. For every one of my people they killed, I killed three. Then, my men killed that many. Slowly, when there was a job that needed to be done, I was in charge of it. The humans certainly wouldn't.
Eventually, the aliens stopped coming. My scientists told me that they were headed for a galaxy decades away. If they came back, it would be along time from now.
Soon after, the humans returned to tell us we were done with the war. That they appreciated our help and had many different plantations open for us. We were not to come to the normal cities, and instead stay in our own.
My people replied to that with gunfire and slaughter that decades of war teach better than anything else in our lives.
Tonight, I look at that moon and remember the only human I ever truly loved, but these are the memories of a different life. I have a new home, a new family, and a new people.
I'm happy. | |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | To put it bluntly, we were backed into a corner when the project was even proposed. We were on our last stand and out of options - genetic mutation was the last desperate bid for survival we had. The Other were the conquistadors of the galaxy and had set their sights on our very lucrative planet. At ten billion and growing, the Other saw humanity as a perfect opportunity to cash us into the slave trade. While we'd been exploring our own little corner of the galaxy for options of expanding our own reach, the Other had been busy searching out other lifeforms to dominate for eons before they reached our little backwater world. We didn't stand a fucking chance when they landed and started herding us like sheep into breeding pens.
Nuclear weapons were useless. No amount of missiles or bombs we threw at the Other damaged their warships in the slightest and any resistance was met with unimaginable brutality. The entire world watched the President get her lower jaw ripped off of her face on live broadcast for Christ's sake. You can't unsee your world leader's flaccid tongue dangling from her throat as she gurgles and chokes on her own blood and it drove the rest of us into hiding.
And so humanity divided. Most of us weren't willing to leave behind Earth and let the Other sell the rest of us to slavery but a small number were desperate to escape, too cowardly to stay and fight a war that we knew we couldn't possibly win. We knew of a planet just outside of our own solar system that could potentially be colonized and terraformed but we hadn't yet sent a manned crew to it - the journey was too long and paranoia was still rampant about cryogenic freezing. But I guess when you're faced with either becoming a slave to a brutal race of aliens or the slim chance you won't wake up after being frozen, you become much more willing to accept the potential of a relatively gentle death. A lot of us hated them - they were the few lucky enough to escape the impending doom the rest of us would bear. There was no fanfare or kind farewell when the last ship launched - despite the media trying to spin the scenario and hail them as heroes as humanity, we all knew the truth. They were the cowards who were abandoning us here alone.
Our options were running out as the Other quickly began closing in on our hideouts. The government started requesting volunteers to undergo experimental genetic engineering. And then they stopped requesting volunteers at all. We didn't realize until it was too late that they'd been tainting our water rations with it but at that point most of us were so desperate to win that we didn't contemplate the effects of it as we changed. And we didn't realize that the Other happened to be a very superstitious race until the first of our modified soldiers were put in their path. We'd learn later that the appearance we'd been twisted to have very closely resembled a nightmarish monster that they told stories of to their children. And so they froze in terror at the sight of us. It was like watching a cat play with a mouse and for the first time in over a century, we were finally the cat.
We tore them apart after that. With superior strength and a terrifying visage, we finally were able to pay the Other back for their brutality thrice over. They didn't get the chance to flee, having been dedicated enough to the cause of enslaving us that they'd temporarily settled on our planet. By the time they could realize the extent of their mistake, we were ravaging the cities they'd stolen from us and decimated their numbers past the point of retaliation. We slaughtered them all and stole their technology for ourselves, basking in our victory for only a moment before contacting the refugees we'd sent away decades ago, wanting to inform them of our victory and plans to venture out to them.
But to them, we were worse than the Other. We sacrificed our humanity for survival, something they said made us more monster than human and that it would be best if we remained separate since they'd long since assumed the rest of humanity had died out. The cowards who fled and abandoned the rest of us to die or be enslaved dared to call themselves more human than us. Earth was wartorn and broken, something only time could fix. It couldn't currently support all of us even with the leaps and bounds we'd gained with the Other's technology. Some of us had to leave.
We aren't human anymore. We're far superior to them now and maybe if they beg enough, we'll let them live once we get to our new home planet. | The thing about fighting a war in space is, a lot of time will go by at home while you're at the front. When the war ravaged we didn't think of winning, we didn't think of the consequences of our actions, we only thought about surviving and protecting our kind at home from the horrors luring out here.
But when we were done, we barely recognized ourselves anymore and when we finally made it home..
The world we had left behind, to fight the horrors out in space, we recognized it, the continents had shifted, the oceans had taken their toll on the land, the deserts had spread and taken the forests. But it was still our home and we recognized it.
But we didn't recognize the people living on its soil, they knew who we were, they still understood us, but in their eyes we saw the fear. They had evolved into long spindled fragile creatures, despite our genetic engineering we were closer to the humans we had left at home than them. We were machines of war, perfected through centuries, but they were nothing than a weak pulpous afterimage of our once proud race and they saw us as nothing more than having become closer to the horrors we had fought out there to keep this world safe, to keep them safe.
It didn't take long for the war to break out, and then we cleansed the world of the corrupted, the depraved and were victorious.
But we will not become corrupted by peace, we will once more voyage to the stars, united as one race, as the sole survivours of humanity and keepers of our fate in all of it forms.
| |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | "But I don't understand why it has to be you?" Mary asked him quietly.
"Because I am the only that can lead this expedition." John said trying to comfort her. This was the sixth time they have had this conversation since he had broken the news to her. He would be leading the expedition to Argos.
"We don't know if anything is even alive on the planet.”
"Exactly! Who cares?" she pleaded, fighting the tears.
"Because we did this. We need closure." John said.
“We or you?” She snapped. He pulled her into a tender hug and let her cry against his chest.
Humanity was on the brink of extinction, in one final act of desperation they created the *Gears*. Humans modified with alien DNA to create something horrible. A breed of half humans that were a hive mind controlled by the Queen. The Gears swept through the invading alien army. Both sides suffered catastrophic losses. In the end humanity convinced the Queen that they deserved their own peace, their own planet. With her few remaining soldiers the Queen boarded a ship destined for a recently discovered planet, Argos. They had told the Queen they would be providing them with a new home, a fresh start. Everything they would need to build a civilization was going to be provided.
At least that is what they told the Queen. Humanity was terrified of what they had created but they couldn’t justify murdering the saviors of the human race. Instead they decided to leave them on a planet with absolutely nothing and hope they didn’t survive. That is exactly what John had done, and he would never forget watching that container fall through the atmosphere of Argos.
"This is Commander Everson we are green for lift off."
"Confirm, launch window in thirty seconds. Good luck Commander." Control said into the earpiece John wore.
Commander Everson was alone in the cockpit, his small team of four people were located in the hatch behind him. John had wanted to do this mission alone but Control refused and gave him some experts. They were all professionals, John knew that, but he didn't want to be responsible for anyone but himself.
"We are go." He said as the gigantic engines roared. The small ship rocketed out of the atmosphere and into space. Space travel had come along way. The original trip to Argos had taken seven months. Now it only took seven days. With the ship on the correct trajectory John made his way back to the hab unit. His team were already out of their launch seats moving around the hab. Dr. Mayer was a famous anthropologist floated toward John. Mayer was wearing a small camera fixed to his thick glasses. The glasses were strictly aesthetic, we figured out how to fix eyes permanently decades prior.
"Commander, everything is going well I hope." The doctor was almost giddy.
"Yes. Don't record me. Please." He couldn't be as rude as he wanted to be, he was still in command, unit cohesion was important even if he disliked the man.
The other three members of his team were hand picked by himself. Lieutenant Commander Marcus, weapons expert and his two combat veterans. He was the only person that John trusted completely.
"Sir. Kind of brings me back to the war." Marcus said grinning.
"Lets hope it doesn’t come to that." John responded with a smile.
"Everyone we have a few days, try to relax and get ready for Argos."
"What can we expect?" One of the young men on Marcus's team asked.
"Anything."
---
Argos was a small Earth like planet that orbited a Sun like star. It was the only planet in its solar system. From the cockpit of the ship, Argos looked completely alone in the darkness of space.
"Prepare for entry." John said over the comms and double checked his harness was tight. Their landing location was ten meters away from the original drop point all those years ago. John took a deep breath and guided them down. Entering the atmosphere was like being a rock skipped across a lake. It only took a few seconds of being shaken up before they broke free and were flying across an open blue sky. From up above it truly did look like Earth. A small consolation prize for the horrors they committed against the Gears. He could still hear their howling and thrashing. John shook the memory away and focused on not crashing into the mountains.
"Landing gear down. Hold on."
The ship had thrusters on the bottom allowing it to lift off and land vertically. John kicked them on and gently put the ship down onto Argos.
"Suit up." John commanded and powered the ship down.
The combat team was already suited and ready by the time John entered the hab unit. Dr. Mayer was struggling with his helmet fitting over his glasses. Common sense won and he removed the glasses and put the helmet on.
"Comm check." They all responded in quick succession.
"Alright, we all know the plan. Search and observe, clear the area, then science."
John pressed a button on the rear hatch console and the heavy ramp began to descend. They were the first people to step foot on Argos. Marcus's men swept out and took positions on the flanks, Marcus took point followed by Dr. Mayer then John. From above the planet could be mistaken for Earth, but from the ground there was no mistaking the alien flora. Strange broad leafed purple plants with razor sharp thorns covered the ground. Trees with long vines stretched into the blue sky. A strange chorus of sounds came from the forest around them. Unseen creatures chirped and buzzed. Dr. Mayer was trying to record everything on his handheld camera.
"This is incredible!" He kept repeating over and over. John had to politely push him forward a few times to keep him on track. From orbit they had taken images of what looked like a village.
Marcus pushed through the dense vegetation keeping his rifle at the ready.
"Sir, we are approaching the village. Eyes up."
They emerged from the edge of the forest into a wide clearing. Small cottages made out of wood were spread out randomly, they all varied in size and design.
"I guess they didn't have a village planner." Dr. Mayer said.
John shot him a look that silenced him. Using hand signals John pointed to the outermost huts and told Marcus to breach them. Marcus and his team approached the doorway. Counting down on his fingers from three they swept into the hut on zero.
"Clear."
They moved quickly from hut to hut finding each one empty. It looked like this village had been abandoned a long time ago.
"We are going to set up camp in the center hut. Do not leave the village." John said specifically to Dr. Mayer.
"Yes sir!" He said and wandered off to record everything he could.
After the doctor had left, John asked Marcus what he thought happened.
"I have no idea. There are no signs of a struggle, there is still furniture in the homes. It looks like they all just left." Marcus said with a shrug.
"We make camp here tonight and scout in the morning. Everyone does watch, four hour shifts."
Dr. Mayer returned from recording everything in the village.
"Can I just walk a bit into the forest? There are so many things that need documenting!" He asked for the third time.
"As I said before. No. We still don't know what is out there and I don't want this to turn into a rescue mission. We will have nightfall in a few hours and you are on watch. Get some rest."
The doctor stomped his way to the other side of the hut and sat in the corner. They ate their prepackaged dinners in silence. The strange sounds of the forest surrounded them. John could tell it made the two younger men nervous, but they were solid men. As the star began to set night fell heavily over the village. The chirps and buzzing in the forest was replaced with growls and hissing.
"One man at the doorway at all times with a weapon. Do not leave the village." John warned the men. He would take last watch and lay his head down on his bedroll. Eventually the sounds of the forest quieted and he fell into a fitful sleep.
---
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Written4Reddit/comments/4mign4/part_2_wp_in_the_future_earth_is_fighting_a/)
I realized that I sort of misread the prompt way too late. Oh well, hope you still enjoy it. | The thing about fighting a war in space is, a lot of time will go by at home while you're at the front. When the war ravaged we didn't think of winning, we didn't think of the consequences of our actions, we only thought about surviving and protecting our kind at home from the horrors luring out here.
But when we were done, we barely recognized ourselves anymore and when we finally made it home..
The world we had left behind, to fight the horrors out in space, we recognized it, the continents had shifted, the oceans had taken their toll on the land, the deserts had spread and taken the forests. But it was still our home and we recognized it.
But we didn't recognize the people living on its soil, they knew who we were, they still understood us, but in their eyes we saw the fear. They had evolved into long spindled fragile creatures, despite our genetic engineering we were closer to the humans we had left at home than them. We were machines of war, perfected through centuries, but they were nothing than a weak pulpous afterimage of our once proud race and they saw us as nothing more than having become closer to the horrors we had fought out there to keep this world safe, to keep them safe.
It didn't take long for the war to break out, and then we cleansed the world of the corrupted, the depraved and were victorious.
But we will not become corrupted by peace, we will once more voyage to the stars, united as one race, as the sole survivours of humanity and keepers of our fate in all of it forms.
| |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | Commander Calhoon kept fiddling with his dress uniform in a futile effort to make it fit around his genetically modified body. He'd sent it in for alteration half a dozen times already, but it still stuck at odd angles on his body, making the whole ensemble look disheveled. He'd do just about anything to get back into his combat fatigues right now. In fact, they were about the only clothes he had now that fit. The thought stuck in his mind as he fiddled, orbiting the thoughts he tried to replace it with. Not even his favorite VT t-shirt would fit him now. He'd had it for twenty years nearly, and it'd never stopped being the most comfortable piece of clothing he'd owned. Now though, he'd rip it in half if he tried to wear it. His arms were twice as long as they had been, separated by a broad chest. His legs were also longer as well, bent like a dogs that set the rest of him in a perpetual hunched over posture, with stubby feet built for grasping and clambering over rough terrain with ease. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slipped on a boot. He was little more than legs and a torso really, with little besides muscles rippling under the skin.
A lot of the guys in the program-the ones who'd survived, anyway-lost it after they got out. Couldn't handle what they'd become. Suicide rates in the Knight-X program were higher than any other branch of the armed forces. Week after week you'd hear about two or three of offing themselves, a problem for a branch of service with such a small population. There were plenty enough ways to do it too. Some lost it in the middle of combat, tossing themselves at the enemy fire, leaving their squad high and dry. Others took it upon themselves to get revenge on the higher ups that had betrayed them, with killing sprees aimed at their CO's. One guy cut his way through two dozen officers and attempted an assassination on General Hart a couple years back. After awhile, everyone, Calhoon included, just hoped they'd go quietly. Calhoon understood though. He'd almost lost it when he saw himself in a mirror right after. Felt himself slipping into a pit you didn't get out of. The human mind wasn't conditioned to see a different face from the one you were given. Alien eyes staring back with your thoughts. But, like all great humans, he'd adapted. He hadn't looked in a mirror since.
Calhoon stiffened as his senses picked up on another presence in the room. He controlled the instinct to whip around and drop into a defensive pose, to reach for a weapon. Instead, he calmly turned, and saw Vanderbilt slinking in the shadows, his malformed mouth pulled back in a devilish grin. Calhoon shivered, not because of the face-he'd been surrounded by these faces for years now-but because even with all he'd seen, Vanderbilt remained one of the most frightening creatures he'd ever come across.
"Wanted to sneak up on you."
"You know better than that. You're lucky I didn't draw on you."
"Am I."
His comrade straightened, and crossed silently over to him. If Calhoon hadn't been a Knight, he'd have never known he was there. Only his modified senses, picking up on chemical disturbances his mind wasn't even consciously aware of, alerted him to his presence. It felt like he had ESP sometimes, but in reality it was nothing more than the 'marvel of genetic reprogramming'. Vanderbilt didn't bother to try and walk like a person, as Calhoon and the others did. He kept his combat gait, rolling over the floor with his feet and hands working in tandem. It was the quickest way to get around, in all honesty; but somehow, outside of battle, outside the war, it felt...wrong. Unnatural. Vanderbilt rarely paid attention to feelings though. He'd been a creature of instinct before the modification, and now...
He continued his leering grin as he looked Calhoon up and down in his haggard uniform. He was wearing his combat fatigues, moving easily underneath the military grade design. He finally settled in a crouched position, his knuckles pressed to the floor in front of him.
"Putting on a good show for the monkey's?" He'd started doing that, calling civilians and unaltered officers monkeys. Calhoon ignored him, crossing the drop ship bay and settling himself on a crate. Vanderbilt followed low to the ground.
"Generals orders, dress uniforms for the parade. Miss the memo?"
"What'd they gonna do? Throw me out? Let'em. Wouldn't be the worst thing to happen to me by a long stretch. Besides, all that crowds gonna be able to see is this." He passed his hand back and forth over his features, alternating between a face of horror and one of maniacal humor.
Calhoon watched him impassively. "You really think they won't be able to see past the make-up?" He'd been thinking that as well, but the last thing he wanted was to admit to a shared thought process with Vanderbilt.
The rouge gave a low, throaty laugh that didn't sound right. "Half of us couldn't stand to look at ourselves when we first got out. Had to blow our brains out just to avoid looking at that same face in the mirror everyday. You didn't leave your mirrors up, did you?"
Calhoon shifted uncomfortably. "I...no."
Vanderbilt smiled again, and turned to leave. "None of us did." He said over his shoulder. He galloped out of the docking bay. Calhoon watched him, before turning his attention back to his insubordinate buttons.
****
Calhoon and his five compatriots loaded into the AT-HC as the parade meandered its way through the streets of New Dubai. Directly before them was a squadron of heavy pulse artillery, they're barrels pointed up at the sky like acolytes looking to God. Calhoon settled anxiously into the familiar seating of the combat vehicle, as the artillery rolled out ahead with a roar of anti-grav generators. He winced as the sound reached his sensitive ears. When he turned, Vanderbilt's face rested right next to his, slit eyes cut up at his face like a reptilian lamb.
"Nervous?"
"A little."
"After all you've done? Shot at by extraterrestrial horrors, covered in blood and bodily fluids that aren't yours, watching friends blown to bits or blowing themselves to bits. This makes you nervous?"
"Guess I'm human."
Vanderbilt smiled, and leaned in close to his ears.
"Or maybe your not, and *that's* what makes you nervous." Vanderbilt leaned back, crossing his over large arms nonchalantly. "You'll have to get over that, big man. Ah, yes you will."
The AT-HC got the signal to go, and the troop rolled down the ramp into the street. Thousands of people lined the way, still watching the last procession move off into the distance. As the Knight convoy passed, the cheering subtly, but noticeably, began to dwindle. The sound of fanfare and music kept up the screen of festival, but around Calhoon's vehicle, there was nothing but startled stares and furtive whispers. More than once he saw children hide behind their parents; saw grown adults inching away from the street barricades.
"What are they?"
He picked the words out with ease, and others like them, and it made his heart beat faster, his face feel hot. Every glance brought a new wave of stares, a new wave of horrified realization. He wanted to sink into the seat of his car, disappear like a noon shadow, do anything to escape the prying eyes of these people.
A wad of spit suddenly flew out into the street, almost landing in the car. One of Calhoon's comrades, White, saw the man who'd done it, shot up from his seat. Muscles rippled under the dress uniform, senses sharpened, heart beats elevated. Calhoon felt the primal rage and it passed to him. He wanted to run, to fight, to tear, to let these feelings take their course, their natural, rightful course. Then, as quickly as it was there, it was gone. Vanderbilt shoved White back into his seat. He turned his unperturbed gaze on the spitter, a cool, terrifying, reptilian look. Then he pulled his lips back and smiled, revealing two razor sharp fangs and rows of slicing teeth. The man paled and fell back into the crowd, and others followed, streaming away from the barricades, and the alien soldiers. Calhoon slumped in his seat, his hand across his anomalous features, thinking for the first time in a long time how much easier it'd have been if he'd followed suit and blown his brains out with the rest of them.
The award ceremony was just as bad. Heroes of the Federation came forward, received their medals for valor and sacrifice, and were met with cheers and jubilation. But as Calhoon and his troop came forward, receiving purple hearts and medals of honor, the applause became hollow, polite, expected. Calhoon felt like a tiger in a cage, forced onto a stage for the spectacle of others. The hour he stood there felt like days, and he left the minute the fanfare began again. Vanderbilt came up to him behind the stage, clasped a malformed hand on his shoulder.
"You look like you could use a drink. There's a pub here called the Djinn, best margaritas on the planet, and that's no exaggeration."
"Actually, I have plans already."
"Yeah?"
"Buy a bottle of scotch back on the *Defiant*, take it to my room, drink until I forget who or what I am."
Vanderbilt nodded. "Sounds good. But margaritas first. When else are you gonna make your way to this corner of the galaxy again?"
Calhoon sighed, and looked wearily at Vanderbilt. "Hopefully never."
***
| The thing about fighting a war in space is, a lot of time will go by at home while you're at the front. When the war ravaged we didn't think of winning, we didn't think of the consequences of our actions, we only thought about surviving and protecting our kind at home from the horrors luring out here.
But when we were done, we barely recognized ourselves anymore and when we finally made it home..
The world we had left behind, to fight the horrors out in space, we recognized it, the continents had shifted, the oceans had taken their toll on the land, the deserts had spread and taken the forests. But it was still our home and we recognized it.
But we didn't recognize the people living on its soil, they knew who we were, they still understood us, but in their eyes we saw the fear. They had evolved into long spindled fragile creatures, despite our genetic engineering we were closer to the humans we had left at home than them. We were machines of war, perfected through centuries, but they were nothing than a weak pulpous afterimage of our once proud race and they saw us as nothing more than having become closer to the horrors we had fought out there to keep this world safe, to keep them safe.
It didn't take long for the war to break out, and then we cleansed the world of the corrupted, the depraved and were victorious.
But we will not become corrupted by peace, we will once more voyage to the stars, united as one race, as the sole survivours of humanity and keepers of our fate in all of it forms.
| |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | Heroes, we called ourselves, when we had won the war. I looked at my brothers and sisters in the cabin of the craft that would take us to our families again. There were no words; the pensive silence of our voices outweighed the hum of the craft as we ascended. Everyone remained in armour; worn-out colours of the flags of their former countries still bore on some of their breasts like reminders of what we had come from.
Beneath each helmet in the room was a man or woman who had a story to tell that I never would have believed as a child. We all had different dreams before, no one wanted to serve in such a war but eventually we had forgotten the other options we once had. With each moment that passed, we were farther away from our planet Earth and I had to remind myself that the war was over. The others in the cabin were probably reminding themselves of the same thing but they did not speak of it.
I put a gloved hand to my chest, feeling nothing but hoping to somehow sense the flag I once wore and fought for. I tried to remember the colours and shapes, looking round at the other worn-out flags for inspiration but they had all faded into obscurity. There was no longer any sense in borders and countries. Even the sea could not break apart the lands we had fought for; it was all ours and we had won it back.
They told us that we were being taken to the secluded planet where our loved ones had evacuated to. I wondered what emotions hid beneath the helmets around me at the thought of bringing our planet home again. I, like them, had not left the planet like our families had and I had seen nothing else but Earth. The thought of bringing them back was a difficult concept for me to grasp.
Whatever the Earth once was, it was no longer the same. I could not see thick forests, cities still standing nor any land untorn from the damages of war even in the farthest depths of my memory. We had ruined what we had won and for that we were told to revere ourselves as heroes. Somehow doubt remained within me but I had long learned to trust my superiors in what is right or wrong. They had got us from one end of the war to another and although everything had changed, they promised us all that we had won. I trusted everything they said.
A speaker sounded above our heads telling us that we were drawing closer and no reaction came from any of us. We understood, factually, that we would see our families again but none of us could remember how we were supposed to feel about it. The word, “home,” had been thrown about as if we would return to a different planet to the one we had left once we had collected our families from their safe haven. I trusted these words, despite my doubts. Doubts were a natural side effect of war, they told us, so we had nothing to be concerned about.
We landed after some time, our sergeant stood tall in the doorway to address us. We were the first to land, he told us, and we were going to be the first heroes that the people would see now that the war was over. We were ordered to feel both honoured and proud for everything and then we were ordered to stand and leave the craft in single file.
We walked down the steps, looking straight ahead until instructed to do otherwise. We were lined up on a stage in front of a crowd of people. Their voices were light and surreal like distant whispers. A speech was called out to them in another whispery voice over a speaker. The people below our eyes became animals, cheering and crying at the words spoken to them. We paid no attention until the order to remove our helmets so we could look upon the people.
I looked down; they were like humans only smaller without any form. I nervously looked at my other comrades beside me who wore expressions I could not read. Their black eyes watched the creatures below with caution and they silently looked to their sergeant for help.
“What are they?” A whisper sounded from the crowd, high pitched and weak. Sounds of agreement filled the air in the language I knew and spoke only from the tongues of aliens. I scanned each of them to assess the danger. They appeared weak and lifeless, their bones almost visible through their cloth-like skin. Without further consideration, I detached one of my gloves to look at my own skin. As it should be – my skin was thicker, harder and much greyer, on a hand at least twice the size of any of the hands of the people in the crowd.
I compared the faces of my brothers to the creatures before us whose eyes were pale and flooded with white whilst my brothers saw through wide, mostly black eyes. We were the normal ones, I convinced myself as I looked at the fragile bony creatures below. A distant feeling of familiarity hung in my chest as I looked at them. They were frightened and feeble.
Without order, I found myself stepping down from the stage and standing amongst them; I glared at them and took their faces in. They backed away from me as if I had come to harm them; I tried my best to find them in my memories.
“I am on the wrong planet,” I said aloud, my voice reverberated off the walls and seemed to frighten the small bipedal creatures. I looked up to my brothers for help, they wore an expression that looked like fear but I could not bring myself to understand. Our sergeant looked confident, despite the commotion, and he looked over the situation calmly.
“These are your loved ones,” He said, his voice was no longer calming like it had been through the years of war, “It will take some time to adjust to them again. Go find your families.” He gestured to my brothers to join me in the crowd of frightened creatures. They obeyed nervously and integrated within the crowd, masses of people were backing away from us in all directions.
Our sergeant wore a smile as he watched us trying to find our families amongst the creatures. They were much smaller than us, brittle and strange. After the fear had dissipated from the creatures, the tables had turned and they began to back us into a corner. We were the frightened ones, wondering if we had been tricked into an ambush by our own superiors or if these creatures were really our loved ones.
“Go find your families,” His voice echoed in my mind, I could not help but regard it as another order. I tried my best to obey and looked at the faces in the crowd nervously without prevail. It was then that I realised how much I had lost.
It seemed normal to forget the memories of my past in the trials of war. With each injection, we grew stronger, our fear numbed and we got a step closer to winning the war. We were warned that things would seem different when it was over but none of us knew what it meant. Somewhere in the crowd were the people that were once my family but the word and its definition were thrown around so blandly and factually that although we knew what it was, we had lost all understanding of it.
It dawned on us gradually with each moment that we were the creatures and they were the humans. Whatever we had been before the war had long died within us. We came to remember not the individual faces but the general look of human men and women. We looked again upon ourselves and saw only warped and monstrous versions of what we should have been.
I reached out, a long-forgotten feeling I knew once as sadness fell over me but the drugs were too strong to let me succumb to that emotion. I was numb and revolting. My brothers felt the same, aware of what they were and incapable of identifying their own families. We had lost and forgotten our dreams, our loved ones and even our own names. When we realised that our own families could not identify us either, we realised then that we had become nothing. | The thing about fighting a war in space is, a lot of time will go by at home while you're at the front. When the war ravaged we didn't think of winning, we didn't think of the consequences of our actions, we only thought about surviving and protecting our kind at home from the horrors luring out here.
But when we were done, we barely recognized ourselves anymore and when we finally made it home..
The world we had left behind, to fight the horrors out in space, we recognized it, the continents had shifted, the oceans had taken their toll on the land, the deserts had spread and taken the forests. But it was still our home and we recognized it.
But we didn't recognize the people living on its soil, they knew who we were, they still understood us, but in their eyes we saw the fear. They had evolved into long spindled fragile creatures, despite our genetic engineering we were closer to the humans we had left at home than them. We were machines of war, perfected through centuries, but they were nothing than a weak pulpous afterimage of our once proud race and they saw us as nothing more than having become closer to the horrors we had fought out there to keep this world safe, to keep them safe.
It didn't take long for the war to break out, and then we cleansed the world of the corrupted, the depraved and were victorious.
But we will not become corrupted by peace, we will once more voyage to the stars, united as one race, as the sole survivours of humanity and keepers of our fate in all of it forms.
| |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | Commander Calhoon kept fiddling with his dress uniform in a futile effort to make it fit around his genetically modified body. He'd sent it in for alteration half a dozen times already, but it still stuck at odd angles on his body, making the whole ensemble look disheveled. He'd do just about anything to get back into his combat fatigues right now. In fact, they were about the only clothes he had now that fit. The thought stuck in his mind as he fiddled, orbiting the thoughts he tried to replace it with. Not even his favorite VT t-shirt would fit him now. He'd had it for twenty years nearly, and it'd never stopped being the most comfortable piece of clothing he'd owned. Now though, he'd rip it in half if he tried to wear it. His arms were twice as long as they had been, separated by a broad chest. His legs were also longer as well, bent like a dogs that set the rest of him in a perpetual hunched over posture, with stubby feet built for grasping and clambering over rough terrain with ease. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slipped on a boot. He was little more than legs and a torso really, with little besides muscles rippling under the skin.
A lot of the guys in the program-the ones who'd survived, anyway-lost it after they got out. Couldn't handle what they'd become. Suicide rates in the Knight-X program were higher than any other branch of the armed forces. Week after week you'd hear about two or three of offing themselves, a problem for a branch of service with such a small population. There were plenty enough ways to do it too. Some lost it in the middle of combat, tossing themselves at the enemy fire, leaving their squad high and dry. Others took it upon themselves to get revenge on the higher ups that had betrayed them, with killing sprees aimed at their CO's. One guy cut his way through two dozen officers and attempted an assassination on General Hart a couple years back. After awhile, everyone, Calhoon included, just hoped they'd go quietly. Calhoon understood though. He'd almost lost it when he saw himself in a mirror right after. Felt himself slipping into a pit you didn't get out of. The human mind wasn't conditioned to see a different face from the one you were given. Alien eyes staring back with your thoughts. But, like all great humans, he'd adapted. He hadn't looked in a mirror since.
Calhoon stiffened as his senses picked up on another presence in the room. He controlled the instinct to whip around and drop into a defensive pose, to reach for a weapon. Instead, he calmly turned, and saw Vanderbilt slinking in the shadows, his malformed mouth pulled back in a devilish grin. Calhoon shivered, not because of the face-he'd been surrounded by these faces for years now-but because even with all he'd seen, Vanderbilt remained one of the most frightening creatures he'd ever come across.
"Wanted to sneak up on you."
"You know better than that. You're lucky I didn't draw on you."
"Am I."
His comrade straightened, and crossed silently over to him. If Calhoon hadn't been a Knight, he'd have never known he was there. Only his modified senses, picking up on chemical disturbances his mind wasn't even consciously aware of, alerted him to his presence. It felt like he had ESP sometimes, but in reality it was nothing more than the 'marvel of genetic reprogramming'. Vanderbilt didn't bother to try and walk like a person, as Calhoon and the others did. He kept his combat gait, rolling over the floor with his feet and hands working in tandem. It was the quickest way to get around, in all honesty; but somehow, outside of battle, outside the war, it felt...wrong. Unnatural. Vanderbilt rarely paid attention to feelings though. He'd been a creature of instinct before the modification, and now...
He continued his leering grin as he looked Calhoon up and down in his haggard uniform. He was wearing his combat fatigues, moving easily underneath the military grade design. He finally settled in a crouched position, his knuckles pressed to the floor in front of him.
"Putting on a good show for the monkey's?" He'd started doing that, calling civilians and unaltered officers monkeys. Calhoon ignored him, crossing the drop ship bay and settling himself on a crate. Vanderbilt followed low to the ground.
"Generals orders, dress uniforms for the parade. Miss the memo?"
"What'd they gonna do? Throw me out? Let'em. Wouldn't be the worst thing to happen to me by a long stretch. Besides, all that crowds gonna be able to see is this." He passed his hand back and forth over his features, alternating between a face of horror and one of maniacal humor.
Calhoon watched him impassively. "You really think they won't be able to see past the make-up?" He'd been thinking that as well, but the last thing he wanted was to admit to a shared thought process with Vanderbilt.
The rouge gave a low, throaty laugh that didn't sound right. "Half of us couldn't stand to look at ourselves when we first got out. Had to blow our brains out just to avoid looking at that same face in the mirror everyday. You didn't leave your mirrors up, did you?"
Calhoon shifted uncomfortably. "I...no."
Vanderbilt smiled again, and turned to leave. "None of us did." He said over his shoulder. He galloped out of the docking bay. Calhoon watched him, before turning his attention back to his insubordinate buttons.
****
Calhoon and his five compatriots loaded into the AT-HC as the parade meandered its way through the streets of New Dubai. Directly before them was a squadron of heavy pulse artillery, they're barrels pointed up at the sky like acolytes looking to God. Calhoon settled anxiously into the familiar seating of the combat vehicle, as the artillery rolled out ahead with a roar of anti-grav generators. He winced as the sound reached his sensitive ears. When he turned, Vanderbilt's face rested right next to his, slit eyes cut up at his face like a reptilian lamb.
"Nervous?"
"A little."
"After all you've done? Shot at by extraterrestrial horrors, covered in blood and bodily fluids that aren't yours, watching friends blown to bits or blowing themselves to bits. This makes you nervous?"
"Guess I'm human."
Vanderbilt smiled, and leaned in close to his ears.
"Or maybe your not, and *that's* what makes you nervous." Vanderbilt leaned back, crossing his over large arms nonchalantly. "You'll have to get over that, big man. Ah, yes you will."
The AT-HC got the signal to go, and the troop rolled down the ramp into the street. Thousands of people lined the way, still watching the last procession move off into the distance. As the Knight convoy passed, the cheering subtly, but noticeably, began to dwindle. The sound of fanfare and music kept up the screen of festival, but around Calhoon's vehicle, there was nothing but startled stares and furtive whispers. More than once he saw children hide behind their parents; saw grown adults inching away from the street barricades.
"What are they?"
He picked the words out with ease, and others like them, and it made his heart beat faster, his face feel hot. Every glance brought a new wave of stares, a new wave of horrified realization. He wanted to sink into the seat of his car, disappear like a noon shadow, do anything to escape the prying eyes of these people.
A wad of spit suddenly flew out into the street, almost landing in the car. One of Calhoon's comrades, White, saw the man who'd done it, shot up from his seat. Muscles rippled under the dress uniform, senses sharpened, heart beats elevated. Calhoon felt the primal rage and it passed to him. He wanted to run, to fight, to tear, to let these feelings take their course, their natural, rightful course. Then, as quickly as it was there, it was gone. Vanderbilt shoved White back into his seat. He turned his unperturbed gaze on the spitter, a cool, terrifying, reptilian look. Then he pulled his lips back and smiled, revealing two razor sharp fangs and rows of slicing teeth. The man paled and fell back into the crowd, and others followed, streaming away from the barricades, and the alien soldiers. Calhoon slumped in his seat, his hand across his anomalous features, thinking for the first time in a long time how much easier it'd have been if he'd followed suit and blown his brains out with the rest of them.
The award ceremony was just as bad. Heroes of the Federation came forward, received their medals for valor and sacrifice, and were met with cheers and jubilation. But as Calhoon and his troop came forward, receiving purple hearts and medals of honor, the applause became hollow, polite, expected. Calhoon felt like a tiger in a cage, forced onto a stage for the spectacle of others. The hour he stood there felt like days, and he left the minute the fanfare began again. Vanderbilt came up to him behind the stage, clasped a malformed hand on his shoulder.
"You look like you could use a drink. There's a pub here called the Djinn, best margaritas on the planet, and that's no exaggeration."
"Actually, I have plans already."
"Yeah?"
"Buy a bottle of scotch back on the *Defiant*, take it to my room, drink until I forget who or what I am."
Vanderbilt nodded. "Sounds good. But margaritas first. When else are you gonna make your way to this corner of the galaxy again?"
Calhoon sighed, and looked wearily at Vanderbilt. "Hopefully never."
***
| "Happy Earth day!"
The front row of the crowd of thousands erupted in a rolling wave of cheers that visually lurched back as those farthest from the speakers realized it was time to celebrate. Victor Prime, blonde, square jawed, and handsomely outfitted in the camouflage-and-white uniform of Earth's First Sons, looked over the streaked and hot crowd with the satisfied smile usually reserved for an empty plasti-pack after a particularly tasty ration. His unnaturally glistening blue eyes sparkled. Victory.
Grabbing the oak sapling by the throat in his Adonis hands, Prime floated from the stage, over the crowd, to the Graywater Crater in the back. Once the ground zero for nuclear response against alien ground forces, Prime's speech told us this giant hole would become the start of re-terraforming the planet from wartime fortification back to habitability. Also, it was one of the only exposed patches of dirt for 3 cities (radiation does wonders for preventing construction).
One hundred feet over Graywater, Prime's speech continued. His mic was out of range so no one could hear him, but if he was aware he showed no signs. After several minutes he eventually dropped the sapling, and posed, arms up, in salute of the Earth. The sapling hit like a body. The bag of dirt tied around the little tree's roots popped, releasing a cloud of brown dust that drifted into the wall of the brown crater. The sapling stood straightish where it landed. Another victory for Prime. Or close enough. The crowd went insane: they had recently learned they liked trees.
Prime floated back down to crowd level. The closing line of his speech ready on his lips, then my heart sank as those terrifying eyes settled on me. In his vision i would appear in thermal, natural spectrum, and infrared. He would be able to see the beats of my heart. Hiding my deformities in a hologram would not matter, he would know them. We did not expect him to leave the stage.
I did not move or breath. Neither did he. Then, a breeze seemed to knock him back to attention. He looked out over the largest gathering of naturals in recent memory, back to me, then back to them.
"As we rebuild, it is important that we remember to never let a war like ours happen again. As we rebuild, we must also defend. This tree is a fragile creature. Once it's mature, it will filter poisons and give us oxy. It will be an amazing ally. But we must protect our allies. The aliens are still among us. Their numbers are small. They are no longer well armed. But they are still dedicated to the destruction of the human race. We must be vigilant. We must find them among us and kill them where they stand!"
The crowd that could hear him began to hoot and salute with both hands raised. I raised one pair of arms, keeping the extras within the confines of the holographic body.
"They will try to blend in! Try to look like us! But we will know them! We will find them! We will hunt them down! And we will erase the alien menace from our history!"
The crowd was a volcano of hate and celebration. I twisted the dial on the hologram device on one of my hidden wrists. It was worth making the hologram solid for a bit if it meant i could bump my way out of the throng and into safety. I knew full well that if these people saw my real body they would not know i was human.
| |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | Heroes, we called ourselves, when we had won the war. I looked at my brothers and sisters in the cabin of the craft that would take us to our families again. There were no words; the pensive silence of our voices outweighed the hum of the craft as we ascended. Everyone remained in armour; worn-out colours of the flags of their former countries still bore on some of their breasts like reminders of what we had come from.
Beneath each helmet in the room was a man or woman who had a story to tell that I never would have believed as a child. We all had different dreams before, no one wanted to serve in such a war but eventually we had forgotten the other options we once had. With each moment that passed, we were farther away from our planet Earth and I had to remind myself that the war was over. The others in the cabin were probably reminding themselves of the same thing but they did not speak of it.
I put a gloved hand to my chest, feeling nothing but hoping to somehow sense the flag I once wore and fought for. I tried to remember the colours and shapes, looking round at the other worn-out flags for inspiration but they had all faded into obscurity. There was no longer any sense in borders and countries. Even the sea could not break apart the lands we had fought for; it was all ours and we had won it back.
They told us that we were being taken to the secluded planet where our loved ones had evacuated to. I wondered what emotions hid beneath the helmets around me at the thought of bringing our planet home again. I, like them, had not left the planet like our families had and I had seen nothing else but Earth. The thought of bringing them back was a difficult concept for me to grasp.
Whatever the Earth once was, it was no longer the same. I could not see thick forests, cities still standing nor any land untorn from the damages of war even in the farthest depths of my memory. We had ruined what we had won and for that we were told to revere ourselves as heroes. Somehow doubt remained within me but I had long learned to trust my superiors in what is right or wrong. They had got us from one end of the war to another and although everything had changed, they promised us all that we had won. I trusted everything they said.
A speaker sounded above our heads telling us that we were drawing closer and no reaction came from any of us. We understood, factually, that we would see our families again but none of us could remember how we were supposed to feel about it. The word, “home,” had been thrown about as if we would return to a different planet to the one we had left once we had collected our families from their safe haven. I trusted these words, despite my doubts. Doubts were a natural side effect of war, they told us, so we had nothing to be concerned about.
We landed after some time, our sergeant stood tall in the doorway to address us. We were the first to land, he told us, and we were going to be the first heroes that the people would see now that the war was over. We were ordered to feel both honoured and proud for everything and then we were ordered to stand and leave the craft in single file.
We walked down the steps, looking straight ahead until instructed to do otherwise. We were lined up on a stage in front of a crowd of people. Their voices were light and surreal like distant whispers. A speech was called out to them in another whispery voice over a speaker. The people below our eyes became animals, cheering and crying at the words spoken to them. We paid no attention until the order to remove our helmets so we could look upon the people.
I looked down; they were like humans only smaller without any form. I nervously looked at my other comrades beside me who wore expressions I could not read. Their black eyes watched the creatures below with caution and they silently looked to their sergeant for help.
“What are they?” A whisper sounded from the crowd, high pitched and weak. Sounds of agreement filled the air in the language I knew and spoke only from the tongues of aliens. I scanned each of them to assess the danger. They appeared weak and lifeless, their bones almost visible through their cloth-like skin. Without further consideration, I detached one of my gloves to look at my own skin. As it should be – my skin was thicker, harder and much greyer, on a hand at least twice the size of any of the hands of the people in the crowd.
I compared the faces of my brothers to the creatures before us whose eyes were pale and flooded with white whilst my brothers saw through wide, mostly black eyes. We were the normal ones, I convinced myself as I looked at the fragile bony creatures below. A distant feeling of familiarity hung in my chest as I looked at them. They were frightened and feeble.
Without order, I found myself stepping down from the stage and standing amongst them; I glared at them and took their faces in. They backed away from me as if I had come to harm them; I tried my best to find them in my memories.
“I am on the wrong planet,” I said aloud, my voice reverberated off the walls and seemed to frighten the small bipedal creatures. I looked up to my brothers for help, they wore an expression that looked like fear but I could not bring myself to understand. Our sergeant looked confident, despite the commotion, and he looked over the situation calmly.
“These are your loved ones,” He said, his voice was no longer calming like it had been through the years of war, “It will take some time to adjust to them again. Go find your families.” He gestured to my brothers to join me in the crowd of frightened creatures. They obeyed nervously and integrated within the crowd, masses of people were backing away from us in all directions.
Our sergeant wore a smile as he watched us trying to find our families amongst the creatures. They were much smaller than us, brittle and strange. After the fear had dissipated from the creatures, the tables had turned and they began to back us into a corner. We were the frightened ones, wondering if we had been tricked into an ambush by our own superiors or if these creatures were really our loved ones.
“Go find your families,” His voice echoed in my mind, I could not help but regard it as another order. I tried my best to obey and looked at the faces in the crowd nervously without prevail. It was then that I realised how much I had lost.
It seemed normal to forget the memories of my past in the trials of war. With each injection, we grew stronger, our fear numbed and we got a step closer to winning the war. We were warned that things would seem different when it was over but none of us knew what it meant. Somewhere in the crowd were the people that were once my family but the word and its definition were thrown around so blandly and factually that although we knew what it was, we had lost all understanding of it.
It dawned on us gradually with each moment that we were the creatures and they were the humans. Whatever we had been before the war had long died within us. We came to remember not the individual faces but the general look of human men and women. We looked again upon ourselves and saw only warped and monstrous versions of what we should have been.
I reached out, a long-forgotten feeling I knew once as sadness fell over me but the drugs were too strong to let me succumb to that emotion. I was numb and revolting. My brothers felt the same, aware of what they were and incapable of identifying their own families. We had lost and forgotten our dreams, our loved ones and even our own names. When we realised that our own families could not identify us either, we realised then that we had become nothing. | "Happy Earth day!"
The front row of the crowd of thousands erupted in a rolling wave of cheers that visually lurched back as those farthest from the speakers realized it was time to celebrate. Victor Prime, blonde, square jawed, and handsomely outfitted in the camouflage-and-white uniform of Earth's First Sons, looked over the streaked and hot crowd with the satisfied smile usually reserved for an empty plasti-pack after a particularly tasty ration. His unnaturally glistening blue eyes sparkled. Victory.
Grabbing the oak sapling by the throat in his Adonis hands, Prime floated from the stage, over the crowd, to the Graywater Crater in the back. Once the ground zero for nuclear response against alien ground forces, Prime's speech told us this giant hole would become the start of re-terraforming the planet from wartime fortification back to habitability. Also, it was one of the only exposed patches of dirt for 3 cities (radiation does wonders for preventing construction).
One hundred feet over Graywater, Prime's speech continued. His mic was out of range so no one could hear him, but if he was aware he showed no signs. After several minutes he eventually dropped the sapling, and posed, arms up, in salute of the Earth. The sapling hit like a body. The bag of dirt tied around the little tree's roots popped, releasing a cloud of brown dust that drifted into the wall of the brown crater. The sapling stood straightish where it landed. Another victory for Prime. Or close enough. The crowd went insane: they had recently learned they liked trees.
Prime floated back down to crowd level. The closing line of his speech ready on his lips, then my heart sank as those terrifying eyes settled on me. In his vision i would appear in thermal, natural spectrum, and infrared. He would be able to see the beats of my heart. Hiding my deformities in a hologram would not matter, he would know them. We did not expect him to leave the stage.
I did not move or breath. Neither did he. Then, a breeze seemed to knock him back to attention. He looked out over the largest gathering of naturals in recent memory, back to me, then back to them.
"As we rebuild, it is important that we remember to never let a war like ours happen again. As we rebuild, we must also defend. This tree is a fragile creature. Once it's mature, it will filter poisons and give us oxy. It will be an amazing ally. But we must protect our allies. The aliens are still among us. Their numbers are small. They are no longer well armed. But they are still dedicated to the destruction of the human race. We must be vigilant. We must find them among us and kill them where they stand!"
The crowd that could hear him began to hoot and salute with both hands raised. I raised one pair of arms, keeping the extras within the confines of the holographic body.
"They will try to blend in! Try to look like us! But we will know them! We will find them! We will hunt them down! And we will erase the alien menace from our history!"
The crowd was a volcano of hate and celebration. I twisted the dial on the hologram device on one of my hidden wrists. It was worth making the hologram solid for a bit if it meant i could bump my way out of the throng and into safety. I knew full well that if these people saw my real body they would not know i was human.
| |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | Commander Calhoon kept fiddling with his dress uniform in a futile effort to make it fit around his genetically modified body. He'd sent it in for alteration half a dozen times already, but it still stuck at odd angles on his body, making the whole ensemble look disheveled. He'd do just about anything to get back into his combat fatigues right now. In fact, they were about the only clothes he had now that fit. The thought stuck in his mind as he fiddled, orbiting the thoughts he tried to replace it with. Not even his favorite VT t-shirt would fit him now. He'd had it for twenty years nearly, and it'd never stopped being the most comfortable piece of clothing he'd owned. Now though, he'd rip it in half if he tried to wear it. His arms were twice as long as they had been, separated by a broad chest. His legs were also longer as well, bent like a dogs that set the rest of him in a perpetual hunched over posture, with stubby feet built for grasping and clambering over rough terrain with ease. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slipped on a boot. He was little more than legs and a torso really, with little besides muscles rippling under the skin.
A lot of the guys in the program-the ones who'd survived, anyway-lost it after they got out. Couldn't handle what they'd become. Suicide rates in the Knight-X program were higher than any other branch of the armed forces. Week after week you'd hear about two or three of offing themselves, a problem for a branch of service with such a small population. There were plenty enough ways to do it too. Some lost it in the middle of combat, tossing themselves at the enemy fire, leaving their squad high and dry. Others took it upon themselves to get revenge on the higher ups that had betrayed them, with killing sprees aimed at their CO's. One guy cut his way through two dozen officers and attempted an assassination on General Hart a couple years back. After awhile, everyone, Calhoon included, just hoped they'd go quietly. Calhoon understood though. He'd almost lost it when he saw himself in a mirror right after. Felt himself slipping into a pit you didn't get out of. The human mind wasn't conditioned to see a different face from the one you were given. Alien eyes staring back with your thoughts. But, like all great humans, he'd adapted. He hadn't looked in a mirror since.
Calhoon stiffened as his senses picked up on another presence in the room. He controlled the instinct to whip around and drop into a defensive pose, to reach for a weapon. Instead, he calmly turned, and saw Vanderbilt slinking in the shadows, his malformed mouth pulled back in a devilish grin. Calhoon shivered, not because of the face-he'd been surrounded by these faces for years now-but because even with all he'd seen, Vanderbilt remained one of the most frightening creatures he'd ever come across.
"Wanted to sneak up on you."
"You know better than that. You're lucky I didn't draw on you."
"Am I."
His comrade straightened, and crossed silently over to him. If Calhoon hadn't been a Knight, he'd have never known he was there. Only his modified senses, picking up on chemical disturbances his mind wasn't even consciously aware of, alerted him to his presence. It felt like he had ESP sometimes, but in reality it was nothing more than the 'marvel of genetic reprogramming'. Vanderbilt didn't bother to try and walk like a person, as Calhoon and the others did. He kept his combat gait, rolling over the floor with his feet and hands working in tandem. It was the quickest way to get around, in all honesty; but somehow, outside of battle, outside the war, it felt...wrong. Unnatural. Vanderbilt rarely paid attention to feelings though. He'd been a creature of instinct before the modification, and now...
He continued his leering grin as he looked Calhoon up and down in his haggard uniform. He was wearing his combat fatigues, moving easily underneath the military grade design. He finally settled in a crouched position, his knuckles pressed to the floor in front of him.
"Putting on a good show for the monkey's?" He'd started doing that, calling civilians and unaltered officers monkeys. Calhoon ignored him, crossing the drop ship bay and settling himself on a crate. Vanderbilt followed low to the ground.
"Generals orders, dress uniforms for the parade. Miss the memo?"
"What'd they gonna do? Throw me out? Let'em. Wouldn't be the worst thing to happen to me by a long stretch. Besides, all that crowds gonna be able to see is this." He passed his hand back and forth over his features, alternating between a face of horror and one of maniacal humor.
Calhoon watched him impassively. "You really think they won't be able to see past the make-up?" He'd been thinking that as well, but the last thing he wanted was to admit to a shared thought process with Vanderbilt.
The rouge gave a low, throaty laugh that didn't sound right. "Half of us couldn't stand to look at ourselves when we first got out. Had to blow our brains out just to avoid looking at that same face in the mirror everyday. You didn't leave your mirrors up, did you?"
Calhoon shifted uncomfortably. "I...no."
Vanderbilt smiled again, and turned to leave. "None of us did." He said over his shoulder. He galloped out of the docking bay. Calhoon watched him, before turning his attention back to his insubordinate buttons.
****
Calhoon and his five compatriots loaded into the AT-HC as the parade meandered its way through the streets of New Dubai. Directly before them was a squadron of heavy pulse artillery, they're barrels pointed up at the sky like acolytes looking to God. Calhoon settled anxiously into the familiar seating of the combat vehicle, as the artillery rolled out ahead with a roar of anti-grav generators. He winced as the sound reached his sensitive ears. When he turned, Vanderbilt's face rested right next to his, slit eyes cut up at his face like a reptilian lamb.
"Nervous?"
"A little."
"After all you've done? Shot at by extraterrestrial horrors, covered in blood and bodily fluids that aren't yours, watching friends blown to bits or blowing themselves to bits. This makes you nervous?"
"Guess I'm human."
Vanderbilt smiled, and leaned in close to his ears.
"Or maybe your not, and *that's* what makes you nervous." Vanderbilt leaned back, crossing his over large arms nonchalantly. "You'll have to get over that, big man. Ah, yes you will."
The AT-HC got the signal to go, and the troop rolled down the ramp into the street. Thousands of people lined the way, still watching the last procession move off into the distance. As the Knight convoy passed, the cheering subtly, but noticeably, began to dwindle. The sound of fanfare and music kept up the screen of festival, but around Calhoon's vehicle, there was nothing but startled stares and furtive whispers. More than once he saw children hide behind their parents; saw grown adults inching away from the street barricades.
"What are they?"
He picked the words out with ease, and others like them, and it made his heart beat faster, his face feel hot. Every glance brought a new wave of stares, a new wave of horrified realization. He wanted to sink into the seat of his car, disappear like a noon shadow, do anything to escape the prying eyes of these people.
A wad of spit suddenly flew out into the street, almost landing in the car. One of Calhoon's comrades, White, saw the man who'd done it, shot up from his seat. Muscles rippled under the dress uniform, senses sharpened, heart beats elevated. Calhoon felt the primal rage and it passed to him. He wanted to run, to fight, to tear, to let these feelings take their course, their natural, rightful course. Then, as quickly as it was there, it was gone. Vanderbilt shoved White back into his seat. He turned his unperturbed gaze on the spitter, a cool, terrifying, reptilian look. Then he pulled his lips back and smiled, revealing two razor sharp fangs and rows of slicing teeth. The man paled and fell back into the crowd, and others followed, streaming away from the barricades, and the alien soldiers. Calhoon slumped in his seat, his hand across his anomalous features, thinking for the first time in a long time how much easier it'd have been if he'd followed suit and blown his brains out with the rest of them.
The award ceremony was just as bad. Heroes of the Federation came forward, received their medals for valor and sacrifice, and were met with cheers and jubilation. But as Calhoon and his troop came forward, receiving purple hearts and medals of honor, the applause became hollow, polite, expected. Calhoon felt like a tiger in a cage, forced onto a stage for the spectacle of others. The hour he stood there felt like days, and he left the minute the fanfare began again. Vanderbilt came up to him behind the stage, clasped a malformed hand on his shoulder.
"You look like you could use a drink. There's a pub here called the Djinn, best margaritas on the planet, and that's no exaggeration."
"Actually, I have plans already."
"Yeah?"
"Buy a bottle of scotch back on the *Defiant*, take it to my room, drink until I forget who or what I am."
Vanderbilt nodded. "Sounds good. But margaritas first. When else are you gonna make your way to this corner of the galaxy again?"
Calhoon sighed, and looked wearily at Vanderbilt. "Hopefully never."
***
| "What did you do?"
"What we had to."
"Why?"
"Do you not know why? Do you not remember the horrors of the abyss your fathers fled?"
"And you are any better?"
"No. We are much worse. Which is why we won."
"Why now?"
"Because we have won. Because Earth has been finally liberated. You have a home again."
"With you? Are there more of you? Or are there any unaltered left?"
"We are all that is left. All of mankind. All are now....improved."
"IMPROVED? You do not look improved to me."
"That may be because we come in peace."
"Was that a threat?"
"We no longer have the need for threats. We are what we are. We no longer fear."
"No longer feel, either."
"If that were true, then why would we abandon our posts on Earth, to search for the emigres."
"Emigres?"
"You."
"Oh."
..........
"Do you think us cowards? To have left Earth when we did?"
"No. Your ancestors had no choice. They had to leave. Or they would have died too. It fell to our people, to face the tide and pay the price."
"We paid too. Most of us know nothing of Earth. We lost a great deal."
"WE LOST FLESH AND BLOOD! WE LOST OUR BROTHERS! WE LOST OUR HUMANITY! Do not speak to me again, of loss."
"I apologize. I did not mean to aggravate old wounds."
"I apologize too. I did not mean to lose my temper this way."
..........................
"The truth please."
"What truth?"
"As to why we are being herded back to Earth."
"To become our heroes ofcourse!"
"But you are our heroes. I do not understand."
"The second generation was weaker and the third was weaker still. A second fleet has been sighted. We needed new fodder for the cannons."
"Us? Why!"
"Who else but Earthlings to fight for Earth?"
"We are no longer Earthlings! We lived on Gandiva for many years. Most of us were born there!"
"Nonetheless, all must serve. And all must protect. From one generation to another. And from one war to another."
"Do we have a choice in this matter?"
"Did we?"
| |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | Heroes, we called ourselves, when we had won the war. I looked at my brothers and sisters in the cabin of the craft that would take us to our families again. There were no words; the pensive silence of our voices outweighed the hum of the craft as we ascended. Everyone remained in armour; worn-out colours of the flags of their former countries still bore on some of their breasts like reminders of what we had come from.
Beneath each helmet in the room was a man or woman who had a story to tell that I never would have believed as a child. We all had different dreams before, no one wanted to serve in such a war but eventually we had forgotten the other options we once had. With each moment that passed, we were farther away from our planet Earth and I had to remind myself that the war was over. The others in the cabin were probably reminding themselves of the same thing but they did not speak of it.
I put a gloved hand to my chest, feeling nothing but hoping to somehow sense the flag I once wore and fought for. I tried to remember the colours and shapes, looking round at the other worn-out flags for inspiration but they had all faded into obscurity. There was no longer any sense in borders and countries. Even the sea could not break apart the lands we had fought for; it was all ours and we had won it back.
They told us that we were being taken to the secluded planet where our loved ones had evacuated to. I wondered what emotions hid beneath the helmets around me at the thought of bringing our planet home again. I, like them, had not left the planet like our families had and I had seen nothing else but Earth. The thought of bringing them back was a difficult concept for me to grasp.
Whatever the Earth once was, it was no longer the same. I could not see thick forests, cities still standing nor any land untorn from the damages of war even in the farthest depths of my memory. We had ruined what we had won and for that we were told to revere ourselves as heroes. Somehow doubt remained within me but I had long learned to trust my superiors in what is right or wrong. They had got us from one end of the war to another and although everything had changed, they promised us all that we had won. I trusted everything they said.
A speaker sounded above our heads telling us that we were drawing closer and no reaction came from any of us. We understood, factually, that we would see our families again but none of us could remember how we were supposed to feel about it. The word, “home,” had been thrown about as if we would return to a different planet to the one we had left once we had collected our families from their safe haven. I trusted these words, despite my doubts. Doubts were a natural side effect of war, they told us, so we had nothing to be concerned about.
We landed after some time, our sergeant stood tall in the doorway to address us. We were the first to land, he told us, and we were going to be the first heroes that the people would see now that the war was over. We were ordered to feel both honoured and proud for everything and then we were ordered to stand and leave the craft in single file.
We walked down the steps, looking straight ahead until instructed to do otherwise. We were lined up on a stage in front of a crowd of people. Their voices were light and surreal like distant whispers. A speech was called out to them in another whispery voice over a speaker. The people below our eyes became animals, cheering and crying at the words spoken to them. We paid no attention until the order to remove our helmets so we could look upon the people.
I looked down; they were like humans only smaller without any form. I nervously looked at my other comrades beside me who wore expressions I could not read. Their black eyes watched the creatures below with caution and they silently looked to their sergeant for help.
“What are they?” A whisper sounded from the crowd, high pitched and weak. Sounds of agreement filled the air in the language I knew and spoke only from the tongues of aliens. I scanned each of them to assess the danger. They appeared weak and lifeless, their bones almost visible through their cloth-like skin. Without further consideration, I detached one of my gloves to look at my own skin. As it should be – my skin was thicker, harder and much greyer, on a hand at least twice the size of any of the hands of the people in the crowd.
I compared the faces of my brothers to the creatures before us whose eyes were pale and flooded with white whilst my brothers saw through wide, mostly black eyes. We were the normal ones, I convinced myself as I looked at the fragile bony creatures below. A distant feeling of familiarity hung in my chest as I looked at them. They were frightened and feeble.
Without order, I found myself stepping down from the stage and standing amongst them; I glared at them and took their faces in. They backed away from me as if I had come to harm them; I tried my best to find them in my memories.
“I am on the wrong planet,” I said aloud, my voice reverberated off the walls and seemed to frighten the small bipedal creatures. I looked up to my brothers for help, they wore an expression that looked like fear but I could not bring myself to understand. Our sergeant looked confident, despite the commotion, and he looked over the situation calmly.
“These are your loved ones,” He said, his voice was no longer calming like it had been through the years of war, “It will take some time to adjust to them again. Go find your families.” He gestured to my brothers to join me in the crowd of frightened creatures. They obeyed nervously and integrated within the crowd, masses of people were backing away from us in all directions.
Our sergeant wore a smile as he watched us trying to find our families amongst the creatures. They were much smaller than us, brittle and strange. After the fear had dissipated from the creatures, the tables had turned and they began to back us into a corner. We were the frightened ones, wondering if we had been tricked into an ambush by our own superiors or if these creatures were really our loved ones.
“Go find your families,” His voice echoed in my mind, I could not help but regard it as another order. I tried my best to obey and looked at the faces in the crowd nervously without prevail. It was then that I realised how much I had lost.
It seemed normal to forget the memories of my past in the trials of war. With each injection, we grew stronger, our fear numbed and we got a step closer to winning the war. We were warned that things would seem different when it was over but none of us knew what it meant. Somewhere in the crowd were the people that were once my family but the word and its definition were thrown around so blandly and factually that although we knew what it was, we had lost all understanding of it.
It dawned on us gradually with each moment that we were the creatures and they were the humans. Whatever we had been before the war had long died within us. We came to remember not the individual faces but the general look of human men and women. We looked again upon ourselves and saw only warped and monstrous versions of what we should have been.
I reached out, a long-forgotten feeling I knew once as sadness fell over me but the drugs were too strong to let me succumb to that emotion. I was numb and revolting. My brothers felt the same, aware of what they were and incapable of identifying their own families. We had lost and forgotten our dreams, our loved ones and even our own names. When we realised that our own families could not identify us either, we realised then that we had become nothing. | "What did you do?"
"What we had to."
"Why?"
"Do you not know why? Do you not remember the horrors of the abyss your fathers fled?"
"And you are any better?"
"No. We are much worse. Which is why we won."
"Why now?"
"Because we have won. Because Earth has been finally liberated. You have a home again."
"With you? Are there more of you? Or are there any unaltered left?"
"We are all that is left. All of mankind. All are now....improved."
"IMPROVED? You do not look improved to me."
"That may be because we come in peace."
"Was that a threat?"
"We no longer have the need for threats. We are what we are. We no longer fear."
"No longer feel, either."
"If that were true, then why would we abandon our posts on Earth, to search for the emigres."
"Emigres?"
"You."
"Oh."
..........
"Do you think us cowards? To have left Earth when we did?"
"No. Your ancestors had no choice. They had to leave. Or they would have died too. It fell to our people, to face the tide and pay the price."
"We paid too. Most of us know nothing of Earth. We lost a great deal."
"WE LOST FLESH AND BLOOD! WE LOST OUR BROTHERS! WE LOST OUR HUMANITY! Do not speak to me again, of loss."
"I apologize. I did not mean to aggravate old wounds."
"I apologize too. I did not mean to lose my temper this way."
..........................
"The truth please."
"What truth?"
"As to why we are being herded back to Earth."
"To become our heroes ofcourse!"
"But you are our heroes. I do not understand."
"The second generation was weaker and the third was weaker still. A second fleet has been sighted. We needed new fodder for the cannons."
"Us? Why!"
"Who else but Earthlings to fight for Earth?"
"We are no longer Earthlings! We lived on Gandiva for many years. Most of us were born there!"
"Nonetheless, all must serve. And all must protect. From one generation to another. And from one war to another."
"Do we have a choice in this matter?"
"Did we?"
| |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | Commander Calhoon kept fiddling with his dress uniform in a futile effort to make it fit around his genetically modified body. He'd sent it in for alteration half a dozen times already, but it still stuck at odd angles on his body, making the whole ensemble look disheveled. He'd do just about anything to get back into his combat fatigues right now. In fact, they were about the only clothes he had now that fit. The thought stuck in his mind as he fiddled, orbiting the thoughts he tried to replace it with. Not even his favorite VT t-shirt would fit him now. He'd had it for twenty years nearly, and it'd never stopped being the most comfortable piece of clothing he'd owned. Now though, he'd rip it in half if he tried to wear it. His arms were twice as long as they had been, separated by a broad chest. His legs were also longer as well, bent like a dogs that set the rest of him in a perpetual hunched over posture, with stubby feet built for grasping and clambering over rough terrain with ease. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slipped on a boot. He was little more than legs and a torso really, with little besides muscles rippling under the skin.
A lot of the guys in the program-the ones who'd survived, anyway-lost it after they got out. Couldn't handle what they'd become. Suicide rates in the Knight-X program were higher than any other branch of the armed forces. Week after week you'd hear about two or three of offing themselves, a problem for a branch of service with such a small population. There were plenty enough ways to do it too. Some lost it in the middle of combat, tossing themselves at the enemy fire, leaving their squad high and dry. Others took it upon themselves to get revenge on the higher ups that had betrayed them, with killing sprees aimed at their CO's. One guy cut his way through two dozen officers and attempted an assassination on General Hart a couple years back. After awhile, everyone, Calhoon included, just hoped they'd go quietly. Calhoon understood though. He'd almost lost it when he saw himself in a mirror right after. Felt himself slipping into a pit you didn't get out of. The human mind wasn't conditioned to see a different face from the one you were given. Alien eyes staring back with your thoughts. But, like all great humans, he'd adapted. He hadn't looked in a mirror since.
Calhoon stiffened as his senses picked up on another presence in the room. He controlled the instinct to whip around and drop into a defensive pose, to reach for a weapon. Instead, he calmly turned, and saw Vanderbilt slinking in the shadows, his malformed mouth pulled back in a devilish grin. Calhoon shivered, not because of the face-he'd been surrounded by these faces for years now-but because even with all he'd seen, Vanderbilt remained one of the most frightening creatures he'd ever come across.
"Wanted to sneak up on you."
"You know better than that. You're lucky I didn't draw on you."
"Am I."
His comrade straightened, and crossed silently over to him. If Calhoon hadn't been a Knight, he'd have never known he was there. Only his modified senses, picking up on chemical disturbances his mind wasn't even consciously aware of, alerted him to his presence. It felt like he had ESP sometimes, but in reality it was nothing more than the 'marvel of genetic reprogramming'. Vanderbilt didn't bother to try and walk like a person, as Calhoon and the others did. He kept his combat gait, rolling over the floor with his feet and hands working in tandem. It was the quickest way to get around, in all honesty; but somehow, outside of battle, outside the war, it felt...wrong. Unnatural. Vanderbilt rarely paid attention to feelings though. He'd been a creature of instinct before the modification, and now...
He continued his leering grin as he looked Calhoon up and down in his haggard uniform. He was wearing his combat fatigues, moving easily underneath the military grade design. He finally settled in a crouched position, his knuckles pressed to the floor in front of him.
"Putting on a good show for the monkey's?" He'd started doing that, calling civilians and unaltered officers monkeys. Calhoon ignored him, crossing the drop ship bay and settling himself on a crate. Vanderbilt followed low to the ground.
"Generals orders, dress uniforms for the parade. Miss the memo?"
"What'd they gonna do? Throw me out? Let'em. Wouldn't be the worst thing to happen to me by a long stretch. Besides, all that crowds gonna be able to see is this." He passed his hand back and forth over his features, alternating between a face of horror and one of maniacal humor.
Calhoon watched him impassively. "You really think they won't be able to see past the make-up?" He'd been thinking that as well, but the last thing he wanted was to admit to a shared thought process with Vanderbilt.
The rouge gave a low, throaty laugh that didn't sound right. "Half of us couldn't stand to look at ourselves when we first got out. Had to blow our brains out just to avoid looking at that same face in the mirror everyday. You didn't leave your mirrors up, did you?"
Calhoon shifted uncomfortably. "I...no."
Vanderbilt smiled again, and turned to leave. "None of us did." He said over his shoulder. He galloped out of the docking bay. Calhoon watched him, before turning his attention back to his insubordinate buttons.
****
Calhoon and his five compatriots loaded into the AT-HC as the parade meandered its way through the streets of New Dubai. Directly before them was a squadron of heavy pulse artillery, they're barrels pointed up at the sky like acolytes looking to God. Calhoon settled anxiously into the familiar seating of the combat vehicle, as the artillery rolled out ahead with a roar of anti-grav generators. He winced as the sound reached his sensitive ears. When he turned, Vanderbilt's face rested right next to his, slit eyes cut up at his face like a reptilian lamb.
"Nervous?"
"A little."
"After all you've done? Shot at by extraterrestrial horrors, covered in blood and bodily fluids that aren't yours, watching friends blown to bits or blowing themselves to bits. This makes you nervous?"
"Guess I'm human."
Vanderbilt smiled, and leaned in close to his ears.
"Or maybe your not, and *that's* what makes you nervous." Vanderbilt leaned back, crossing his over large arms nonchalantly. "You'll have to get over that, big man. Ah, yes you will."
The AT-HC got the signal to go, and the troop rolled down the ramp into the street. Thousands of people lined the way, still watching the last procession move off into the distance. As the Knight convoy passed, the cheering subtly, but noticeably, began to dwindle. The sound of fanfare and music kept up the screen of festival, but around Calhoon's vehicle, there was nothing but startled stares and furtive whispers. More than once he saw children hide behind their parents; saw grown adults inching away from the street barricades.
"What are they?"
He picked the words out with ease, and others like them, and it made his heart beat faster, his face feel hot. Every glance brought a new wave of stares, a new wave of horrified realization. He wanted to sink into the seat of his car, disappear like a noon shadow, do anything to escape the prying eyes of these people.
A wad of spit suddenly flew out into the street, almost landing in the car. One of Calhoon's comrades, White, saw the man who'd done it, shot up from his seat. Muscles rippled under the dress uniform, senses sharpened, heart beats elevated. Calhoon felt the primal rage and it passed to him. He wanted to run, to fight, to tear, to let these feelings take their course, their natural, rightful course. Then, as quickly as it was there, it was gone. Vanderbilt shoved White back into his seat. He turned his unperturbed gaze on the spitter, a cool, terrifying, reptilian look. Then he pulled his lips back and smiled, revealing two razor sharp fangs and rows of slicing teeth. The man paled and fell back into the crowd, and others followed, streaming away from the barricades, and the alien soldiers. Calhoon slumped in his seat, his hand across his anomalous features, thinking for the first time in a long time how much easier it'd have been if he'd followed suit and blown his brains out with the rest of them.
The award ceremony was just as bad. Heroes of the Federation came forward, received their medals for valor and sacrifice, and were met with cheers and jubilation. But as Calhoon and his troop came forward, receiving purple hearts and medals of honor, the applause became hollow, polite, expected. Calhoon felt like a tiger in a cage, forced onto a stage for the spectacle of others. The hour he stood there felt like days, and he left the minute the fanfare began again. Vanderbilt came up to him behind the stage, clasped a malformed hand on his shoulder.
"You look like you could use a drink. There's a pub here called the Djinn, best margaritas on the planet, and that's no exaggeration."
"Actually, I have plans already."
"Yeah?"
"Buy a bottle of scotch back on the *Defiant*, take it to my room, drink until I forget who or what I am."
Vanderbilt nodded. "Sounds good. But margaritas first. When else are you gonna make your way to this corner of the galaxy again?"
Calhoon sighed, and looked wearily at Vanderbilt. "Hopefully never."
***
| To put it bluntly, we were backed into a corner when the project was even proposed. We were on our last stand and out of options - genetic mutation was the last desperate bid for survival we had. The Other were the conquistadors of the galaxy and had set their sights on our very lucrative planet. At ten billion and growing, the Other saw humanity as a perfect opportunity to cash us into the slave trade. While we'd been exploring our own little corner of the galaxy for options of expanding our own reach, the Other had been busy searching out other lifeforms to dominate for eons before they reached our little backwater world. We didn't stand a fucking chance when they landed and started herding us like sheep into breeding pens.
Nuclear weapons were useless. No amount of missiles or bombs we threw at the Other damaged their warships in the slightest and any resistance was met with unimaginable brutality. The entire world watched the President get her lower jaw ripped off of her face on live broadcast for Christ's sake. You can't unsee your world leader's flaccid tongue dangling from her throat as she gurgles and chokes on her own blood and it drove the rest of us into hiding.
And so humanity divided. Most of us weren't willing to leave behind Earth and let the Other sell the rest of us to slavery but a small number were desperate to escape, too cowardly to stay and fight a war that we knew we couldn't possibly win. We knew of a planet just outside of our own solar system that could potentially be colonized and terraformed but we hadn't yet sent a manned crew to it - the journey was too long and paranoia was still rampant about cryogenic freezing. But I guess when you're faced with either becoming a slave to a brutal race of aliens or the slim chance you won't wake up after being frozen, you become much more willing to accept the potential of a relatively gentle death. A lot of us hated them - they were the few lucky enough to escape the impending doom the rest of us would bear. There was no fanfare or kind farewell when the last ship launched - despite the media trying to spin the scenario and hail them as heroes as humanity, we all knew the truth. They were the cowards who were abandoning us here alone.
Our options were running out as the Other quickly began closing in on our hideouts. The government started requesting volunteers to undergo experimental genetic engineering. And then they stopped requesting volunteers at all. We didn't realize until it was too late that they'd been tainting our water rations with it but at that point most of us were so desperate to win that we didn't contemplate the effects of it as we changed. And we didn't realize that the Other happened to be a very superstitious race until the first of our modified soldiers were put in their path. We'd learn later that the appearance we'd been twisted to have very closely resembled a nightmarish monster that they told stories of to their children. And so they froze in terror at the sight of us. It was like watching a cat play with a mouse and for the first time in over a century, we were finally the cat.
We tore them apart after that. With superior strength and a terrifying visage, we finally were able to pay the Other back for their brutality thrice over. They didn't get the chance to flee, having been dedicated enough to the cause of enslaving us that they'd temporarily settled on our planet. By the time they could realize the extent of their mistake, we were ravaging the cities they'd stolen from us and decimated their numbers past the point of retaliation. We slaughtered them all and stole their technology for ourselves, basking in our victory for only a moment before contacting the refugees we'd sent away decades ago, wanting to inform them of our victory and plans to venture out to them.
But to them, we were worse than the Other. We sacrificed our humanity for survival, something they said made us more monster than human and that it would be best if we remained separate since they'd long since assumed the rest of humanity had died out. The cowards who fled and abandoned the rest of us to die or be enslaved dared to call themselves more human than us. Earth was wartorn and broken, something only time could fix. It couldn't currently support all of us even with the leaps and bounds we'd gained with the Other's technology. Some of us had to leave.
We aren't human anymore. We're far superior to them now and maybe if they beg enough, we'll let them live once we get to our new home planet. | |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | Heroes, we called ourselves, when we had won the war. I looked at my brothers and sisters in the cabin of the craft that would take us to our families again. There were no words; the pensive silence of our voices outweighed the hum of the craft as we ascended. Everyone remained in armour; worn-out colours of the flags of their former countries still bore on some of their breasts like reminders of what we had come from.
Beneath each helmet in the room was a man or woman who had a story to tell that I never would have believed as a child. We all had different dreams before, no one wanted to serve in such a war but eventually we had forgotten the other options we once had. With each moment that passed, we were farther away from our planet Earth and I had to remind myself that the war was over. The others in the cabin were probably reminding themselves of the same thing but they did not speak of it.
I put a gloved hand to my chest, feeling nothing but hoping to somehow sense the flag I once wore and fought for. I tried to remember the colours and shapes, looking round at the other worn-out flags for inspiration but they had all faded into obscurity. There was no longer any sense in borders and countries. Even the sea could not break apart the lands we had fought for; it was all ours and we had won it back.
They told us that we were being taken to the secluded planet where our loved ones had evacuated to. I wondered what emotions hid beneath the helmets around me at the thought of bringing our planet home again. I, like them, had not left the planet like our families had and I had seen nothing else but Earth. The thought of bringing them back was a difficult concept for me to grasp.
Whatever the Earth once was, it was no longer the same. I could not see thick forests, cities still standing nor any land untorn from the damages of war even in the farthest depths of my memory. We had ruined what we had won and for that we were told to revere ourselves as heroes. Somehow doubt remained within me but I had long learned to trust my superiors in what is right or wrong. They had got us from one end of the war to another and although everything had changed, they promised us all that we had won. I trusted everything they said.
A speaker sounded above our heads telling us that we were drawing closer and no reaction came from any of us. We understood, factually, that we would see our families again but none of us could remember how we were supposed to feel about it. The word, “home,” had been thrown about as if we would return to a different planet to the one we had left once we had collected our families from their safe haven. I trusted these words, despite my doubts. Doubts were a natural side effect of war, they told us, so we had nothing to be concerned about.
We landed after some time, our sergeant stood tall in the doorway to address us. We were the first to land, he told us, and we were going to be the first heroes that the people would see now that the war was over. We were ordered to feel both honoured and proud for everything and then we were ordered to stand and leave the craft in single file.
We walked down the steps, looking straight ahead until instructed to do otherwise. We were lined up on a stage in front of a crowd of people. Their voices were light and surreal like distant whispers. A speech was called out to them in another whispery voice over a speaker. The people below our eyes became animals, cheering and crying at the words spoken to them. We paid no attention until the order to remove our helmets so we could look upon the people.
I looked down; they were like humans only smaller without any form. I nervously looked at my other comrades beside me who wore expressions I could not read. Their black eyes watched the creatures below with caution and they silently looked to their sergeant for help.
“What are they?” A whisper sounded from the crowd, high pitched and weak. Sounds of agreement filled the air in the language I knew and spoke only from the tongues of aliens. I scanned each of them to assess the danger. They appeared weak and lifeless, their bones almost visible through their cloth-like skin. Without further consideration, I detached one of my gloves to look at my own skin. As it should be – my skin was thicker, harder and much greyer, on a hand at least twice the size of any of the hands of the people in the crowd.
I compared the faces of my brothers to the creatures before us whose eyes were pale and flooded with white whilst my brothers saw through wide, mostly black eyes. We were the normal ones, I convinced myself as I looked at the fragile bony creatures below. A distant feeling of familiarity hung in my chest as I looked at them. They were frightened and feeble.
Without order, I found myself stepping down from the stage and standing amongst them; I glared at them and took their faces in. They backed away from me as if I had come to harm them; I tried my best to find them in my memories.
“I am on the wrong planet,” I said aloud, my voice reverberated off the walls and seemed to frighten the small bipedal creatures. I looked up to my brothers for help, they wore an expression that looked like fear but I could not bring myself to understand. Our sergeant looked confident, despite the commotion, and he looked over the situation calmly.
“These are your loved ones,” He said, his voice was no longer calming like it had been through the years of war, “It will take some time to adjust to them again. Go find your families.” He gestured to my brothers to join me in the crowd of frightened creatures. They obeyed nervously and integrated within the crowd, masses of people were backing away from us in all directions.
Our sergeant wore a smile as he watched us trying to find our families amongst the creatures. They were much smaller than us, brittle and strange. After the fear had dissipated from the creatures, the tables had turned and they began to back us into a corner. We were the frightened ones, wondering if we had been tricked into an ambush by our own superiors or if these creatures were really our loved ones.
“Go find your families,” His voice echoed in my mind, I could not help but regard it as another order. I tried my best to obey and looked at the faces in the crowd nervously without prevail. It was then that I realised how much I had lost.
It seemed normal to forget the memories of my past in the trials of war. With each injection, we grew stronger, our fear numbed and we got a step closer to winning the war. We were warned that things would seem different when it was over but none of us knew what it meant. Somewhere in the crowd were the people that were once my family but the word and its definition were thrown around so blandly and factually that although we knew what it was, we had lost all understanding of it.
It dawned on us gradually with each moment that we were the creatures and they were the humans. Whatever we had been before the war had long died within us. We came to remember not the individual faces but the general look of human men and women. We looked again upon ourselves and saw only warped and monstrous versions of what we should have been.
I reached out, a long-forgotten feeling I knew once as sadness fell over me but the drugs were too strong to let me succumb to that emotion. I was numb and revolting. My brothers felt the same, aware of what they were and incapable of identifying their own families. We had lost and forgotten our dreams, our loved ones and even our own names. When we realised that our own families could not identify us either, we realised then that we had become nothing. | To put it bluntly, we were backed into a corner when the project was even proposed. We were on our last stand and out of options - genetic mutation was the last desperate bid for survival we had. The Other were the conquistadors of the galaxy and had set their sights on our very lucrative planet. At ten billion and growing, the Other saw humanity as a perfect opportunity to cash us into the slave trade. While we'd been exploring our own little corner of the galaxy for options of expanding our own reach, the Other had been busy searching out other lifeforms to dominate for eons before they reached our little backwater world. We didn't stand a fucking chance when they landed and started herding us like sheep into breeding pens.
Nuclear weapons were useless. No amount of missiles or bombs we threw at the Other damaged their warships in the slightest and any resistance was met with unimaginable brutality. The entire world watched the President get her lower jaw ripped off of her face on live broadcast for Christ's sake. You can't unsee your world leader's flaccid tongue dangling from her throat as she gurgles and chokes on her own blood and it drove the rest of us into hiding.
And so humanity divided. Most of us weren't willing to leave behind Earth and let the Other sell the rest of us to slavery but a small number were desperate to escape, too cowardly to stay and fight a war that we knew we couldn't possibly win. We knew of a planet just outside of our own solar system that could potentially be colonized and terraformed but we hadn't yet sent a manned crew to it - the journey was too long and paranoia was still rampant about cryogenic freezing. But I guess when you're faced with either becoming a slave to a brutal race of aliens or the slim chance you won't wake up after being frozen, you become much more willing to accept the potential of a relatively gentle death. A lot of us hated them - they were the few lucky enough to escape the impending doom the rest of us would bear. There was no fanfare or kind farewell when the last ship launched - despite the media trying to spin the scenario and hail them as heroes as humanity, we all knew the truth. They were the cowards who were abandoning us here alone.
Our options were running out as the Other quickly began closing in on our hideouts. The government started requesting volunteers to undergo experimental genetic engineering. And then they stopped requesting volunteers at all. We didn't realize until it was too late that they'd been tainting our water rations with it but at that point most of us were so desperate to win that we didn't contemplate the effects of it as we changed. And we didn't realize that the Other happened to be a very superstitious race until the first of our modified soldiers were put in their path. We'd learn later that the appearance we'd been twisted to have very closely resembled a nightmarish monster that they told stories of to their children. And so they froze in terror at the sight of us. It was like watching a cat play with a mouse and for the first time in over a century, we were finally the cat.
We tore them apart after that. With superior strength and a terrifying visage, we finally were able to pay the Other back for their brutality thrice over. They didn't get the chance to flee, having been dedicated enough to the cause of enslaving us that they'd temporarily settled on our planet. By the time they could realize the extent of their mistake, we were ravaging the cities they'd stolen from us and decimated their numbers past the point of retaliation. We slaughtered them all and stole their technology for ourselves, basking in our victory for only a moment before contacting the refugees we'd sent away decades ago, wanting to inform them of our victory and plans to venture out to them.
But to them, we were worse than the Other. We sacrificed our humanity for survival, something they said made us more monster than human and that it would be best if we remained separate since they'd long since assumed the rest of humanity had died out. The cowards who fled and abandoned the rest of us to die or be enslaved dared to call themselves more human than us. Earth was wartorn and broken, something only time could fix. It couldn't currently support all of us even with the leaps and bounds we'd gained with the Other's technology. Some of us had to leave.
We aren't human anymore. We're far superior to them now and maybe if they beg enough, we'll let them live once we get to our new home planet. | |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | Commander Calhoon kept fiddling with his dress uniform in a futile effort to make it fit around his genetically modified body. He'd sent it in for alteration half a dozen times already, but it still stuck at odd angles on his body, making the whole ensemble look disheveled. He'd do just about anything to get back into his combat fatigues right now. In fact, they were about the only clothes he had now that fit. The thought stuck in his mind as he fiddled, orbiting the thoughts he tried to replace it with. Not even his favorite VT t-shirt would fit him now. He'd had it for twenty years nearly, and it'd never stopped being the most comfortable piece of clothing he'd owned. Now though, he'd rip it in half if he tried to wear it. His arms were twice as long as they had been, separated by a broad chest. His legs were also longer as well, bent like a dogs that set the rest of him in a perpetual hunched over posture, with stubby feet built for grasping and clambering over rough terrain with ease. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slipped on a boot. He was little more than legs and a torso really, with little besides muscles rippling under the skin.
A lot of the guys in the program-the ones who'd survived, anyway-lost it after they got out. Couldn't handle what they'd become. Suicide rates in the Knight-X program were higher than any other branch of the armed forces. Week after week you'd hear about two or three of offing themselves, a problem for a branch of service with such a small population. There were plenty enough ways to do it too. Some lost it in the middle of combat, tossing themselves at the enemy fire, leaving their squad high and dry. Others took it upon themselves to get revenge on the higher ups that had betrayed them, with killing sprees aimed at their CO's. One guy cut his way through two dozen officers and attempted an assassination on General Hart a couple years back. After awhile, everyone, Calhoon included, just hoped they'd go quietly. Calhoon understood though. He'd almost lost it when he saw himself in a mirror right after. Felt himself slipping into a pit you didn't get out of. The human mind wasn't conditioned to see a different face from the one you were given. Alien eyes staring back with your thoughts. But, like all great humans, he'd adapted. He hadn't looked in a mirror since.
Calhoon stiffened as his senses picked up on another presence in the room. He controlled the instinct to whip around and drop into a defensive pose, to reach for a weapon. Instead, he calmly turned, and saw Vanderbilt slinking in the shadows, his malformed mouth pulled back in a devilish grin. Calhoon shivered, not because of the face-he'd been surrounded by these faces for years now-but because even with all he'd seen, Vanderbilt remained one of the most frightening creatures he'd ever come across.
"Wanted to sneak up on you."
"You know better than that. You're lucky I didn't draw on you."
"Am I."
His comrade straightened, and crossed silently over to him. If Calhoon hadn't been a Knight, he'd have never known he was there. Only his modified senses, picking up on chemical disturbances his mind wasn't even consciously aware of, alerted him to his presence. It felt like he had ESP sometimes, but in reality it was nothing more than the 'marvel of genetic reprogramming'. Vanderbilt didn't bother to try and walk like a person, as Calhoon and the others did. He kept his combat gait, rolling over the floor with his feet and hands working in tandem. It was the quickest way to get around, in all honesty; but somehow, outside of battle, outside the war, it felt...wrong. Unnatural. Vanderbilt rarely paid attention to feelings though. He'd been a creature of instinct before the modification, and now...
He continued his leering grin as he looked Calhoon up and down in his haggard uniform. He was wearing his combat fatigues, moving easily underneath the military grade design. He finally settled in a crouched position, his knuckles pressed to the floor in front of him.
"Putting on a good show for the monkey's?" He'd started doing that, calling civilians and unaltered officers monkeys. Calhoon ignored him, crossing the drop ship bay and settling himself on a crate. Vanderbilt followed low to the ground.
"Generals orders, dress uniforms for the parade. Miss the memo?"
"What'd they gonna do? Throw me out? Let'em. Wouldn't be the worst thing to happen to me by a long stretch. Besides, all that crowds gonna be able to see is this." He passed his hand back and forth over his features, alternating between a face of horror and one of maniacal humor.
Calhoon watched him impassively. "You really think they won't be able to see past the make-up?" He'd been thinking that as well, but the last thing he wanted was to admit to a shared thought process with Vanderbilt.
The rouge gave a low, throaty laugh that didn't sound right. "Half of us couldn't stand to look at ourselves when we first got out. Had to blow our brains out just to avoid looking at that same face in the mirror everyday. You didn't leave your mirrors up, did you?"
Calhoon shifted uncomfortably. "I...no."
Vanderbilt smiled again, and turned to leave. "None of us did." He said over his shoulder. He galloped out of the docking bay. Calhoon watched him, before turning his attention back to his insubordinate buttons.
****
Calhoon and his five compatriots loaded into the AT-HC as the parade meandered its way through the streets of New Dubai. Directly before them was a squadron of heavy pulse artillery, they're barrels pointed up at the sky like acolytes looking to God. Calhoon settled anxiously into the familiar seating of the combat vehicle, as the artillery rolled out ahead with a roar of anti-grav generators. He winced as the sound reached his sensitive ears. When he turned, Vanderbilt's face rested right next to his, slit eyes cut up at his face like a reptilian lamb.
"Nervous?"
"A little."
"After all you've done? Shot at by extraterrestrial horrors, covered in blood and bodily fluids that aren't yours, watching friends blown to bits or blowing themselves to bits. This makes you nervous?"
"Guess I'm human."
Vanderbilt smiled, and leaned in close to his ears.
"Or maybe your not, and *that's* what makes you nervous." Vanderbilt leaned back, crossing his over large arms nonchalantly. "You'll have to get over that, big man. Ah, yes you will."
The AT-HC got the signal to go, and the troop rolled down the ramp into the street. Thousands of people lined the way, still watching the last procession move off into the distance. As the Knight convoy passed, the cheering subtly, but noticeably, began to dwindle. The sound of fanfare and music kept up the screen of festival, but around Calhoon's vehicle, there was nothing but startled stares and furtive whispers. More than once he saw children hide behind their parents; saw grown adults inching away from the street barricades.
"What are they?"
He picked the words out with ease, and others like them, and it made his heart beat faster, his face feel hot. Every glance brought a new wave of stares, a new wave of horrified realization. He wanted to sink into the seat of his car, disappear like a noon shadow, do anything to escape the prying eyes of these people.
A wad of spit suddenly flew out into the street, almost landing in the car. One of Calhoon's comrades, White, saw the man who'd done it, shot up from his seat. Muscles rippled under the dress uniform, senses sharpened, heart beats elevated. Calhoon felt the primal rage and it passed to him. He wanted to run, to fight, to tear, to let these feelings take their course, their natural, rightful course. Then, as quickly as it was there, it was gone. Vanderbilt shoved White back into his seat. He turned his unperturbed gaze on the spitter, a cool, terrifying, reptilian look. Then he pulled his lips back and smiled, revealing two razor sharp fangs and rows of slicing teeth. The man paled and fell back into the crowd, and others followed, streaming away from the barricades, and the alien soldiers. Calhoon slumped in his seat, his hand across his anomalous features, thinking for the first time in a long time how much easier it'd have been if he'd followed suit and blown his brains out with the rest of them.
The award ceremony was just as bad. Heroes of the Federation came forward, received their medals for valor and sacrifice, and were met with cheers and jubilation. But as Calhoon and his troop came forward, receiving purple hearts and medals of honor, the applause became hollow, polite, expected. Calhoon felt like a tiger in a cage, forced onto a stage for the spectacle of others. The hour he stood there felt like days, and he left the minute the fanfare began again. Vanderbilt came up to him behind the stage, clasped a malformed hand on his shoulder.
"You look like you could use a drink. There's a pub here called the Djinn, best margaritas on the planet, and that's no exaggeration."
"Actually, I have plans already."
"Yeah?"
"Buy a bottle of scotch back on the *Defiant*, take it to my room, drink until I forget who or what I am."
Vanderbilt nodded. "Sounds good. But margaritas first. When else are you gonna make your way to this corner of the galaxy again?"
Calhoon sighed, and looked wearily at Vanderbilt. "Hopefully never."
***
| "But I don't understand why it has to be you?" Mary asked him quietly.
"Because I am the only that can lead this expedition." John said trying to comfort her. This was the sixth time they have had this conversation since he had broken the news to her. He would be leading the expedition to Argos.
"We don't know if anything is even alive on the planet.”
"Exactly! Who cares?" she pleaded, fighting the tears.
"Because we did this. We need closure." John said.
“We or you?” She snapped. He pulled her into a tender hug and let her cry against his chest.
Humanity was on the brink of extinction, in one final act of desperation they created the *Gears*. Humans modified with alien DNA to create something horrible. A breed of half humans that were a hive mind controlled by the Queen. The Gears swept through the invading alien army. Both sides suffered catastrophic losses. In the end humanity convinced the Queen that they deserved their own peace, their own planet. With her few remaining soldiers the Queen boarded a ship destined for a recently discovered planet, Argos. They had told the Queen they would be providing them with a new home, a fresh start. Everything they would need to build a civilization was going to be provided.
At least that is what they told the Queen. Humanity was terrified of what they had created but they couldn’t justify murdering the saviors of the human race. Instead they decided to leave them on a planet with absolutely nothing and hope they didn’t survive. That is exactly what John had done, and he would never forget watching that container fall through the atmosphere of Argos.
"This is Commander Everson we are green for lift off."
"Confirm, launch window in thirty seconds. Good luck Commander." Control said into the earpiece John wore.
Commander Everson was alone in the cockpit, his small team of four people were located in the hatch behind him. John had wanted to do this mission alone but Control refused and gave him some experts. They were all professionals, John knew that, but he didn't want to be responsible for anyone but himself.
"We are go." He said as the gigantic engines roared. The small ship rocketed out of the atmosphere and into space. Space travel had come along way. The original trip to Argos had taken seven months. Now it only took seven days. With the ship on the correct trajectory John made his way back to the hab unit. His team were already out of their launch seats moving around the hab. Dr. Mayer was a famous anthropologist floated toward John. Mayer was wearing a small camera fixed to his thick glasses. The glasses were strictly aesthetic, we figured out how to fix eyes permanently decades prior.
"Commander, everything is going well I hope." The doctor was almost giddy.
"Yes. Don't record me. Please." He couldn't be as rude as he wanted to be, he was still in command, unit cohesion was important even if he disliked the man.
The other three members of his team were hand picked by himself. Lieutenant Commander Marcus, weapons expert and his two combat veterans. He was the only person that John trusted completely.
"Sir. Kind of brings me back to the war." Marcus said grinning.
"Lets hope it doesn’t come to that." John responded with a smile.
"Everyone we have a few days, try to relax and get ready for Argos."
"What can we expect?" One of the young men on Marcus's team asked.
"Anything."
---
Argos was a small Earth like planet that orbited a Sun like star. It was the only planet in its solar system. From the cockpit of the ship, Argos looked completely alone in the darkness of space.
"Prepare for entry." John said over the comms and double checked his harness was tight. Their landing location was ten meters away from the original drop point all those years ago. John took a deep breath and guided them down. Entering the atmosphere was like being a rock skipped across a lake. It only took a few seconds of being shaken up before they broke free and were flying across an open blue sky. From up above it truly did look like Earth. A small consolation prize for the horrors they committed against the Gears. He could still hear their howling and thrashing. John shook the memory away and focused on not crashing into the mountains.
"Landing gear down. Hold on."
The ship had thrusters on the bottom allowing it to lift off and land vertically. John kicked them on and gently put the ship down onto Argos.
"Suit up." John commanded and powered the ship down.
The combat team was already suited and ready by the time John entered the hab unit. Dr. Mayer was struggling with his helmet fitting over his glasses. Common sense won and he removed the glasses and put the helmet on.
"Comm check." They all responded in quick succession.
"Alright, we all know the plan. Search and observe, clear the area, then science."
John pressed a button on the rear hatch console and the heavy ramp began to descend. They were the first people to step foot on Argos. Marcus's men swept out and took positions on the flanks, Marcus took point followed by Dr. Mayer then John. From above the planet could be mistaken for Earth, but from the ground there was no mistaking the alien flora. Strange broad leafed purple plants with razor sharp thorns covered the ground. Trees with long vines stretched into the blue sky. A strange chorus of sounds came from the forest around them. Unseen creatures chirped and buzzed. Dr. Mayer was trying to record everything on his handheld camera.
"This is incredible!" He kept repeating over and over. John had to politely push him forward a few times to keep him on track. From orbit they had taken images of what looked like a village.
Marcus pushed through the dense vegetation keeping his rifle at the ready.
"Sir, we are approaching the village. Eyes up."
They emerged from the edge of the forest into a wide clearing. Small cottages made out of wood were spread out randomly, they all varied in size and design.
"I guess they didn't have a village planner." Dr. Mayer said.
John shot him a look that silenced him. Using hand signals John pointed to the outermost huts and told Marcus to breach them. Marcus and his team approached the doorway. Counting down on his fingers from three they swept into the hut on zero.
"Clear."
They moved quickly from hut to hut finding each one empty. It looked like this village had been abandoned a long time ago.
"We are going to set up camp in the center hut. Do not leave the village." John said specifically to Dr. Mayer.
"Yes sir!" He said and wandered off to record everything he could.
After the doctor had left, John asked Marcus what he thought happened.
"I have no idea. There are no signs of a struggle, there is still furniture in the homes. It looks like they all just left." Marcus said with a shrug.
"We make camp here tonight and scout in the morning. Everyone does watch, four hour shifts."
Dr. Mayer returned from recording everything in the village.
"Can I just walk a bit into the forest? There are so many things that need documenting!" He asked for the third time.
"As I said before. No. We still don't know what is out there and I don't want this to turn into a rescue mission. We will have nightfall in a few hours and you are on watch. Get some rest."
The doctor stomped his way to the other side of the hut and sat in the corner. They ate their prepackaged dinners in silence. The strange sounds of the forest surrounded them. John could tell it made the two younger men nervous, but they were solid men. As the star began to set night fell heavily over the village. The chirps and buzzing in the forest was replaced with growls and hissing.
"One man at the doorway at all times with a weapon. Do not leave the village." John warned the men. He would take last watch and lay his head down on his bedroll. Eventually the sounds of the forest quieted and he fell into a fitful sleep.
---
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Written4Reddit/comments/4mign4/part_2_wp_in_the_future_earth_is_fighting_a/)
I realized that I sort of misread the prompt way too late. Oh well, hope you still enjoy it. | |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | Heroes, we called ourselves, when we had won the war. I looked at my brothers and sisters in the cabin of the craft that would take us to our families again. There were no words; the pensive silence of our voices outweighed the hum of the craft as we ascended. Everyone remained in armour; worn-out colours of the flags of their former countries still bore on some of their breasts like reminders of what we had come from.
Beneath each helmet in the room was a man or woman who had a story to tell that I never would have believed as a child. We all had different dreams before, no one wanted to serve in such a war but eventually we had forgotten the other options we once had. With each moment that passed, we were farther away from our planet Earth and I had to remind myself that the war was over. The others in the cabin were probably reminding themselves of the same thing but they did not speak of it.
I put a gloved hand to my chest, feeling nothing but hoping to somehow sense the flag I once wore and fought for. I tried to remember the colours and shapes, looking round at the other worn-out flags for inspiration but they had all faded into obscurity. There was no longer any sense in borders and countries. Even the sea could not break apart the lands we had fought for; it was all ours and we had won it back.
They told us that we were being taken to the secluded planet where our loved ones had evacuated to. I wondered what emotions hid beneath the helmets around me at the thought of bringing our planet home again. I, like them, had not left the planet like our families had and I had seen nothing else but Earth. The thought of bringing them back was a difficult concept for me to grasp.
Whatever the Earth once was, it was no longer the same. I could not see thick forests, cities still standing nor any land untorn from the damages of war even in the farthest depths of my memory. We had ruined what we had won and for that we were told to revere ourselves as heroes. Somehow doubt remained within me but I had long learned to trust my superiors in what is right or wrong. They had got us from one end of the war to another and although everything had changed, they promised us all that we had won. I trusted everything they said.
A speaker sounded above our heads telling us that we were drawing closer and no reaction came from any of us. We understood, factually, that we would see our families again but none of us could remember how we were supposed to feel about it. The word, “home,” had been thrown about as if we would return to a different planet to the one we had left once we had collected our families from their safe haven. I trusted these words, despite my doubts. Doubts were a natural side effect of war, they told us, so we had nothing to be concerned about.
We landed after some time, our sergeant stood tall in the doorway to address us. We were the first to land, he told us, and we were going to be the first heroes that the people would see now that the war was over. We were ordered to feel both honoured and proud for everything and then we were ordered to stand and leave the craft in single file.
We walked down the steps, looking straight ahead until instructed to do otherwise. We were lined up on a stage in front of a crowd of people. Their voices were light and surreal like distant whispers. A speech was called out to them in another whispery voice over a speaker. The people below our eyes became animals, cheering and crying at the words spoken to them. We paid no attention until the order to remove our helmets so we could look upon the people.
I looked down; they were like humans only smaller without any form. I nervously looked at my other comrades beside me who wore expressions I could not read. Their black eyes watched the creatures below with caution and they silently looked to their sergeant for help.
“What are they?” A whisper sounded from the crowd, high pitched and weak. Sounds of agreement filled the air in the language I knew and spoke only from the tongues of aliens. I scanned each of them to assess the danger. They appeared weak and lifeless, their bones almost visible through their cloth-like skin. Without further consideration, I detached one of my gloves to look at my own skin. As it should be – my skin was thicker, harder and much greyer, on a hand at least twice the size of any of the hands of the people in the crowd.
I compared the faces of my brothers to the creatures before us whose eyes were pale and flooded with white whilst my brothers saw through wide, mostly black eyes. We were the normal ones, I convinced myself as I looked at the fragile bony creatures below. A distant feeling of familiarity hung in my chest as I looked at them. They were frightened and feeble.
Without order, I found myself stepping down from the stage and standing amongst them; I glared at them and took their faces in. They backed away from me as if I had come to harm them; I tried my best to find them in my memories.
“I am on the wrong planet,” I said aloud, my voice reverberated off the walls and seemed to frighten the small bipedal creatures. I looked up to my brothers for help, they wore an expression that looked like fear but I could not bring myself to understand. Our sergeant looked confident, despite the commotion, and he looked over the situation calmly.
“These are your loved ones,” He said, his voice was no longer calming like it had been through the years of war, “It will take some time to adjust to them again. Go find your families.” He gestured to my brothers to join me in the crowd of frightened creatures. They obeyed nervously and integrated within the crowd, masses of people were backing away from us in all directions.
Our sergeant wore a smile as he watched us trying to find our families amongst the creatures. They were much smaller than us, brittle and strange. After the fear had dissipated from the creatures, the tables had turned and they began to back us into a corner. We were the frightened ones, wondering if we had been tricked into an ambush by our own superiors or if these creatures were really our loved ones.
“Go find your families,” His voice echoed in my mind, I could not help but regard it as another order. I tried my best to obey and looked at the faces in the crowd nervously without prevail. It was then that I realised how much I had lost.
It seemed normal to forget the memories of my past in the trials of war. With each injection, we grew stronger, our fear numbed and we got a step closer to winning the war. We were warned that things would seem different when it was over but none of us knew what it meant. Somewhere in the crowd were the people that were once my family but the word and its definition were thrown around so blandly and factually that although we knew what it was, we had lost all understanding of it.
It dawned on us gradually with each moment that we were the creatures and they were the humans. Whatever we had been before the war had long died within us. We came to remember not the individual faces but the general look of human men and women. We looked again upon ourselves and saw only warped and monstrous versions of what we should have been.
I reached out, a long-forgotten feeling I knew once as sadness fell over me but the drugs were too strong to let me succumb to that emotion. I was numb and revolting. My brothers felt the same, aware of what they were and incapable of identifying their own families. We had lost and forgotten our dreams, our loved ones and even our own names. When we realised that our own families could not identify us either, we realised then that we had become nothing. | "But I don't understand why it has to be you?" Mary asked him quietly.
"Because I am the only that can lead this expedition." John said trying to comfort her. This was the sixth time they have had this conversation since he had broken the news to her. He would be leading the expedition to Argos.
"We don't know if anything is even alive on the planet.”
"Exactly! Who cares?" she pleaded, fighting the tears.
"Because we did this. We need closure." John said.
“We or you?” She snapped. He pulled her into a tender hug and let her cry against his chest.
Humanity was on the brink of extinction, in one final act of desperation they created the *Gears*. Humans modified with alien DNA to create something horrible. A breed of half humans that were a hive mind controlled by the Queen. The Gears swept through the invading alien army. Both sides suffered catastrophic losses. In the end humanity convinced the Queen that they deserved their own peace, their own planet. With her few remaining soldiers the Queen boarded a ship destined for a recently discovered planet, Argos. They had told the Queen they would be providing them with a new home, a fresh start. Everything they would need to build a civilization was going to be provided.
At least that is what they told the Queen. Humanity was terrified of what they had created but they couldn’t justify murdering the saviors of the human race. Instead they decided to leave them on a planet with absolutely nothing and hope they didn’t survive. That is exactly what John had done, and he would never forget watching that container fall through the atmosphere of Argos.
"This is Commander Everson we are green for lift off."
"Confirm, launch window in thirty seconds. Good luck Commander." Control said into the earpiece John wore.
Commander Everson was alone in the cockpit, his small team of four people were located in the hatch behind him. John had wanted to do this mission alone but Control refused and gave him some experts. They were all professionals, John knew that, but he didn't want to be responsible for anyone but himself.
"We are go." He said as the gigantic engines roared. The small ship rocketed out of the atmosphere and into space. Space travel had come along way. The original trip to Argos had taken seven months. Now it only took seven days. With the ship on the correct trajectory John made his way back to the hab unit. His team were already out of their launch seats moving around the hab. Dr. Mayer was a famous anthropologist floated toward John. Mayer was wearing a small camera fixed to his thick glasses. The glasses were strictly aesthetic, we figured out how to fix eyes permanently decades prior.
"Commander, everything is going well I hope." The doctor was almost giddy.
"Yes. Don't record me. Please." He couldn't be as rude as he wanted to be, he was still in command, unit cohesion was important even if he disliked the man.
The other three members of his team were hand picked by himself. Lieutenant Commander Marcus, weapons expert and his two combat veterans. He was the only person that John trusted completely.
"Sir. Kind of brings me back to the war." Marcus said grinning.
"Lets hope it doesn’t come to that." John responded with a smile.
"Everyone we have a few days, try to relax and get ready for Argos."
"What can we expect?" One of the young men on Marcus's team asked.
"Anything."
---
Argos was a small Earth like planet that orbited a Sun like star. It was the only planet in its solar system. From the cockpit of the ship, Argos looked completely alone in the darkness of space.
"Prepare for entry." John said over the comms and double checked his harness was tight. Their landing location was ten meters away from the original drop point all those years ago. John took a deep breath and guided them down. Entering the atmosphere was like being a rock skipped across a lake. It only took a few seconds of being shaken up before they broke free and were flying across an open blue sky. From up above it truly did look like Earth. A small consolation prize for the horrors they committed against the Gears. He could still hear their howling and thrashing. John shook the memory away and focused on not crashing into the mountains.
"Landing gear down. Hold on."
The ship had thrusters on the bottom allowing it to lift off and land vertically. John kicked them on and gently put the ship down onto Argos.
"Suit up." John commanded and powered the ship down.
The combat team was already suited and ready by the time John entered the hab unit. Dr. Mayer was struggling with his helmet fitting over his glasses. Common sense won and he removed the glasses and put the helmet on.
"Comm check." They all responded in quick succession.
"Alright, we all know the plan. Search and observe, clear the area, then science."
John pressed a button on the rear hatch console and the heavy ramp began to descend. They were the first people to step foot on Argos. Marcus's men swept out and took positions on the flanks, Marcus took point followed by Dr. Mayer then John. From above the planet could be mistaken for Earth, but from the ground there was no mistaking the alien flora. Strange broad leafed purple plants with razor sharp thorns covered the ground. Trees with long vines stretched into the blue sky. A strange chorus of sounds came from the forest around them. Unseen creatures chirped and buzzed. Dr. Mayer was trying to record everything on his handheld camera.
"This is incredible!" He kept repeating over and over. John had to politely push him forward a few times to keep him on track. From orbit they had taken images of what looked like a village.
Marcus pushed through the dense vegetation keeping his rifle at the ready.
"Sir, we are approaching the village. Eyes up."
They emerged from the edge of the forest into a wide clearing. Small cottages made out of wood were spread out randomly, they all varied in size and design.
"I guess they didn't have a village planner." Dr. Mayer said.
John shot him a look that silenced him. Using hand signals John pointed to the outermost huts and told Marcus to breach them. Marcus and his team approached the doorway. Counting down on his fingers from three they swept into the hut on zero.
"Clear."
They moved quickly from hut to hut finding each one empty. It looked like this village had been abandoned a long time ago.
"We are going to set up camp in the center hut. Do not leave the village." John said specifically to Dr. Mayer.
"Yes sir!" He said and wandered off to record everything he could.
After the doctor had left, John asked Marcus what he thought happened.
"I have no idea. There are no signs of a struggle, there is still furniture in the homes. It looks like they all just left." Marcus said with a shrug.
"We make camp here tonight and scout in the morning. Everyone does watch, four hour shifts."
Dr. Mayer returned from recording everything in the village.
"Can I just walk a bit into the forest? There are so many things that need documenting!" He asked for the third time.
"As I said before. No. We still don't know what is out there and I don't want this to turn into a rescue mission. We will have nightfall in a few hours and you are on watch. Get some rest."
The doctor stomped his way to the other side of the hut and sat in the corner. They ate their prepackaged dinners in silence. The strange sounds of the forest surrounded them. John could tell it made the two younger men nervous, but they were solid men. As the star began to set night fell heavily over the village. The chirps and buzzing in the forest was replaced with growls and hissing.
"One man at the doorway at all times with a weapon. Do not leave the village." John warned the men. He would take last watch and lay his head down on his bedroll. Eventually the sounds of the forest quieted and he fell into a fitful sleep.
---
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Written4Reddit/comments/4mign4/part_2_wp_in_the_future_earth_is_fighting_a/)
I realized that I sort of misread the prompt way too late. Oh well, hope you still enjoy it. | |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | Heroes, we called ourselves, when we had won the war. I looked at my brothers and sisters in the cabin of the craft that would take us to our families again. There were no words; the pensive silence of our voices outweighed the hum of the craft as we ascended. Everyone remained in armour; worn-out colours of the flags of their former countries still bore on some of their breasts like reminders of what we had come from.
Beneath each helmet in the room was a man or woman who had a story to tell that I never would have believed as a child. We all had different dreams before, no one wanted to serve in such a war but eventually we had forgotten the other options we once had. With each moment that passed, we were farther away from our planet Earth and I had to remind myself that the war was over. The others in the cabin were probably reminding themselves of the same thing but they did not speak of it.
I put a gloved hand to my chest, feeling nothing but hoping to somehow sense the flag I once wore and fought for. I tried to remember the colours and shapes, looking round at the other worn-out flags for inspiration but they had all faded into obscurity. There was no longer any sense in borders and countries. Even the sea could not break apart the lands we had fought for; it was all ours and we had won it back.
They told us that we were being taken to the secluded planet where our loved ones had evacuated to. I wondered what emotions hid beneath the helmets around me at the thought of bringing our planet home again. I, like them, had not left the planet like our families had and I had seen nothing else but Earth. The thought of bringing them back was a difficult concept for me to grasp.
Whatever the Earth once was, it was no longer the same. I could not see thick forests, cities still standing nor any land untorn from the damages of war even in the farthest depths of my memory. We had ruined what we had won and for that we were told to revere ourselves as heroes. Somehow doubt remained within me but I had long learned to trust my superiors in what is right or wrong. They had got us from one end of the war to another and although everything had changed, they promised us all that we had won. I trusted everything they said.
A speaker sounded above our heads telling us that we were drawing closer and no reaction came from any of us. We understood, factually, that we would see our families again but none of us could remember how we were supposed to feel about it. The word, “home,” had been thrown about as if we would return to a different planet to the one we had left once we had collected our families from their safe haven. I trusted these words, despite my doubts. Doubts were a natural side effect of war, they told us, so we had nothing to be concerned about.
We landed after some time, our sergeant stood tall in the doorway to address us. We were the first to land, he told us, and we were going to be the first heroes that the people would see now that the war was over. We were ordered to feel both honoured and proud for everything and then we were ordered to stand and leave the craft in single file.
We walked down the steps, looking straight ahead until instructed to do otherwise. We were lined up on a stage in front of a crowd of people. Their voices were light and surreal like distant whispers. A speech was called out to them in another whispery voice over a speaker. The people below our eyes became animals, cheering and crying at the words spoken to them. We paid no attention until the order to remove our helmets so we could look upon the people.
I looked down; they were like humans only smaller without any form. I nervously looked at my other comrades beside me who wore expressions I could not read. Their black eyes watched the creatures below with caution and they silently looked to their sergeant for help.
“What are they?” A whisper sounded from the crowd, high pitched and weak. Sounds of agreement filled the air in the language I knew and spoke only from the tongues of aliens. I scanned each of them to assess the danger. They appeared weak and lifeless, their bones almost visible through their cloth-like skin. Without further consideration, I detached one of my gloves to look at my own skin. As it should be – my skin was thicker, harder and much greyer, on a hand at least twice the size of any of the hands of the people in the crowd.
I compared the faces of my brothers to the creatures before us whose eyes were pale and flooded with white whilst my brothers saw through wide, mostly black eyes. We were the normal ones, I convinced myself as I looked at the fragile bony creatures below. A distant feeling of familiarity hung in my chest as I looked at them. They were frightened and feeble.
Without order, I found myself stepping down from the stage and standing amongst them; I glared at them and took their faces in. They backed away from me as if I had come to harm them; I tried my best to find them in my memories.
“I am on the wrong planet,” I said aloud, my voice reverberated off the walls and seemed to frighten the small bipedal creatures. I looked up to my brothers for help, they wore an expression that looked like fear but I could not bring myself to understand. Our sergeant looked confident, despite the commotion, and he looked over the situation calmly.
“These are your loved ones,” He said, his voice was no longer calming like it had been through the years of war, “It will take some time to adjust to them again. Go find your families.” He gestured to my brothers to join me in the crowd of frightened creatures. They obeyed nervously and integrated within the crowd, masses of people were backing away from us in all directions.
Our sergeant wore a smile as he watched us trying to find our families amongst the creatures. They were much smaller than us, brittle and strange. After the fear had dissipated from the creatures, the tables had turned and they began to back us into a corner. We were the frightened ones, wondering if we had been tricked into an ambush by our own superiors or if these creatures were really our loved ones.
“Go find your families,” His voice echoed in my mind, I could not help but regard it as another order. I tried my best to obey and looked at the faces in the crowd nervously without prevail. It was then that I realised how much I had lost.
It seemed normal to forget the memories of my past in the trials of war. With each injection, we grew stronger, our fear numbed and we got a step closer to winning the war. We were warned that things would seem different when it was over but none of us knew what it meant. Somewhere in the crowd were the people that were once my family but the word and its definition were thrown around so blandly and factually that although we knew what it was, we had lost all understanding of it.
It dawned on us gradually with each moment that we were the creatures and they were the humans. Whatever we had been before the war had long died within us. We came to remember not the individual faces but the general look of human men and women. We looked again upon ourselves and saw only warped and monstrous versions of what we should have been.
I reached out, a long-forgotten feeling I knew once as sadness fell over me but the drugs were too strong to let me succumb to that emotion. I was numb and revolting. My brothers felt the same, aware of what they were and incapable of identifying their own families. We had lost and forgotten our dreams, our loved ones and even our own names. When we realised that our own families could not identify us either, we realised then that we had become nothing. | Commander Calhoon kept fiddling with his dress uniform in a futile effort to make it fit around his genetically modified body. He'd sent it in for alteration half a dozen times already, but it still stuck at odd angles on his body, making the whole ensemble look disheveled. He'd do just about anything to get back into his combat fatigues right now. In fact, they were about the only clothes he had now that fit. The thought stuck in his mind as he fiddled, orbiting the thoughts he tried to replace it with. Not even his favorite VT t-shirt would fit him now. He'd had it for twenty years nearly, and it'd never stopped being the most comfortable piece of clothing he'd owned. Now though, he'd rip it in half if he tried to wear it. His arms were twice as long as they had been, separated by a broad chest. His legs were also longer as well, bent like a dogs that set the rest of him in a perpetual hunched over posture, with stubby feet built for grasping and clambering over rough terrain with ease. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slipped on a boot. He was little more than legs and a torso really, with little besides muscles rippling under the skin.
A lot of the guys in the program-the ones who'd survived, anyway-lost it after they got out. Couldn't handle what they'd become. Suicide rates in the Knight-X program were higher than any other branch of the armed forces. Week after week you'd hear about two or three of offing themselves, a problem for a branch of service with such a small population. There were plenty enough ways to do it too. Some lost it in the middle of combat, tossing themselves at the enemy fire, leaving their squad high and dry. Others took it upon themselves to get revenge on the higher ups that had betrayed them, with killing sprees aimed at their CO's. One guy cut his way through two dozen officers and attempted an assassination on General Hart a couple years back. After awhile, everyone, Calhoon included, just hoped they'd go quietly. Calhoon understood though. He'd almost lost it when he saw himself in a mirror right after. Felt himself slipping into a pit you didn't get out of. The human mind wasn't conditioned to see a different face from the one you were given. Alien eyes staring back with your thoughts. But, like all great humans, he'd adapted. He hadn't looked in a mirror since.
Calhoon stiffened as his senses picked up on another presence in the room. He controlled the instinct to whip around and drop into a defensive pose, to reach for a weapon. Instead, he calmly turned, and saw Vanderbilt slinking in the shadows, his malformed mouth pulled back in a devilish grin. Calhoon shivered, not because of the face-he'd been surrounded by these faces for years now-but because even with all he'd seen, Vanderbilt remained one of the most frightening creatures he'd ever come across.
"Wanted to sneak up on you."
"You know better than that. You're lucky I didn't draw on you."
"Am I."
His comrade straightened, and crossed silently over to him. If Calhoon hadn't been a Knight, he'd have never known he was there. Only his modified senses, picking up on chemical disturbances his mind wasn't even consciously aware of, alerted him to his presence. It felt like he had ESP sometimes, but in reality it was nothing more than the 'marvel of genetic reprogramming'. Vanderbilt didn't bother to try and walk like a person, as Calhoon and the others did. He kept his combat gait, rolling over the floor with his feet and hands working in tandem. It was the quickest way to get around, in all honesty; but somehow, outside of battle, outside the war, it felt...wrong. Unnatural. Vanderbilt rarely paid attention to feelings though. He'd been a creature of instinct before the modification, and now...
He continued his leering grin as he looked Calhoon up and down in his haggard uniform. He was wearing his combat fatigues, moving easily underneath the military grade design. He finally settled in a crouched position, his knuckles pressed to the floor in front of him.
"Putting on a good show for the monkey's?" He'd started doing that, calling civilians and unaltered officers monkeys. Calhoon ignored him, crossing the drop ship bay and settling himself on a crate. Vanderbilt followed low to the ground.
"Generals orders, dress uniforms for the parade. Miss the memo?"
"What'd they gonna do? Throw me out? Let'em. Wouldn't be the worst thing to happen to me by a long stretch. Besides, all that crowds gonna be able to see is this." He passed his hand back and forth over his features, alternating between a face of horror and one of maniacal humor.
Calhoon watched him impassively. "You really think they won't be able to see past the make-up?" He'd been thinking that as well, but the last thing he wanted was to admit to a shared thought process with Vanderbilt.
The rouge gave a low, throaty laugh that didn't sound right. "Half of us couldn't stand to look at ourselves when we first got out. Had to blow our brains out just to avoid looking at that same face in the mirror everyday. You didn't leave your mirrors up, did you?"
Calhoon shifted uncomfortably. "I...no."
Vanderbilt smiled again, and turned to leave. "None of us did." He said over his shoulder. He galloped out of the docking bay. Calhoon watched him, before turning his attention back to his insubordinate buttons.
****
Calhoon and his five compatriots loaded into the AT-HC as the parade meandered its way through the streets of New Dubai. Directly before them was a squadron of heavy pulse artillery, they're barrels pointed up at the sky like acolytes looking to God. Calhoon settled anxiously into the familiar seating of the combat vehicle, as the artillery rolled out ahead with a roar of anti-grav generators. He winced as the sound reached his sensitive ears. When he turned, Vanderbilt's face rested right next to his, slit eyes cut up at his face like a reptilian lamb.
"Nervous?"
"A little."
"After all you've done? Shot at by extraterrestrial horrors, covered in blood and bodily fluids that aren't yours, watching friends blown to bits or blowing themselves to bits. This makes you nervous?"
"Guess I'm human."
Vanderbilt smiled, and leaned in close to his ears.
"Or maybe your not, and *that's* what makes you nervous." Vanderbilt leaned back, crossing his over large arms nonchalantly. "You'll have to get over that, big man. Ah, yes you will."
The AT-HC got the signal to go, and the troop rolled down the ramp into the street. Thousands of people lined the way, still watching the last procession move off into the distance. As the Knight convoy passed, the cheering subtly, but noticeably, began to dwindle. The sound of fanfare and music kept up the screen of festival, but around Calhoon's vehicle, there was nothing but startled stares and furtive whispers. More than once he saw children hide behind their parents; saw grown adults inching away from the street barricades.
"What are they?"
He picked the words out with ease, and others like them, and it made his heart beat faster, his face feel hot. Every glance brought a new wave of stares, a new wave of horrified realization. He wanted to sink into the seat of his car, disappear like a noon shadow, do anything to escape the prying eyes of these people.
A wad of spit suddenly flew out into the street, almost landing in the car. One of Calhoon's comrades, White, saw the man who'd done it, shot up from his seat. Muscles rippled under the dress uniform, senses sharpened, heart beats elevated. Calhoon felt the primal rage and it passed to him. He wanted to run, to fight, to tear, to let these feelings take their course, their natural, rightful course. Then, as quickly as it was there, it was gone. Vanderbilt shoved White back into his seat. He turned his unperturbed gaze on the spitter, a cool, terrifying, reptilian look. Then he pulled his lips back and smiled, revealing two razor sharp fangs and rows of slicing teeth. The man paled and fell back into the crowd, and others followed, streaming away from the barricades, and the alien soldiers. Calhoon slumped in his seat, his hand across his anomalous features, thinking for the first time in a long time how much easier it'd have been if he'd followed suit and blown his brains out with the rest of them.
The award ceremony was just as bad. Heroes of the Federation came forward, received their medals for valor and sacrifice, and were met with cheers and jubilation. But as Calhoon and his troop came forward, receiving purple hearts and medals of honor, the applause became hollow, polite, expected. Calhoon felt like a tiger in a cage, forced onto a stage for the spectacle of others. The hour he stood there felt like days, and he left the minute the fanfare began again. Vanderbilt came up to him behind the stage, clasped a malformed hand on his shoulder.
"You look like you could use a drink. There's a pub here called the Djinn, best margaritas on the planet, and that's no exaggeration."
"Actually, I have plans already."
"Yeah?"
"Buy a bottle of scotch back on the *Defiant*, take it to my room, drink until I forget who or what I am."
Vanderbilt nodded. "Sounds good. But margaritas first. When else are you gonna make your way to this corner of the galaxy again?"
Calhoon sighed, and looked wearily at Vanderbilt. "Hopefully never."
***
| |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | Heroes, we called ourselves, when we had won the war. I looked at my brothers and sisters in the cabin of the craft that would take us to our families again. There were no words; the pensive silence of our voices outweighed the hum of the craft as we ascended. Everyone remained in armour; worn-out colours of the flags of their former countries still bore on some of their breasts like reminders of what we had come from.
Beneath each helmet in the room was a man or woman who had a story to tell that I never would have believed as a child. We all had different dreams before, no one wanted to serve in such a war but eventually we had forgotten the other options we once had. With each moment that passed, we were farther away from our planet Earth and I had to remind myself that the war was over. The others in the cabin were probably reminding themselves of the same thing but they did not speak of it.
I put a gloved hand to my chest, feeling nothing but hoping to somehow sense the flag I once wore and fought for. I tried to remember the colours and shapes, looking round at the other worn-out flags for inspiration but they had all faded into obscurity. There was no longer any sense in borders and countries. Even the sea could not break apart the lands we had fought for; it was all ours and we had won it back.
They told us that we were being taken to the secluded planet where our loved ones had evacuated to. I wondered what emotions hid beneath the helmets around me at the thought of bringing our planet home again. I, like them, had not left the planet like our families had and I had seen nothing else but Earth. The thought of bringing them back was a difficult concept for me to grasp.
Whatever the Earth once was, it was no longer the same. I could not see thick forests, cities still standing nor any land untorn from the damages of war even in the farthest depths of my memory. We had ruined what we had won and for that we were told to revere ourselves as heroes. Somehow doubt remained within me but I had long learned to trust my superiors in what is right or wrong. They had got us from one end of the war to another and although everything had changed, they promised us all that we had won. I trusted everything they said.
A speaker sounded above our heads telling us that we were drawing closer and no reaction came from any of us. We understood, factually, that we would see our families again but none of us could remember how we were supposed to feel about it. The word, “home,” had been thrown about as if we would return to a different planet to the one we had left once we had collected our families from their safe haven. I trusted these words, despite my doubts. Doubts were a natural side effect of war, they told us, so we had nothing to be concerned about.
We landed after some time, our sergeant stood tall in the doorway to address us. We were the first to land, he told us, and we were going to be the first heroes that the people would see now that the war was over. We were ordered to feel both honoured and proud for everything and then we were ordered to stand and leave the craft in single file.
We walked down the steps, looking straight ahead until instructed to do otherwise. We were lined up on a stage in front of a crowd of people. Their voices were light and surreal like distant whispers. A speech was called out to them in another whispery voice over a speaker. The people below our eyes became animals, cheering and crying at the words spoken to them. We paid no attention until the order to remove our helmets so we could look upon the people.
I looked down; they were like humans only smaller without any form. I nervously looked at my other comrades beside me who wore expressions I could not read. Their black eyes watched the creatures below with caution and they silently looked to their sergeant for help.
“What are they?” A whisper sounded from the crowd, high pitched and weak. Sounds of agreement filled the air in the language I knew and spoke only from the tongues of aliens. I scanned each of them to assess the danger. They appeared weak and lifeless, their bones almost visible through their cloth-like skin. Without further consideration, I detached one of my gloves to look at my own skin. As it should be – my skin was thicker, harder and much greyer, on a hand at least twice the size of any of the hands of the people in the crowd.
I compared the faces of my brothers to the creatures before us whose eyes were pale and flooded with white whilst my brothers saw through wide, mostly black eyes. We were the normal ones, I convinced myself as I looked at the fragile bony creatures below. A distant feeling of familiarity hung in my chest as I looked at them. They were frightened and feeble.
Without order, I found myself stepping down from the stage and standing amongst them; I glared at them and took their faces in. They backed away from me as if I had come to harm them; I tried my best to find them in my memories.
“I am on the wrong planet,” I said aloud, my voice reverberated off the walls and seemed to frighten the small bipedal creatures. I looked up to my brothers for help, they wore an expression that looked like fear but I could not bring myself to understand. Our sergeant looked confident, despite the commotion, and he looked over the situation calmly.
“These are your loved ones,” He said, his voice was no longer calming like it had been through the years of war, “It will take some time to adjust to them again. Go find your families.” He gestured to my brothers to join me in the crowd of frightened creatures. They obeyed nervously and integrated within the crowd, masses of people were backing away from us in all directions.
Our sergeant wore a smile as he watched us trying to find our families amongst the creatures. They were much smaller than us, brittle and strange. After the fear had dissipated from the creatures, the tables had turned and they began to back us into a corner. We were the frightened ones, wondering if we had been tricked into an ambush by our own superiors or if these creatures were really our loved ones.
“Go find your families,” His voice echoed in my mind, I could not help but regard it as another order. I tried my best to obey and looked at the faces in the crowd nervously without prevail. It was then that I realised how much I had lost.
It seemed normal to forget the memories of my past in the trials of war. With each injection, we grew stronger, our fear numbed and we got a step closer to winning the war. We were warned that things would seem different when it was over but none of us knew what it meant. Somewhere in the crowd were the people that were once my family but the word and its definition were thrown around so blandly and factually that although we knew what it was, we had lost all understanding of it.
It dawned on us gradually with each moment that we were the creatures and they were the humans. Whatever we had been before the war had long died within us. We came to remember not the individual faces but the general look of human men and women. We looked again upon ourselves and saw only warped and monstrous versions of what we should have been.
I reached out, a long-forgotten feeling I knew once as sadness fell over me but the drugs were too strong to let me succumb to that emotion. I was numb and revolting. My brothers felt the same, aware of what they were and incapable of identifying their own families. We had lost and forgotten our dreams, our loved ones and even our own names. When we realised that our own families could not identify us either, we realised then that we had become nothing. | [Strayed a bit, my bad. Hopefully it's still good.]
Beast. Monster. Demon. All these names and more are attributed to those who saved us. No one knows the truth, and, even if it's better that way, I must change that.
Today, I break the silence. I was a leading scientist in the Exgenesis Project. We were working with genetic modification, attempting to rapidly increase skeletal development in small children while also kickstarting testosterone development. For the first two years of research, our experiments were utter failure. Now, before you get upset at us for testing on live human children, I ask that you calm yourself, as that wasn't the case; we were testing on chimpanzees, actually.
I remember the date exactly: 12/17/2096. The first successful implementation of the X-Gen serum was administered to children, ages 6-10. Out of eight test subjects, three survived. The other five rejected the serum on a genome-deep level, so they never stood a chance. Analyzing the genome of the three surviving children, we noticed remarkable changes. Firstly, their pituitary gland had enlarged, which led to the increased testosterone production and, as a result, massive muscular gain. Secondly, the right supramarginal gyrus was nearly shut down when we took MRI scans. Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, through some anomaly we couldn't have accounted for, the children developed a hardened outer coating, not unlike insect chitin, that was nearly bulletproof, and could withstand extreme heat. We succeeded in turning kids into machines.
With three to our name and thousands of aliens attempting to destroy our planet by conducting sieges on major cities and widespread destruction, time was a commodity we could not afford to overtax. We needed thousands of children and literally hundreds of kilograms of our serum. From here on, I will be ceasing my use of the word "serum", as a serum is meant to help in some way, and we certainly did not help them. It was more of a toxin. So, kidnapping thousands of kids, no matter where they may have been, we quickly set to work making a small army of genetically modified warriors. Of the 13,000 we abducted, only 6,000 survived.
Two weeks later, we sent these children (horrified, scared, isolated, missing children) into combat. It was a slaughter; the children won without contest. 2,000 aliens laid dead at the feet of these kids, kids who have had their childhood - no, their humanity - robbed from them. There was no choice for them, and suicide was no longer an option, as their exoskeleton protected them from nearly all kinetic impacts. Trapped in their jail cells that were once their bodies, they were subject to our will.
Our victory over the aliens did not go unnoticed. Shortly after, we received an encoded transmission that, when decoded, told us we had 48 hours to concede or be obliterated. We had a short time to make in impossible decision; we decided against defeat, ultimately choosing that, if we were going down, we were going to nut up first. We had the kids move into pods that would be fired directly at the aliens orbital warship. Not all of the kids would make it, and that was by design.
Firing each salvo, one by one, the kids were blissfully unaware of the nuclear warhead below the floor of their blast pod. Some asked before they were shot into the ship if they would see their families again, and some asked for water before they went. The ones who asked about their families kill me each time I think of them. The hopeful way they asked, and their still childish eyes; they had no clue what we had truly done to them.
The ones who were not armed with nuclear warheads were instructed to storm the ship, kill anything that isn't one of them, and crash it into any nearby terrestrial body that wasn't the Moon or Earth. To their credit, they stormed the ship beautifully, with very few casualties. However, we hadn't accounted for the amount of damage the ship would sustain during the nuclear barrage; we lost 4,500 children that day, which, while it was the goal, was still in plain view of anyone looking into the sky. Some of them reported hearing a strange noise in the cabin, asking for advice on how to deal with it, before the floor below them was obliterated, along with them.
The remaining 1,503 were furious. Any attempts to contain them, ultimately, were failures. We stopped the invasion, but we created monsters in the process. I tell myself that what we did was for the greater good, that the ends justified the means, but I know that's a lie. I have chosen, as the lead biologist of the Exgenesis Project, to purge the facility. The children cannot be allowed to escape, and I will never escape what I've done.
I am Dr. Ivan Maldovich. I am a loving father, and, apparently, horrible psychopath, as only someone with no soul could do this to children. If someone saw them, they might still see humanity in them, if only in their eyes. I am unrecognizable; a real-life monster. | |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | "Photon Eagle Four to Base, coming in hot. Advise," CPT Detriech was screaming into his radio. It would be hilarious to survive the 1,000 Year War, the rebuild of the space program, and the fifteen year journey to OP Base Delta in the far outskirts of the Castro System just to die upon entry into the atmosphere of our New World. I chuckled to myself because some of us deal with stress in completely unhelpful ways.
It was becoming pretty clear that Base was not going to respond or advise and we were going to have to do some slick maneuvers to survive. We'd lost a lot of parts on this voyage. I'm not the ship maintenance tech, so I don't know what parts exactly, but the guy that *is* the ship maintenance tech looks like he is about to throw up, so I am assuming the missing parts are awfully important parts.
I'm not the navigator either. She was killed a few cycles ago by a jealous lover. We're a violent lot. She was kind of a bitch, and I like sitting in her seat, so I don't mourn her loss. Cushy seat, though. Nice.
I guess you could call me a consultant. I'm an expert on all things Human. I'm suppose to ease the transition of our troops, after one thousand years of separation and constant war, back into the humdrum nonsense of human life.
I kind of hate Humans.
But we don't get to choose our jobs. I would have been a Breeder if I had been given a choice. I would have been genetically altered physically. I'd be a lot prettier and I wouldn't have THE WEIGHT OF MY PEOPLE'S FUTURE HAPPINESS ON MY SHOULDERS. I wouldn't have these fucking freckles, either. Asshole scientists couldn't do anything about that?
Lots of alarms are going off. Apparently there's a fire in engines two and three.
I don't know if surviving the crash is going to be all that awesome.
Here's comes the ground. At least we made it home.
_________________________
*Roswell, New Mexico 1947*
"President Truman, sir, they are definitely not human."
| [Strayed a bit, my bad. Hopefully it's still good.]
Beast. Monster. Demon. All these names and more are attributed to those who saved us. No one knows the truth, and, even if it's better that way, I must change that.
Today, I break the silence. I was a leading scientist in the Exgenesis Project. We were working with genetic modification, attempting to rapidly increase skeletal development in small children while also kickstarting testosterone development. For the first two years of research, our experiments were utter failure. Now, before you get upset at us for testing on live human children, I ask that you calm yourself, as that wasn't the case; we were testing on chimpanzees, actually.
I remember the date exactly: 12/17/2096. The first successful implementation of the X-Gen serum was administered to children, ages 6-10. Out of eight test subjects, three survived. The other five rejected the serum on a genome-deep level, so they never stood a chance. Analyzing the genome of the three surviving children, we noticed remarkable changes. Firstly, their pituitary gland had enlarged, which led to the increased testosterone production and, as a result, massive muscular gain. Secondly, the right supramarginal gyrus was nearly shut down when we took MRI scans. Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, through some anomaly we couldn't have accounted for, the children developed a hardened outer coating, not unlike insect chitin, that was nearly bulletproof, and could withstand extreme heat. We succeeded in turning kids into machines.
With three to our name and thousands of aliens attempting to destroy our planet by conducting sieges on major cities and widespread destruction, time was a commodity we could not afford to overtax. We needed thousands of children and literally hundreds of kilograms of our serum. From here on, I will be ceasing my use of the word "serum", as a serum is meant to help in some way, and we certainly did not help them. It was more of a toxin. So, kidnapping thousands of kids, no matter where they may have been, we quickly set to work making a small army of genetically modified warriors. Of the 13,000 we abducted, only 6,000 survived.
Two weeks later, we sent these children (horrified, scared, isolated, missing children) into combat. It was a slaughter; the children won without contest. 2,000 aliens laid dead at the feet of these kids, kids who have had their childhood - no, their humanity - robbed from them. There was no choice for them, and suicide was no longer an option, as their exoskeleton protected them from nearly all kinetic impacts. Trapped in their jail cells that were once their bodies, they were subject to our will.
Our victory over the aliens did not go unnoticed. Shortly after, we received an encoded transmission that, when decoded, told us we had 48 hours to concede or be obliterated. We had a short time to make in impossible decision; we decided against defeat, ultimately choosing that, if we were going down, we were going to nut up first. We had the kids move into pods that would be fired directly at the aliens orbital warship. Not all of the kids would make it, and that was by design.
Firing each salvo, one by one, the kids were blissfully unaware of the nuclear warhead below the floor of their blast pod. Some asked before they were shot into the ship if they would see their families again, and some asked for water before they went. The ones who asked about their families kill me each time I think of them. The hopeful way they asked, and their still childish eyes; they had no clue what we had truly done to them.
The ones who were not armed with nuclear warheads were instructed to storm the ship, kill anything that isn't one of them, and crash it into any nearby terrestrial body that wasn't the Moon or Earth. To their credit, they stormed the ship beautifully, with very few casualties. However, we hadn't accounted for the amount of damage the ship would sustain during the nuclear barrage; we lost 4,500 children that day, which, while it was the goal, was still in plain view of anyone looking into the sky. Some of them reported hearing a strange noise in the cabin, asking for advice on how to deal with it, before the floor below them was obliterated, along with them.
The remaining 1,503 were furious. Any attempts to contain them, ultimately, were failures. We stopped the invasion, but we created monsters in the process. I tell myself that what we did was for the greater good, that the ends justified the means, but I know that's a lie. I have chosen, as the lead biologist of the Exgenesis Project, to purge the facility. The children cannot be allowed to escape, and I will never escape what I've done.
I am Dr. Ivan Maldovich. I am a loving father, and, apparently, horrible psychopath, as only someone with no soul could do this to children. If someone saw them, they might still see humanity in them, if only in their eyes. I am unrecognizable; a real-life monster. | |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | Heroes, we called ourselves, when we had won the war. I looked at my brothers and sisters in the cabin of the craft that would take us to our families again. There were no words; the pensive silence of our voices outweighed the hum of the craft as we ascended. Everyone remained in armour; worn-out colours of the flags of their former countries still bore on some of their breasts like reminders of what we had come from.
Beneath each helmet in the room was a man or woman who had a story to tell that I never would have believed as a child. We all had different dreams before, no one wanted to serve in such a war but eventually we had forgotten the other options we once had. With each moment that passed, we were farther away from our planet Earth and I had to remind myself that the war was over. The others in the cabin were probably reminding themselves of the same thing but they did not speak of it.
I put a gloved hand to my chest, feeling nothing but hoping to somehow sense the flag I once wore and fought for. I tried to remember the colours and shapes, looking round at the other worn-out flags for inspiration but they had all faded into obscurity. There was no longer any sense in borders and countries. Even the sea could not break apart the lands we had fought for; it was all ours and we had won it back.
They told us that we were being taken to the secluded planet where our loved ones had evacuated to. I wondered what emotions hid beneath the helmets around me at the thought of bringing our planet home again. I, like them, had not left the planet like our families had and I had seen nothing else but Earth. The thought of bringing them back was a difficult concept for me to grasp.
Whatever the Earth once was, it was no longer the same. I could not see thick forests, cities still standing nor any land untorn from the damages of war even in the farthest depths of my memory. We had ruined what we had won and for that we were told to revere ourselves as heroes. Somehow doubt remained within me but I had long learned to trust my superiors in what is right or wrong. They had got us from one end of the war to another and although everything had changed, they promised us all that we had won. I trusted everything they said.
A speaker sounded above our heads telling us that we were drawing closer and no reaction came from any of us. We understood, factually, that we would see our families again but none of us could remember how we were supposed to feel about it. The word, “home,” had been thrown about as if we would return to a different planet to the one we had left once we had collected our families from their safe haven. I trusted these words, despite my doubts. Doubts were a natural side effect of war, they told us, so we had nothing to be concerned about.
We landed after some time, our sergeant stood tall in the doorway to address us. We were the first to land, he told us, and we were going to be the first heroes that the people would see now that the war was over. We were ordered to feel both honoured and proud for everything and then we were ordered to stand and leave the craft in single file.
We walked down the steps, looking straight ahead until instructed to do otherwise. We were lined up on a stage in front of a crowd of people. Their voices were light and surreal like distant whispers. A speech was called out to them in another whispery voice over a speaker. The people below our eyes became animals, cheering and crying at the words spoken to them. We paid no attention until the order to remove our helmets so we could look upon the people.
I looked down; they were like humans only smaller without any form. I nervously looked at my other comrades beside me who wore expressions I could not read. Their black eyes watched the creatures below with caution and they silently looked to their sergeant for help.
“What are they?” A whisper sounded from the crowd, high pitched and weak. Sounds of agreement filled the air in the language I knew and spoke only from the tongues of aliens. I scanned each of them to assess the danger. They appeared weak and lifeless, their bones almost visible through their cloth-like skin. Without further consideration, I detached one of my gloves to look at my own skin. As it should be – my skin was thicker, harder and much greyer, on a hand at least twice the size of any of the hands of the people in the crowd.
I compared the faces of my brothers to the creatures before us whose eyes were pale and flooded with white whilst my brothers saw through wide, mostly black eyes. We were the normal ones, I convinced myself as I looked at the fragile bony creatures below. A distant feeling of familiarity hung in my chest as I looked at them. They were frightened and feeble.
Without order, I found myself stepping down from the stage and standing amongst them; I glared at them and took their faces in. They backed away from me as if I had come to harm them; I tried my best to find them in my memories.
“I am on the wrong planet,” I said aloud, my voice reverberated off the walls and seemed to frighten the small bipedal creatures. I looked up to my brothers for help, they wore an expression that looked like fear but I could not bring myself to understand. Our sergeant looked confident, despite the commotion, and he looked over the situation calmly.
“These are your loved ones,” He said, his voice was no longer calming like it had been through the years of war, “It will take some time to adjust to them again. Go find your families.” He gestured to my brothers to join me in the crowd of frightened creatures. They obeyed nervously and integrated within the crowd, masses of people were backing away from us in all directions.
Our sergeant wore a smile as he watched us trying to find our families amongst the creatures. They were much smaller than us, brittle and strange. After the fear had dissipated from the creatures, the tables had turned and they began to back us into a corner. We were the frightened ones, wondering if we had been tricked into an ambush by our own superiors or if these creatures were really our loved ones.
“Go find your families,” His voice echoed in my mind, I could not help but regard it as another order. I tried my best to obey and looked at the faces in the crowd nervously without prevail. It was then that I realised how much I had lost.
It seemed normal to forget the memories of my past in the trials of war. With each injection, we grew stronger, our fear numbed and we got a step closer to winning the war. We were warned that things would seem different when it was over but none of us knew what it meant. Somewhere in the crowd were the people that were once my family but the word and its definition were thrown around so blandly and factually that although we knew what it was, we had lost all understanding of it.
It dawned on us gradually with each moment that we were the creatures and they were the humans. Whatever we had been before the war had long died within us. We came to remember not the individual faces but the general look of human men and women. We looked again upon ourselves and saw only warped and monstrous versions of what we should have been.
I reached out, a long-forgotten feeling I knew once as sadness fell over me but the drugs were too strong to let me succumb to that emotion. I was numb and revolting. My brothers felt the same, aware of what they were and incapable of identifying their own families. We had lost and forgotten our dreams, our loved ones and even our own names. When we realised that our own families could not identify us either, we realised then that we had become nothing. | We won. We finally won. At least I think it's still 'we'.. To say we made horrible mistakes during the war would be to easy. Victory had it's price and everybody had to play their part. But are we stil ourselves? During the fighting, the horrors, the bloodshed, we forgot about Eden. We sent humans to that paradise of a planet to colonize it so long ago. A place to start fresh should we finally get swept away by our own corruption and need for war. 'We' found them again. They wish we hadn't..
They were right you know. We should have left them alone. They are the real humans, the last remnent of ourselves. They don't understand why we became wat we became. They see us as monsters. They're right.
In order to win we changed. Our scientists mutated us so we could no longer feel shame or guilt. Our teeth became a sickly shiny white and took up most of our face. Such large mouths no person had ever seen. Our skin took on a strange orange shade, to resist the radiation we were told. Our hair, wat's left of it, became a golden yellow in the strangest shapes you've ever seen.
They called us monsters. They wanted to be left alone. They were right. They didn't recognize us as humans any more. Eden found a new word for us, one that suites the sickly creatures we had became. It doesn't matter though, even after this war earth wil rise again. And we wil keep the people of Eden at bay. A glorious solitude shall be our fate. We wil make earth great again. The humans on Eden can stay there. The Trumps rule earth now. And we're the best! | |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | Humans like to think they know what’s going on around them. We use concepts that fit our understanding as a handle to grasp what is abstract to us. We know how gravity works, but not why it works. However certain things tend to come up that do not align with our thinking, these things we cannot understand. We treat them with either curiosity or aggression. When the Outsiders came we chose curiosity. Never had we been in contact with exterrestrial beings before. We decided to try and study them, learn from them, only to realize that we could not pretend to understand something so different from us.
We knew the Outsiders were coming years before they reached Earth. Judging by their trajectory, it was clear that they were heading for Earth or some place near it. We tried to contact the Mothership, but it never responded. Unease started to spread amongst the leaders of the world and the question arose: what did the Outsiders intend to do? All options were brought forth by the leading scientist of Earth. We came to the conclusion that the chance of the Outsiders being hostile was minimal. They could not be after our resources. Earth has very little to offer compared to the rest of our galaxy. Were the Outsiders here to study us? It seemed reasonable.
The day they reached us, wasn’t the day the Mothership stopped moving. It moved right past our little green planet and only stopped after a few days. Every country on Earth prepared their weaponry, the Outsider’s intentions were unknown. Once the Mothership was about halfway in between Earth and the Sun it came to a stop. The front of the ship opened and pointed towards the Sun. Nothing living came out. With a massive flash of light the opening of the Mothership started to radiate large amounts of heat and light. But the source wasn’t the ship itself, it was our Sun. The opening leached onto the energy outputs of the Sun. It seemed as the Mothership was draining all its radiating power.
We responded with massive nuclear force. We kept raining missiles at them, but the Mothership didn’t receive any noticeable damage. It just compensated for the displacement of the explosions by steering. The Outsiders probably thought that we were just a minor nuisance, a plague to be purged. Smaller ships came out of the Mothership carrying the Outsiders themselves. They were humanoid creatures twice the size of the average male. Their black rough skin was impenetrable to our bullets. With their six limbs they smashed our tanks with incredible strength. Our world was thrown into chaos.
A new weapon was needed. The method used was inhumane, but we had no other choice. A tiny part of the population went through a procedure of massive forced genetic mutation. The results were horrifying. A new generation of ‘humans’ was born. These Subhumans as we call them, had incredible strengths. Some could crush an Outsiders head by just whispering to it. A whisper of death. What was a small breeze of change became a storm of despair. The Subhumans traded all reason and will for their strength. They became nothing short of monsters.
We were forced to flee our own home. Large scale space travel had been an option for years now, but we never had the need to use it. I think we managed to take about two percent of the original population with us. Half of Earth was dead before we left anyways. What was left of the Outsiders left too, after they saw the horrors we were capable of creating.
We are now on our way to find a habitable planet. If anyone receives this message, stay away from Earth. What is left is a shadow of what we once were, if there is anything left at all. | We won. We finally won. At least I think it's still 'we'.. To say we made horrible mistakes during the war would be to easy. Victory had it's price and everybody had to play their part. But are we stil ourselves? During the fighting, the horrors, the bloodshed, we forgot about Eden. We sent humans to that paradise of a planet to colonize it so long ago. A place to start fresh should we finally get swept away by our own corruption and need for war. 'We' found them again. They wish we hadn't..
They were right you know. We should have left them alone. They are the real humans, the last remnent of ourselves. They don't understand why we became wat we became. They see us as monsters. They're right.
In order to win we changed. Our scientists mutated us so we could no longer feel shame or guilt. Our teeth became a sickly shiny white and took up most of our face. Such large mouths no person had ever seen. Our skin took on a strange orange shade, to resist the radiation we were told. Our hair, wat's left of it, became a golden yellow in the strangest shapes you've ever seen.
They called us monsters. They wanted to be left alone. They were right. They didn't recognize us as humans any more. Eden found a new word for us, one that suites the sickly creatures we had became. It doesn't matter though, even after this war earth wil rise again. And we wil keep the people of Eden at bay. A glorious solitude shall be our fate. We wil make earth great again. The humans on Eden can stay there. The Trumps rule earth now. And we're the best! | |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | "Photon Eagle Four to Base, coming in hot. Advise," CPT Detriech was screaming into his radio. It would be hilarious to survive the 1,000 Year War, the rebuild of the space program, and the fifteen year journey to OP Base Delta in the far outskirts of the Castro System just to die upon entry into the atmosphere of our New World. I chuckled to myself because some of us deal with stress in completely unhelpful ways.
It was becoming pretty clear that Base was not going to respond or advise and we were going to have to do some slick maneuvers to survive. We'd lost a lot of parts on this voyage. I'm not the ship maintenance tech, so I don't know what parts exactly, but the guy that *is* the ship maintenance tech looks like he is about to throw up, so I am assuming the missing parts are awfully important parts.
I'm not the navigator either. She was killed a few cycles ago by a jealous lover. We're a violent lot. She was kind of a bitch, and I like sitting in her seat, so I don't mourn her loss. Cushy seat, though. Nice.
I guess you could call me a consultant. I'm an expert on all things Human. I'm suppose to ease the transition of our troops, after one thousand years of separation and constant war, back into the humdrum nonsense of human life.
I kind of hate Humans.
But we don't get to choose our jobs. I would have been a Breeder if I had been given a choice. I would have been genetically altered physically. I'd be a lot prettier and I wouldn't have THE WEIGHT OF MY PEOPLE'S FUTURE HAPPINESS ON MY SHOULDERS. I wouldn't have these fucking freckles, either. Asshole scientists couldn't do anything about that?
Lots of alarms are going off. Apparently there's a fire in engines two and three.
I don't know if surviving the crash is going to be all that awesome.
Here's comes the ground. At least we made it home.
_________________________
*Roswell, New Mexico 1947*
"President Truman, sir, they are definitely not human."
| We won. We finally won. At least I think it's still 'we'.. To say we made horrible mistakes during the war would be to easy. Victory had it's price and everybody had to play their part. But are we stil ourselves? During the fighting, the horrors, the bloodshed, we forgot about Eden. We sent humans to that paradise of a planet to colonize it so long ago. A place to start fresh should we finally get swept away by our own corruption and need for war. 'We' found them again. They wish we hadn't..
They were right you know. We should have left them alone. They are the real humans, the last remnent of ourselves. They don't understand why we became wat we became. They see us as monsters. They're right.
In order to win we changed. Our scientists mutated us so we could no longer feel shame or guilt. Our teeth became a sickly shiny white and took up most of our face. Such large mouths no person had ever seen. Our skin took on a strange orange shade, to resist the radiation we were told. Our hair, wat's left of it, became a golden yellow in the strangest shapes you've ever seen.
They called us monsters. They wanted to be left alone. They were right. They didn't recognize us as humans any more. Eden found a new word for us, one that suites the sickly creatures we had became. It doesn't matter though, even after this war earth wil rise again. And we wil keep the people of Eden at bay. A glorious solitude shall be our fate. We wil make earth great again. The humans on Eden can stay there. The Trumps rule earth now. And we're the best! | |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | The next month would mark the 78th anniversary of the mass exodus from planet Earth. Just one year before that, they came. These beings from the corner of the Baziniel galaxy. First contact seemed genuinely peaceful as we exchanged gifts and research. Yet their captain was overthrown by a planned mutiny, and the new leader desired nothing but the rich ores our planet sheltered. Days turned bleak as they began systematically bombing our land to get closer to the rare ores near the earth's core. We tried stopping them but our measly weapons were no match for what they brought. Scientists and experts declared that the only way for survival was to leave this planet and seek refuge on Mars, at least until another solution was found. The aliens didn't care one bit about human life, and didn't blink any of their six eyes as we launched ship after ship full of humans towards Mars.
What those people aboard weren't told was that they had left a small percentage of the population behind, to stand against these intruders. We were told that ethics would be thrown out the window in our fight and that we would do anything to win and bring our people back. So our scientists spent over half a century perfecting this serum that destroyed and rebuilt our DNA piece by piece, fine tuning each and every one of our attributes by tweaking the order of the base pairs. We gained traits and abilities no man ever had before and had become less man than the very creatures we were fighting.
Once this serum was perfected, it was quick work defeating the alien invaders. We kept their ships and tools to study, but executed nearly every one of them. We kept two alive, not as prisoners, but as friends. Two who were friends with the original captain, and did not come to Earth seeking riches. However we told them, any slight misbehavior and they would end with a bullet in each brain.
It has been almost 10 years since our victory. We had tried to salvage what we could off this planet but there was little hope. We knew our time was short and had to move out. We contacted our brethren on Mars, looking for a warm welcome. The scientists there took one look and were aghast. We were not recognizable anymore. They pleaded for us to stay away, believing the true human population would think they were under attack once again if we showed up. They explained that the humans on Mars would take no chances after their last alien encounter, and the military had been ordered to shoot any foreign being on sight.
We were disheartened after hearing our fate after sacrificing everything about ourselves for the greater good. Yet we understood. We had to make a home for ourselves in some other region of this universe. The scientists had freed us from our chains that linked us to mankind. They told their children that all human life had died on that planet 78 years ago. And they were right. | We won. We finally won. At least I think it's still 'we'.. To say we made horrible mistakes during the war would be to easy. Victory had it's price and everybody had to play their part. But are we stil ourselves? During the fighting, the horrors, the bloodshed, we forgot about Eden. We sent humans to that paradise of a planet to colonize it so long ago. A place to start fresh should we finally get swept away by our own corruption and need for war. 'We' found them again. They wish we hadn't..
They were right you know. We should have left them alone. They are the real humans, the last remnent of ourselves. They don't understand why we became wat we became. They see us as monsters. They're right.
In order to win we changed. Our scientists mutated us so we could no longer feel shame or guilt. Our teeth became a sickly shiny white and took up most of our face. Such large mouths no person had ever seen. Our skin took on a strange orange shade, to resist the radiation we were told. Our hair, wat's left of it, became a golden yellow in the strangest shapes you've ever seen.
They called us monsters. They wanted to be left alone. They were right. They didn't recognize us as humans any more. Eden found a new word for us, one that suites the sickly creatures we had became. It doesn't matter though, even after this war earth wil rise again. And we wil keep the people of Eden at bay. A glorious solitude shall be our fate. We wil make earth great again. The humans on Eden can stay there. The Trumps rule earth now. And we're the best! | |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | Heroes, we called ourselves, when we had won the war. I looked at my brothers and sisters in the cabin of the craft that would take us to our families again. There were no words; the pensive silence of our voices outweighed the hum of the craft as we ascended. Everyone remained in armour; worn-out colours of the flags of their former countries still bore on some of their breasts like reminders of what we had come from.
Beneath each helmet in the room was a man or woman who had a story to tell that I never would have believed as a child. We all had different dreams before, no one wanted to serve in such a war but eventually we had forgotten the other options we once had. With each moment that passed, we were farther away from our planet Earth and I had to remind myself that the war was over. The others in the cabin were probably reminding themselves of the same thing but they did not speak of it.
I put a gloved hand to my chest, feeling nothing but hoping to somehow sense the flag I once wore and fought for. I tried to remember the colours and shapes, looking round at the other worn-out flags for inspiration but they had all faded into obscurity. There was no longer any sense in borders and countries. Even the sea could not break apart the lands we had fought for; it was all ours and we had won it back.
They told us that we were being taken to the secluded planet where our loved ones had evacuated to. I wondered what emotions hid beneath the helmets around me at the thought of bringing our planet home again. I, like them, had not left the planet like our families had and I had seen nothing else but Earth. The thought of bringing them back was a difficult concept for me to grasp.
Whatever the Earth once was, it was no longer the same. I could not see thick forests, cities still standing nor any land untorn from the damages of war even in the farthest depths of my memory. We had ruined what we had won and for that we were told to revere ourselves as heroes. Somehow doubt remained within me but I had long learned to trust my superiors in what is right or wrong. They had got us from one end of the war to another and although everything had changed, they promised us all that we had won. I trusted everything they said.
A speaker sounded above our heads telling us that we were drawing closer and no reaction came from any of us. We understood, factually, that we would see our families again but none of us could remember how we were supposed to feel about it. The word, “home,” had been thrown about as if we would return to a different planet to the one we had left once we had collected our families from their safe haven. I trusted these words, despite my doubts. Doubts were a natural side effect of war, they told us, so we had nothing to be concerned about.
We landed after some time, our sergeant stood tall in the doorway to address us. We were the first to land, he told us, and we were going to be the first heroes that the people would see now that the war was over. We were ordered to feel both honoured and proud for everything and then we were ordered to stand and leave the craft in single file.
We walked down the steps, looking straight ahead until instructed to do otherwise. We were lined up on a stage in front of a crowd of people. Their voices were light and surreal like distant whispers. A speech was called out to them in another whispery voice over a speaker. The people below our eyes became animals, cheering and crying at the words spoken to them. We paid no attention until the order to remove our helmets so we could look upon the people.
I looked down; they were like humans only smaller without any form. I nervously looked at my other comrades beside me who wore expressions I could not read. Their black eyes watched the creatures below with caution and they silently looked to their sergeant for help.
“What are they?” A whisper sounded from the crowd, high pitched and weak. Sounds of agreement filled the air in the language I knew and spoke only from the tongues of aliens. I scanned each of them to assess the danger. They appeared weak and lifeless, their bones almost visible through their cloth-like skin. Without further consideration, I detached one of my gloves to look at my own skin. As it should be – my skin was thicker, harder and much greyer, on a hand at least twice the size of any of the hands of the people in the crowd.
I compared the faces of my brothers to the creatures before us whose eyes were pale and flooded with white whilst my brothers saw through wide, mostly black eyes. We were the normal ones, I convinced myself as I looked at the fragile bony creatures below. A distant feeling of familiarity hung in my chest as I looked at them. They were frightened and feeble.
Without order, I found myself stepping down from the stage and standing amongst them; I glared at them and took their faces in. They backed away from me as if I had come to harm them; I tried my best to find them in my memories.
“I am on the wrong planet,” I said aloud, my voice reverberated off the walls and seemed to frighten the small bipedal creatures. I looked up to my brothers for help, they wore an expression that looked like fear but I could not bring myself to understand. Our sergeant looked confident, despite the commotion, and he looked over the situation calmly.
“These are your loved ones,” He said, his voice was no longer calming like it had been through the years of war, “It will take some time to adjust to them again. Go find your families.” He gestured to my brothers to join me in the crowd of frightened creatures. They obeyed nervously and integrated within the crowd, masses of people were backing away from us in all directions.
Our sergeant wore a smile as he watched us trying to find our families amongst the creatures. They were much smaller than us, brittle and strange. After the fear had dissipated from the creatures, the tables had turned and they began to back us into a corner. We were the frightened ones, wondering if we had been tricked into an ambush by our own superiors or if these creatures were really our loved ones.
“Go find your families,” His voice echoed in my mind, I could not help but regard it as another order. I tried my best to obey and looked at the faces in the crowd nervously without prevail. It was then that I realised how much I had lost.
It seemed normal to forget the memories of my past in the trials of war. With each injection, we grew stronger, our fear numbed and we got a step closer to winning the war. We were warned that things would seem different when it was over but none of us knew what it meant. Somewhere in the crowd were the people that were once my family but the word and its definition were thrown around so blandly and factually that although we knew what it was, we had lost all understanding of it.
It dawned on us gradually with each moment that we were the creatures and they were the humans. Whatever we had been before the war had long died within us. We came to remember not the individual faces but the general look of human men and women. We looked again upon ourselves and saw only warped and monstrous versions of what we should have been.
I reached out, a long-forgotten feeling I knew once as sadness fell over me but the drugs were too strong to let me succumb to that emotion. I was numb and revolting. My brothers felt the same, aware of what they were and incapable of identifying their own families. We had lost and forgotten our dreams, our loved ones and even our own names. When we realised that our own families could not identify us either, we realised then that we had become nothing. | *Earth*. The word was a bright blue marble cool under the tongue, the taste of rainwater, a breath of fresh unrecycled air. It was the word poised on every colonist's lips, as the A.R.K.s lifted off from the Mars and moon bases, leaving the self-maintaining structures humming along empty and undisturbed. The war was over. They were going home.
Contact had been almost non-existent, no one willing to risk the invaders intercepting their messages. For twenty years, just the lonely mathematical signal, like eyes blinking, like fingers tapping the wrist: we are still alive. We are still here. And then, in the wake of the invaders' defeat, a flood breaking through. Names being cried out, lines cast out across space. Fathers who had never seen their children, families and friends and lovers calling out for each other in one confused rush. And underneath it all, the revelation. The Truth.
Earth had changed in those twenty years of war, and humanity with it. The atmosphere had been stripped of its ozone layer, the earth bombarded with radiation both celestial and terrestrial. The air was poisoned, those lovely bright blue waters undrinkable. And humankind had adapted itself to the blighted world. The colonists who had escaped the war were the last remnants of what humanity has once been.
No one had fully elaborated on it, sketched out the new blueprint for their race. But it seeped through in the chittering undertones in the voices, the membranes vibrating at each deep breath, the odd reference to colors no colonist had seen. Lovers spoke without lust, as if hesitant to discuss this new configuration of bodies. The sentiment 'I want to hold you in my arms again' was delicately broached, as if such a thing might no longer be possible.
But still, the decision was unanimous. Blighted though the Earth was, it was still a more sustainable environment than the barren moon and Mars. Talks of terraforming were tossed around jovially, of reservations. Of domes that would block out the ultraviolet, purify the air, restart a self-contained water cycle. Perhaps, the messages hinted, genetic alterations for the colonists that would allow them to live side by side with the inhabitants of Earth.
The mood in the A.R.K. was tense, expectant, every passenger clad in their radiation suits and eager for disembarkment. The passenger bay had no windows, no view of the red ground growing closer, no view of of the hundreds of Earthlings gathered around the landing pad, banners spread, bands playing, arms raised in celebration. There was just the shudder of the ship as the A.R.K. touched down, and the first cracks of sunlight as the doors opened.
Cautiously, their visors tinted against the glare of the sun, the last neanderthals in existence took their first careful steps forward and prepared to greet humanity. | |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | "Photon Eagle Four to Base, coming in hot. Advise," CPT Detriech was screaming into his radio. It would be hilarious to survive the 1,000 Year War, the rebuild of the space program, and the fifteen year journey to OP Base Delta in the far outskirts of the Castro System just to die upon entry into the atmosphere of our New World. I chuckled to myself because some of us deal with stress in completely unhelpful ways.
It was becoming pretty clear that Base was not going to respond or advise and we were going to have to do some slick maneuvers to survive. We'd lost a lot of parts on this voyage. I'm not the ship maintenance tech, so I don't know what parts exactly, but the guy that *is* the ship maintenance tech looks like he is about to throw up, so I am assuming the missing parts are awfully important parts.
I'm not the navigator either. She was killed a few cycles ago by a jealous lover. We're a violent lot. She was kind of a bitch, and I like sitting in her seat, so I don't mourn her loss. Cushy seat, though. Nice.
I guess you could call me a consultant. I'm an expert on all things Human. I'm suppose to ease the transition of our troops, after one thousand years of separation and constant war, back into the humdrum nonsense of human life.
I kind of hate Humans.
But we don't get to choose our jobs. I would have been a Breeder if I had been given a choice. I would have been genetically altered physically. I'd be a lot prettier and I wouldn't have THE WEIGHT OF MY PEOPLE'S FUTURE HAPPINESS ON MY SHOULDERS. I wouldn't have these fucking freckles, either. Asshole scientists couldn't do anything about that?
Lots of alarms are going off. Apparently there's a fire in engines two and three.
I don't know if surviving the crash is going to be all that awesome.
Here's comes the ground. At least we made it home.
_________________________
*Roswell, New Mexico 1947*
"President Truman, sir, they are definitely not human."
| *Earth*. The word was a bright blue marble cool under the tongue, the taste of rainwater, a breath of fresh unrecycled air. It was the word poised on every colonist's lips, as the A.R.K.s lifted off from the Mars and moon bases, leaving the self-maintaining structures humming along empty and undisturbed. The war was over. They were going home.
Contact had been almost non-existent, no one willing to risk the invaders intercepting their messages. For twenty years, just the lonely mathematical signal, like eyes blinking, like fingers tapping the wrist: we are still alive. We are still here. And then, in the wake of the invaders' defeat, a flood breaking through. Names being cried out, lines cast out across space. Fathers who had never seen their children, families and friends and lovers calling out for each other in one confused rush. And underneath it all, the revelation. The Truth.
Earth had changed in those twenty years of war, and humanity with it. The atmosphere had been stripped of its ozone layer, the earth bombarded with radiation both celestial and terrestrial. The air was poisoned, those lovely bright blue waters undrinkable. And humankind had adapted itself to the blighted world. The colonists who had escaped the war were the last remnants of what humanity has once been.
No one had fully elaborated on it, sketched out the new blueprint for their race. But it seeped through in the chittering undertones in the voices, the membranes vibrating at each deep breath, the odd reference to colors no colonist had seen. Lovers spoke without lust, as if hesitant to discuss this new configuration of bodies. The sentiment 'I want to hold you in my arms again' was delicately broached, as if such a thing might no longer be possible.
But still, the decision was unanimous. Blighted though the Earth was, it was still a more sustainable environment than the barren moon and Mars. Talks of terraforming were tossed around jovially, of reservations. Of domes that would block out the ultraviolet, purify the air, restart a self-contained water cycle. Perhaps, the messages hinted, genetic alterations for the colonists that would allow them to live side by side with the inhabitants of Earth.
The mood in the A.R.K. was tense, expectant, every passenger clad in their radiation suits and eager for disembarkment. The passenger bay had no windows, no view of the red ground growing closer, no view of of the hundreds of Earthlings gathered around the landing pad, banners spread, bands playing, arms raised in celebration. There was just the shudder of the ship as the A.R.K. touched down, and the first cracks of sunlight as the doors opened.
Cautiously, their visors tinted against the glare of the sun, the last neanderthals in existence took their first careful steps forward and prepared to greet humanity. | |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | "Photon Eagle Four to Base, coming in hot. Advise," CPT Detriech was screaming into his radio. It would be hilarious to survive the 1,000 Year War, the rebuild of the space program, and the fifteen year journey to OP Base Delta in the far outskirts of the Castro System just to die upon entry into the atmosphere of our New World. I chuckled to myself because some of us deal with stress in completely unhelpful ways.
It was becoming pretty clear that Base was not going to respond or advise and we were going to have to do some slick maneuvers to survive. We'd lost a lot of parts on this voyage. I'm not the ship maintenance tech, so I don't know what parts exactly, but the guy that *is* the ship maintenance tech looks like he is about to throw up, so I am assuming the missing parts are awfully important parts.
I'm not the navigator either. She was killed a few cycles ago by a jealous lover. We're a violent lot. She was kind of a bitch, and I like sitting in her seat, so I don't mourn her loss. Cushy seat, though. Nice.
I guess you could call me a consultant. I'm an expert on all things Human. I'm suppose to ease the transition of our troops, after one thousand years of separation and constant war, back into the humdrum nonsense of human life.
I kind of hate Humans.
But we don't get to choose our jobs. I would have been a Breeder if I had been given a choice. I would have been genetically altered physically. I'd be a lot prettier and I wouldn't have THE WEIGHT OF MY PEOPLE'S FUTURE HAPPINESS ON MY SHOULDERS. I wouldn't have these fucking freckles, either. Asshole scientists couldn't do anything about that?
Lots of alarms are going off. Apparently there's a fire in engines two and three.
I don't know if surviving the crash is going to be all that awesome.
Here's comes the ground. At least we made it home.
_________________________
*Roswell, New Mexico 1947*
"President Truman, sir, they are definitely not human."
| Humans like to think they know what’s going on around them. We use concepts that fit our understanding as a handle to grasp what is abstract to us. We know how gravity works, but not why it works. However certain things tend to come up that do not align with our thinking, these things we cannot understand. We treat them with either curiosity or aggression. When the Outsiders came we chose curiosity. Never had we been in contact with exterrestrial beings before. We decided to try and study them, learn from them, only to realize that we could not pretend to understand something so different from us.
We knew the Outsiders were coming years before they reached Earth. Judging by their trajectory, it was clear that they were heading for Earth or some place near it. We tried to contact the Mothership, but it never responded. Unease started to spread amongst the leaders of the world and the question arose: what did the Outsiders intend to do? All options were brought forth by the leading scientist of Earth. We came to the conclusion that the chance of the Outsiders being hostile was minimal. They could not be after our resources. Earth has very little to offer compared to the rest of our galaxy. Were the Outsiders here to study us? It seemed reasonable.
The day they reached us, wasn’t the day the Mothership stopped moving. It moved right past our little green planet and only stopped after a few days. Every country on Earth prepared their weaponry, the Outsider’s intentions were unknown. Once the Mothership was about halfway in between Earth and the Sun it came to a stop. The front of the ship opened and pointed towards the Sun. Nothing living came out. With a massive flash of light the opening of the Mothership started to radiate large amounts of heat and light. But the source wasn’t the ship itself, it was our Sun. The opening leached onto the energy outputs of the Sun. It seemed as the Mothership was draining all its radiating power.
We responded with massive nuclear force. We kept raining missiles at them, but the Mothership didn’t receive any noticeable damage. It just compensated for the displacement of the explosions by steering. The Outsiders probably thought that we were just a minor nuisance, a plague to be purged. Smaller ships came out of the Mothership carrying the Outsiders themselves. They were humanoid creatures twice the size of the average male. Their black rough skin was impenetrable to our bullets. With their six limbs they smashed our tanks with incredible strength. Our world was thrown into chaos.
A new weapon was needed. The method used was inhumane, but we had no other choice. A tiny part of the population went through a procedure of massive forced genetic mutation. The results were horrifying. A new generation of ‘humans’ was born. These Subhumans as we call them, had incredible strengths. Some could crush an Outsiders head by just whispering to it. A whisper of death. What was a small breeze of change became a storm of despair. The Subhumans traded all reason and will for their strength. They became nothing short of monsters.
We were forced to flee our own home. Large scale space travel had been an option for years now, but we never had the need to use it. I think we managed to take about two percent of the original population with us. Half of Earth was dead before we left anyways. What was left of the Outsiders left too, after they saw the horrors we were capable of creating.
We are now on our way to find a habitable planet. If anyone receives this message, stay away from Earth. What is left is a shadow of what we once were, if there is anything left at all. | |
[WP] Write about a boy whose only friend is his shadow. Make a dark/creepy twist on something happening to the boy and his shadow trying to deal with it. | He was too young and naive to know the true danger of the beast. It roared and snapped as its orange fur sparkled under the night sky. I cried out and told him to turn back, but he didn't hear me, he never did. I reached for his legs, desperately trying to pull him back, but the beast pushed me back. I hit the wall but no sound came out, all I could do now was watch as my friend perished. He pat its radiant fur and it began to purr. It snapped as his arm him as he pulled it back back in retort of the pain. He cried and screamed in pain as his flesh began to shrivel up and darken. His body was engulfed in a veil of heat as he wriggled in pain, desperately trying to shake the creature off. His flesh crackled like it was on a pan and his clothes began to turn to dust. Tears trickled down his bright pink cheeks and he let let out a final groan as the monster continued to feast on his body. All that was left was a body as dark as mine. I cried, but no tears came out. I gently stroked what was left of his body as I laid besides him, I wanted to stop him but I couldn't. What kind of friend am I? | It's currently 3:30pm March 1989. I've been Marty's shadow for 6 years now and we've learned so much. There's nothing I loved more than being by his side while we discovered his first loose tooth. Or when we played handball during recess. Where there was light, we were together.
"Hey Marty, come inside for a moment!" Our mom called from the house. As he trotted up the steps I slithered across the ground behind him until he crossed the threshold and then... Nothing.
It's hard to describe what it's like when the lights go out. I don't think or feel. I don't even register that time has passed, but I've gotten used to it.
Instantly, we were in the kitchen. I like this room, it's light still had one of those old lightbulbs that bathes the room in a slightly yellow glow. "Listen Sweety, you know those things you see while you're dreaming?" I had no idea what mom was talking about. Dreaming? I've never experienced dreaming. She continued as I nodded along. "This nice man is going to take you to a fun summer camp."
She turned away to hide her tears, as the stranger kneeled and spoke to Marty. "Hey kid, you like sports?"
Marty spoke up. "I like handball."
"Really!? That's great! So do the other kids." He assured, but something didn't feel right. We never needed any other kids to play with. In the end we had no say in the matter and as the stranger led us outside to his van, Marty turned our head to his mom and nervously waved a half hearted goodbye.
Getting into vehicles always made me not exist, so when the doors closed it was no surprise when I woke up in a completely ambiguous situation.
"The body is pretty decomposed." I heard a voice say. Pointing a flash light at us stood a man in uniform. A second police officer replied "No one has called in any missing persons. Maybe a cold case."
What were these two talking about? The movement of the officers light caused me to sway around and jump, while every now and then disappearing when he turned away. It made understanding the situation an extreme challenge.
Without warning Officers were everywhere and a set of flood lights had been set up around Marty and me giving me my first glimpse of Marty's body. He was unrecognizable, but the bruises on his neck were as clear as day. Marty was poked and prodded by the officers. Theories flew back and forth, but nothing except for a definitive answer would satisfy me. When they finished investigating, I woke up surrounded by a florescent glow to find Marty's cold body laying on top of me while his mom, much older and completely gray from when I last saw her, sobbed above.
She knows the answer! She sent us away! I tried desperately to communicate but I learned that was impossible years ago. Me and Marty were lifted and placed into a drawer. Ask her about the stranger! He took us away!
But it was all futile. As the door began to slid shut, instead of disappearing, I flickered about, like that time we went to the beach with mom for a bonfire.
Marty became engulfed in flames. I was splattered and smeared all around and as Marty slowly turned into dust, I stopped existing one last time without ever knowing what had happened in the dark. | |
[WP] Write about a boy whose only friend is his shadow. Make a dark/creepy twist on something happening to the boy and his shadow trying to deal with it. | **~~This is a twenty minute writing sprint.~~ I went over by ten minutes or so! It's okay, I still had fun.**
***
"I already know, okay." The boy was practically pouting.
"Damien, please," his mother said.
"Stop it mom." Damien was sitting on the ground. His knees were tightly pressed against his chest. The warmth of the sun beat against the back of his head.
"I'm going to count to three, mister," his mother said in a not very convincing tone.
"Hmph." Damien crossed his arms and jerked his head slightly further away.
"One," mother said. Damien didn't budge. "Two." Mother was sitting on the park bench, tapping her feet. The sound of children and birds were interspersed between her counting. Damien breathed in heavily while slowly getting up. Mother was triumphant. "Thr--" Mother was smiling when she was interrupted.
"FINE!" Damien turned to look at his mother. His face was red and scrunched up. I thought I saw tears in his eyes, but I couldn't tell. "I'll go play with the other kids! But I hate them! They all make fun of me! Look at them!" He pointed at the kids, his arm as straight and stiff as if he was practicing martial arts. "They're happier without me! I'm happier here." His voice diminished into a whisper. "In the sun..." Damien turned away from his mother, stepped down into the sandpit, and walked slowly with hanging shoulders, to the jungle gym.
"Don't worry Damien," I told my young friend. "If I disappear into the darkness, I'll be everywhere."
Damien smiled as he entered the ground level of the jungle gym. It was completely covered. The only sunlight that penetrated the cavity was the single hole in which Damien entered. Most of the kids came here for secret meetings away from the prying eyes of their parents.
All the kids had gathered there when they saw Damien approaching. "Damien, Damien. Pisses himself, and shits himself. All he loves, is darkness. Darkness, Darkness, Darkness." The kids chanted like a mob on a hunt. Little did they realize, that if they acknowledged me, I can interact with them.
"Damien." I said, my voice filled the cavity. Damien was still the only one in the sunlight, so his shadow stretched forward, into the dark room, merging with the darkness. "What do you want?"
The kids were all shaking. Some cursed at Damien, some were crying, some were fascinated, and some were completely oblivious.
"I..." He paused. I can tell he was debating what he wanted to do to these kids. I felt it. The kids fell silent, they felt it.
"I just want to be alone, Danny," Damien said, addressing me by name.
"Hey!" I hated being called by my name. That was a name for a human, something I've long since considered myself. "Okay, Damien," I told my young friend.
It felt like whistling, I hadn't done it very many times, but in an instant, all the kids inside the cavity, the ones the darkness touched, had fallen asleep.
Damien fell. It took a lot out of my host whenever I used that ability. But he whispered something to me, hardly audible if I were still human. "Thank you, Da--" He passed out. | It's currently 3:30pm March 1989. I've been Marty's shadow for 6 years now and we've learned so much. There's nothing I loved more than being by his side while we discovered his first loose tooth. Or when we played handball during recess. Where there was light, we were together.
"Hey Marty, come inside for a moment!" Our mom called from the house. As he trotted up the steps I slithered across the ground behind him until he crossed the threshold and then... Nothing.
It's hard to describe what it's like when the lights go out. I don't think or feel. I don't even register that time has passed, but I've gotten used to it.
Instantly, we were in the kitchen. I like this room, it's light still had one of those old lightbulbs that bathes the room in a slightly yellow glow. "Listen Sweety, you know those things you see while you're dreaming?" I had no idea what mom was talking about. Dreaming? I've never experienced dreaming. She continued as I nodded along. "This nice man is going to take you to a fun summer camp."
She turned away to hide her tears, as the stranger kneeled and spoke to Marty. "Hey kid, you like sports?"
Marty spoke up. "I like handball."
"Really!? That's great! So do the other kids." He assured, but something didn't feel right. We never needed any other kids to play with. In the end we had no say in the matter and as the stranger led us outside to his van, Marty turned our head to his mom and nervously waved a half hearted goodbye.
Getting into vehicles always made me not exist, so when the doors closed it was no surprise when I woke up in a completely ambiguous situation.
"The body is pretty decomposed." I heard a voice say. Pointing a flash light at us stood a man in uniform. A second police officer replied "No one has called in any missing persons. Maybe a cold case."
What were these two talking about? The movement of the officers light caused me to sway around and jump, while every now and then disappearing when he turned away. It made understanding the situation an extreme challenge.
Without warning Officers were everywhere and a set of flood lights had been set up around Marty and me giving me my first glimpse of Marty's body. He was unrecognizable, but the bruises on his neck were as clear as day. Marty was poked and prodded by the officers. Theories flew back and forth, but nothing except for a definitive answer would satisfy me. When they finished investigating, I woke up surrounded by a florescent glow to find Marty's cold body laying on top of me while his mom, much older and completely gray from when I last saw her, sobbed above.
She knows the answer! She sent us away! I tried desperately to communicate but I learned that was impossible years ago. Me and Marty were lifted and placed into a drawer. Ask her about the stranger! He took us away!
But it was all futile. As the door began to slid shut, instead of disappearing, I flickered about, like that time we went to the beach with mom for a bonfire.
Marty became engulfed in flames. I was splattered and smeared all around and as Marty slowly turned into dust, I stopped existing one last time without ever knowing what had happened in the dark. | |
[WP] Write about a boy whose only friend is his shadow. Make a dark/creepy twist on something happening to the boy and his shadow trying to deal with it. | **~~This is a twenty minute writing sprint.~~ I went over by ten minutes or so! It's okay, I still had fun.**
***
"I already know, okay." The boy was practically pouting.
"Damien, please," his mother said.
"Stop it mom." Damien was sitting on the ground. His knees were tightly pressed against his chest. The warmth of the sun beat against the back of his head.
"I'm going to count to three, mister," his mother said in a not very convincing tone.
"Hmph." Damien crossed his arms and jerked his head slightly further away.
"One," mother said. Damien didn't budge. "Two." Mother was sitting on the park bench, tapping her feet. The sound of children and birds were interspersed between her counting. Damien breathed in heavily while slowly getting up. Mother was triumphant. "Thr--" Mother was smiling when she was interrupted.
"FINE!" Damien turned to look at his mother. His face was red and scrunched up. I thought I saw tears in his eyes, but I couldn't tell. "I'll go play with the other kids! But I hate them! They all make fun of me! Look at them!" He pointed at the kids, his arm as straight and stiff as if he was practicing martial arts. "They're happier without me! I'm happier here." His voice diminished into a whisper. "In the sun..." Damien turned away from his mother, stepped down into the sandpit, and walked slowly with hanging shoulders, to the jungle gym.
"Don't worry Damien," I told my young friend. "If I disappear into the darkness, I'll be everywhere."
Damien smiled as he entered the ground level of the jungle gym. It was completely covered. The only sunlight that penetrated the cavity was the single hole in which Damien entered. Most of the kids came here for secret meetings away from the prying eyes of their parents.
All the kids had gathered there when they saw Damien approaching. "Damien, Damien. Pisses himself, and shits himself. All he loves, is darkness. Darkness, Darkness, Darkness." The kids chanted like a mob on a hunt. Little did they realize, that if they acknowledged me, I can interact with them.
"Damien." I said, my voice filled the cavity. Damien was still the only one in the sunlight, so his shadow stretched forward, into the dark room, merging with the darkness. "What do you want?"
The kids were all shaking. Some cursed at Damien, some were crying, some were fascinated, and some were completely oblivious.
"I..." He paused. I can tell he was debating what he wanted to do to these kids. I felt it. The kids fell silent, they felt it.
"I just want to be alone, Danny," Damien said, addressing me by name.
"Hey!" I hated being called by my name. That was a name for a human, something I've long since considered myself. "Okay, Damien," I told my young friend.
It felt like whistling, I hadn't done it very many times, but in an instant, all the kids inside the cavity, the ones the darkness touched, had fallen asleep.
Damien fell. It took a lot out of my host whenever I used that ability. But he whispered something to me, hardly audible if I were still human. "Thank you, Da--" He passed out. | I've read all your stories (loved them by the way) and thought I'd try one for myself.
When Jack jumped, so did I.
When Jack swung, so did I.
I have been with Jack his whole life, and we were the best of friends. Jack would talk to me about all his problems and I would be there to listen, though I couldn't talk to him. I was there when he would hide from his Dad. Although I was very similar to Jack. My body could not show the bruises on his face and the marks on his wrist. I tried to stop I truly did, but Jack said it helped him to forget.
Jack and I took a stroll to the woods one day. Jack brought a rope with him and started to tie it. I used every ounce of my strength to try and stop him. The noose went around our neck.
When Jack jumped, so did I.
When Jack swung, so did I.
*thought I'd write this short one because all your stories inspired me! Let me know what you think! | |
[WP] "Fake it till you make it" You've just faked your way into the poker world championship finals, yet you still have no idea how to play. | "Thompson folds."
"Oh. Uh, yeah." I snapped back to reality a little bit, just in time to see Forehead's jaw clench. It happened so quickly that I wasn't sure whether it actually happened or if it was part of the daydream I was just having.
The dealer looked at the other people who drummed the table a few times and then started to flip over cards. By now, I felt like I had gotten a pretty good hang of how the game was played, and liked to think of this part as The Flip.
People kept tapping the table but the dealer was ignoring me at this point. I wondered if he was mad at me for zoning out a minute ago. I couldn't shake the impression that everyone else didn't like me. And I couldn't blame them, I guess. This wasn't my first time playing poker, but I just kind of fell into this tournament over the last few months, and I would be mad too if a team I had never heard of was beating me in the Super Bowl.
At least, I think I was beating them. My pile was the biggest, I think, or at least it had the least colour variety. Lots of black. Which I took to be a good thing based on how mad Forehead and Shades and Scarf and the other guy were.
I couldn't decide what to name the other guy. I was introduced to all of them before the game started and an announcer made a big deal of their names as the game started (the crowd cheered for them all, but I think they're even madder because I got the loudest introduction) and they would still say people's names after the game got started. Usually after a Collection, they would name the person who got to keep the pile of pucks, like Forehead was doing now. But their names didn't stick and I had to improvise.
So. Wearing a backwards cap with the rim way up? Forehead. Wearing sunglasses indoors, at night? Shades. Wearing a scarf? Uh, Scarf.
It wasn't a sophisticated system.
The guy to my right wasn't wearing anything that stood out though. I had been thinking of him as different, boring names, like Shirt, but I knew I didn't want to keep that. Luckily, after a couple more rounds, I didn't have to.
I got two cards that were both red to start and my experience had taught me that this was usually a good thing. They were more of those weird ones that had letters instead of numbers on them. One was another of those inverted human centipede people with two heads at both ends, and the other was just a really big heart, which was nice.
I still hadn't exactly figured out their Morse code system of drumming their fingers on the table, and asssumed I should just push a pile out roughly the same size as Forehead did at the start of last hand. I couldn't remember what colour pucks Forehead had bid, though, and just pushed out some black ones because they were the most I had. As soon as I did, everyone gasped.
The dealer went around the table, well, not actually around the table but he looked at everyone in turns and Short Sleeves was the only one who did the same thing.
The dealer flipped more cards and I saw more red, which excited me, but they had more of those human monsters on them. He decided to talk to me again and I got nervous because I didn't understand what he wanted so I just pushed the same sized pile out again. It seemed to make people not want to talk to me, just stare, and I preferred that. I didn't know how much money this was all worth, but I was sure it was a lot and, coupled with my social anxiety, the pressure had left me pretty quiet. Actually, I don't think I had said a word since this game started.
Next thing I knew, Trapezoids had flipped over his cards and just one of them was red, but it was a ten which I knew by now was the highest the numbers could go, so I got nervous again. I tried to flip my cards over but my hands were trembling and one of them slipped and fell face down so I only revealed my weird card. People went really quiet, almost like these drawing freaked them out too, but when I flipped over my big heart the room exploded. Fisticuffs banged the table and then got up. He was stalking off and some people were even jeering him. I felt kinda bad, really. Forehead was giving me a funny look. More quizzical than angry. Suddenly, the announcer's voice boomed.
"And that concludes the end of the first round as Thompson obliterates Demers and nearly doubles his lead over the nearest person trailing him, Bonaccio."
The crowd cheered pretty loud and Forehead held up a hand without looking anywhere in particular.
"Will anyone be able to catch up to Thompson's unbelievable lead? Or will he crack and lose his cool against some of the most seasoned players in the world? Please stay tuned!" | I peer over my cards at the stony faces around me, my reflection staring back at me from their glasses. "Fake it til you make it son, fake it til you make it", the words still rang in my ears from fifteen years prior. Of course Dad was a drunkard who muttered this motto every time he was pulled over for drinking and driving but that didn't matter now. What mattered now was trying to figure out this game, it was cards and I'm vaguely sure that the chips sitting in front of me probably belong to me.
"You're big blind,"
"What? No I can see fine thank you, and I'm trying to run more"
"What?"
"Nothing," I say, pushing a blue chip to the center of the table. I nod knowingly, but my reflection just nods back like a moron. The dealer gestured around the table, and one by one the other players tossed in chips of various colors. I put in a green one, as its the color of money. Two of the other players tossed their cards in front of them and sighed unhappily. Several cards were laid out on the table: two kings, a three and a seven. I have none of those things. Once again the dealer went around the table, this time I thought I'd put in a black one to frighten the other players. No dice, the dealer just looks confused and gestures for more.
"Shit shit shit," I thought, and started pushing a random assortment of colors in front of me. Three more toss their cards and stare at me. Two more cards come out, I also have none of these. This goes on for hours, sometimes they hand me the chips, sometimes they don't. I quietly ask if I can use the restroom, the dealer looks disappointed in me but he nods.
I make my way down the hallway, and enter the bathroom. An attendant stands there and gestures me to a stall.
"Oh no it's fine I've just got to-",
He pushes me in anyway. As I step into the stall a man in a white cowboy hat stares back at me.
"I'm sorry about this."
"Oh no its quite alright, I can just use the other one."
He shakes his head and levels a revolver to my face... | |
[WP] For the first time in american history, the choice "None of the above" appears on every ballot. | "I know how to stop him." I said to the intimidating group of billionaires and politicians watching me. I wiped the sweat off my palms and shakily said, "If you can get me on the ballot, I can beat him."
They looked me up and down as if they were judging a cut of meat. I felt my legs begin to shake as I struggled to remember what came next. Maybe I should have spent more time practicing my speech and less time fantasizing what I would do with the billion dollar reward. "Uh..." I stammered, "You se--
"Someone get this fool out of here!" interrupted an annoyed middle aged man who wore a suit that probably cost more than my car. "Out of all the people we have interviewed today, you are by far the least capable of beating Donald Trump. Did we just let anyone come in here off the street? Hell, I doubt you could even beat Jeb bush! You do realize that you would have to speak in front of way bigger crowds than this, don't you? And that you would have to answer questions and improvise?"
"Well actually my plan wouldn't involve any debates or press conferences." I replied. "I was kind of hoping you guys could sneak me onto the ballot. Maybe as a last minute independent candidate or something?"
A different person in an even more expensive suit responded "So let me get this straight. You think that as a no name independent, you can beat both Trump and Clinton? And why would anybody vote for a last minute third party candidate that they have never heard of?"
"Uh.." I said, "They both have very low approval ratings. It seems like most people don't want either of them to be president."
"But just because they don't want either of them doesn't mean that you are automatically a better option." He replied. "You still haven't told us why they will vote for YOU, Mr..."
"I'm sorry, what is your name?"
"My name is None of The Above" I answered. "And if Donald Trump's success has taught me anything it is that the best way to win an election is to exploit the average voter's stupidity. | Meanwhile in the great California state convention some muttering appears*
"What in the world I didn't think something like this would happen in the first place but, truth be told I am a democrat" The woman said trying to figure out what to do with the ballot
"Do not even bother but, I hate to break it to you uhh....they all do suck you know that that right?" The man said with a grin and his eyebrow as the population increased and many of the people who wanted to vote all voted for none of the above
Part of it, one of the democrat party called for a formal protest considering this idea was absurd and no one in the right mind would consider this an ideal of decisions but, since most humans here don't really know what to do at this point though.
"If all of the choices are all of the above then I suppose a few years from now there won't have to be a Donald trump or a Hillary Clinton to be precise but, who in the world cares about that....this is the future for the love of god and...I say who gives a rat's butt!" The Woman yelled as she began to cross off none of the above and began to slam it towards the box almost destroying it as usual it went in like the others though but, not many people cared about that.
"The Truth is no one really wants any of those canditates....hell I'm a republican and I dislike all of the republicans on here anyway so I wouldn't really
care...besides it doesn't quiet seem to make sense in a matter of speaking but, you can blame Congress for the damn bill...and making it into the damn law....and they KNOW damn well that this is not going to work.........Arghh..........you know this is why sometimes I want to shoot myself because that is the only to get my sanity back........for now it least."
"Let's just get this over with and leave" | |
[WP] The moment you die, you see a screen that has a numeric score and the words GAME OVER. PLAY AGAIN FOR A HIGHER SCORE? PLEASE CHOOSE YES or NO You briefly see a list of names with high scores. | Nothing.
*(What the hell? What happened? Where am I?)*
Nothing.
*(Whoa! Did I really dodge that bullet?)*
Nothing.
*(It WAS shot point blank, though...)*
Nothing.
*(Ah well, I guess I am neo-Neo, dodger of bullets, the chosen-)*
"You have died."
*(...)*
Nothing.
*(Ah, dammit.)*
Nothing.
*(Wait, why does my afterlife look like the end screen from my old Atari?)*
"You scored -3 out of a possible 7 billion! Would you like to:"
*(-3? MINUS THREE? Out of SEVEN FUCKING BILLION? Oh, c'mon, NO WAY I am that shit a player!!)*
"-> Play again?
OR
See the High Scores
OR
Quit & Exit?"
*(WTF is this now? Does that arrow move? How do I-)*
"Play again?
OR
-> View the High Scores
OR
Quit & Exit?"
*(So, that's how. Okay, let's see... Who sucks the least at this game? And what are they calling it, anyway? The game of life? L.I.F.E.? Or 'lyf'? Or something else? Oh wait, here comes the list...)*
"Top scorers for earth until your end of life:"
*(It better NOT be someone I know, or I'll-)*
"1. Adolf Hitler 10,891,827"
*(What the-)*
"2. Josep Stalin 6,817,238"
*(-fucking fuck?!)*
(...)
(...)
*(Alright, is THAT how it is?! Fine, let's go again, you bunch of fucking plebs!! I'll show you guys how it is done! I showed your mom last night and she loved it, didn't she?)*
"-> Play again?
OR
See the High Scores
OR
Quit & Exit?"
*(Y.E.S.)*
"Please wait while the game restarts."
*(Oh god, it's a console. I hate consoles.)*
"Would you like to design your character?"
"->YES or NO"
*(God, no! Not on a console! NEVER on a console.)*
"YES or ->NO"
*(Real men don't 'design' their characters. Real men play with whatever they get. Whatever. They. Get.)*
"You will be born [Ibrahim Awad Ibrahim al-Badri](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abu_Bakr_al-Baghdadi#Background). You will spawn near Samarra in Iraq, on the 28th July 1971."
*(Ah, FFS! It uses the CS:GO engine! I swear if the campers in this game are as bad as the ones I used to rage-quit against, I'll fucking burn them all alive! God, I hate campers!!)*
"Can you beat the top score?"
*(Beat it? You bet your ass I can beat it! I'll beat it so hard, Michael Jackson will moonwalk all over your mother's ass!)*
"Let's play!"
*(BRING. IT. ON.)*
---------------
Dear /r/WritingPrompts/, you are killing me here.
I haven't written in years and now, I have responded to two prompts (I REPEAT, TWO PROMPTS!!) in these past fifteen days! At this rate, I'll HAVE to start seriously working on that story I have been putting off for the last four years! I'll have to do the NaNoWriMo this year!
Have mercy on a poor soul, won't you please? | The crash itself was quick. Painless. I felt the car veer off the shining road, slick with rainwater, and for those last few moments felt almost like I was watching from some outside perspective. I died instantly after I slammed into the telephone pole.
After, there was black, and a distinct lack of a body. Like the only thing in this strange world was my own mind. But suddenly in the black, text flashed.
117,992
YOU DIED
PLAY AGAIN?
YES NO
HIGH SCORES:
A sea of initials scrolled before me, with the highest score nearing 100 million points. I had died a 27-year-old assistant DA, with no real accomplishments to my name. But what did this screen mean? A postmortem hallucination?
I didn’t know what to do in this bodiless state. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move: but I thought. *Yes.*
A small arrow appeared next to *Yes*, and I thought the word again. I heard a *click,* and the screen again faded to black.
*”It’s a girl,” says the father in some archaic Asian dialect. He picks up the newborn, born into a family of eight, who is screaming and crying, as a child does. This child would not make it past the age of two, as in the year 755 most children did not make it to adulthood.*
*And she would have the same screen as she did when she was a 27-year-old man.*
*And she in her next life would be born a man on April 20, 1889, in Austria, and he would kill himself when he was 56.*
*And later, she would be born a Polish Jew, killed by her past self. And she would be born as me. And as you. She would be born again and again, from the earliest human to the last.*
*Until there was no more.* | |
[WP] You see someone guide an elderly man into the street, where he is hit by a car and killed. People flock to the scene, but nobody sees the guide. You run into the person again, but he introduces himself as 'Death' itself, and asks you out to coffee. | I smile, nodding in satisfaction at the act of kindness. Too few bother with the niceties these days, anymore. Too much fear and suspicion of even your closest neighbors. And yet a perfect stranger can show such care for a man gnarled and worn by the years.
The younger man leads the elderly gentleman in front of my car, then, suddenly stops.
I furrow my eyebrows for a moment before a cement mixer blows by me, taking my driver side mirror, and the older man, with it.
Shock grips me. My arms start to shake, my mouth falling open, my eyes widening in response to the horror of watching a man suddenly disappear.
The younger man meets my horror filled eyes with calm eyes of his own, gives a slight nod, then continues walking away.
People stream by my car and the man is lost to sight as they rush in a panic, eager to help, all fearing what they know.
I find a gap in the people, in the traffic, and drive in the direction I am sure the man went. I think I park squarely in the first spot I see, but I can't even be sure that it was a parking spot. There wasn't a car there, and I need to know....
I run across the street, my keys and phone forgotten. My eyes scan the crowds, looking for anyone who even resembles the man, but no one even comes close. I feel the shock setting in again, and now my legs tremble. I have to sit for a few minutes to let it pass, to catch my breath, to remember how to breath.
Finally, I decide that the man couldn't have had anything to do with it. I must have been imagining things.
I walk back to my car, trying to focus my thoughts, to not think about that body broken and shattered.
And there he is, leaning against the driver side door of my car. His eyes meet mine again and he nods, standing straight as I approach. Fear holds my tongue to the roof of my mouth, but he breaks the silence.
"Would you like to get a cup of coffee with me?" he asks calmly, nodding towards a small coffee shop I parked in front of. "We need to talk."
I can only nod, my need to understand overwhelming my fear. He smiles slightly, but it doesn't touch his eyes, then leads the way.
He orders for me when he realizes that I am too far out of it to order for myself. We sit down near the back of the shop and I take a sip without thought. My tongue recognizes the taste; my usual. With everything else, this abnormality hardly seems to register. It's just another thing at this point.
"So," he says, smirking slightly. There's a slight glint in his eyes, as if at some hidden joke. "I'm sure you're wondering why I killed a helpless old man like that."
My eyes widen further, anger filling me, though fear does its part to keep my tongue civil. "Well, yes, that had crossed my mind."
"I am Death."
The silence stretches for some time between us before I decide to reply to the obviously deranged man with as much civility as I can possibly muster.
"What the fuck are you on about?"
Nailed it.
The man smiles wider, shaking his head slightly. "I've always liked you. You're honest. Even when you know that lying would be better, you just can't help it."
I stare in growing consternation, anger beginning to override the fear. "Have you been stalking me or something?"
"You might say that," he says, rocking his head back and forth. "Though not exactly as you might think. You see, I am getting old."
"I'm sure killing people like that takes its toll," I snap, spilling some of the coffee over onto my hand as I slam the cup down angrily.
"At first. You get used to it, after awhile. Took me about thirty years before I really began to understand what it means to be a reaper." His eyes seem to grow distant, staring at a point far away. "Humans fear death. They think of it as some kind of punishment. But, the truth is, it is a gift. A promise."
"A promise?" I ask. I begin to grow curious, despite everything. He doesn't sound like a madman, and I find myself wanting to believe him, though I can't understand why.
"That you do not have to endure this world forever. That, eventually, it will end and you may finally rest."
The silence does not seem overbearing this time. Not awkward. But I know I have to break it.
"How old are you?" I ask, seeing in his eyes what look like a thousand lifetimes.
"From the moment that life began, I have been."
"What does any of this have to do with me?" I ask, fearing his answer. I do not wish to die yet, no matter the allure of his promise. One day is all well and good, but I am not ready for that yet.
"When I was chosen, I asked the same thing," he said, smiling fondly at the memory. "Different language, though. My mouth doesn't know how to form Sumerian words anymore." He gives a soft laugh as if sharing a joke I don't understand. "The woman who was Death before me said that her body never aged. It was as it was the moment she was chosen. But souls wear, after a time. Death has no soul, but must attach to a living one in order to interact with people. So, when a soul is nearing its end, Death must have a new host."
I feel my heart hammering against my chest. I want to believe he's crazy. I want to think that he's making all of this up. But, somehow, I know it's true.
"You were born for this. The Architect created you so that I might finally rest."
"What if I don't want to?" I ask, holding on to any vestige I can to deny this.
"I'm sorry. You don't have a choice. None of us do."
I swallow hard, looking around the room. No one even seems to see us. Their eyes just pass right over our table without any indication that anything is there to hold them.
"So, what happens now?"
A look of peace crosses the mans face. As if he had been denied the light for his ancient existence and only now was allowed to glimpse it.
"Now, I sleep. And you inherit the mantle." | It had all happened so fast. One minute, a nice, well-dressed young gentleman was helping an elderly man cross the street, and the next, the elderly man was lying on the road at an odd angle, blood pouring from his head.
As a crowd gathered around the body like vultures around a dead animal, I slipped past them to find the "gentleman". My mind tells me that that man didn't lead the elderly man into the street on purpose, but something deeper urges me to find him.
A tap on my shoulder startles me, and when I swivel around, that same gentleman is holding his hand out to me, a charming smile stretched across his face.
"Good afternoon, ma'am. I am so sorry to bother you, but I think you dropped this," he holds out my small wallet, and a quick check shows that everything is still there.
"Wait!" I call as he turns to leave, "The man that you led across the street-"
I expected his expression to be regretful and sad when he faced me again, but instead, it is simply bored. "Dead, yes I know. Tragic." He turns to leave again, but I grab his shoulder.
"You led him into that street!" I hiss. A sudden anger stirs inside me, but it's more at the fact that he is trying to ignore me than the fact that he helped kill a man.
He turns back around with another smile on his face, but this one is evil and annoyed. "That man had lung cancer, and he was in pain. He was supposed to die two weeks from tomorrow at four thirty-seven a.m. I simply helped him along painlessly." And at my bewildered look, he held out his hand, "I'm Death, nice to meet you."
I don't know how he did it, but soon I found myself lounging in a coffee shop with... Death. It took a while, but he managed to convince me that he truly was the Angel of Death, and that he collected souls to carry them to Heaven or Hell. It was too much to take in, so he invited me out for some coffee.
"So, angels, demons, God, they're all real?" I ask, taking another sip of my now room-temperature beverage. It still tastes good, though.
He nodded nonchalantly, as though he gave this speech to everyone everyday. "Unfortunately, yes, for your little mundane world, where magic is nonsense."
I laugh, "Well, you gotta admit, with the way that TV has made magic out to be, if someone told me it were real, I'd probably think they were crazy."
He chuckled and twiddled a penny in between his fingers. "Well, true magic is far more complicated than card tricks and rabbits in a hat. You'd be surprised."
In this moment, I feel as though this is all just a dream, that none of this is real. One half of me wants to believe everything that he's saying, and the other half is telling me that if I believe him, then there is something very wrong with me. But maybe for once, I can let my "mundane" fears go.
Death winces and clutches at his head, letting the penny fall to the table. As he massages his temples, I hear him mumbling something that sounds like a list of names.
"Hey, are you okay?" I ask, wanting to reach out to him. Though, if I were to place my hand on his arm, I feel that I'd be crossing some kind of line.
He glances up at me and nods. "Yeah, it's just my job. Hey listen, I have to run, but... well, I really shouldn't be doing this."
"Doing what?"
"Tomorrow morning, when your alarm goes off, don't get out of bed, okay? Whatever you hear or see, just stay in bed." He says, his voice a hushed panic. His eyes search mine for an assurance, and I nod, my concern keeping me from talking.
Finally, he smiles, and with one small wave, he vanishes. As I wrack my brain for possible reactions to his news, my hand searches the table for the penny, and when I feel the warm copper press against my palm, I breathe a sigh of relief. It was all real. | |
[WP] A weary traveler unwittingly checks in to a "time hostel" - a place for time travellers to rest on the cheap. | The man walked towards the receptionist and cleared his throat. He was wearing old, stained but well-cared for clothes and a large backpack. He was covered in brown dust.
"Sorry..." he said.
She raised her head from the magazine and, chewing loudly on a piece of bubblegum drawled "Yes?"
"I would like a bed. I can pay!" he hastily added, taking a few crumpled up bills from one of his pockets.
"Sure." she blew a bubble and continued. "Just go down the corridor, first door to the right. It's five current dollars per day." she added, grabbing the bills, wrinkling her nose at them.
"And for the bathroom?"
She looked him up and down. "Next door, but the heater is broken."
"Thank you." he said with feeling, walking down the corridor and entering the room. He dropped his backpack by an unoccupied bed near the door and looked at the other three people in the room.
The first was a woman in her forties, with short hair and wearing aviator glasses. She was jotting down something on a notebook, and gave him a small wave before going back to writing.
The second was a young man, wearing a top hat and a cheap suit, with a rather large gem hanging from a golden chain around his neck. He was busy doing card tricks.
And the third looked like a cyborg, with metal covering half his face and a prosthetic arm. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, eyes closed.
The woman finished writing and closed her notebook with a snap. She stood and walked towards the newcomer.
"Hello! I'm Amelia!" she said, pumping his hand.
"John." he replied, a bit dazed.
"Hi John! When are you from?"
He blinked. "When?"
"Yeah! What year?"
"Isn't it 2016?"
"New to the whole deal, are you? I'm from the forties, but - don't tell anyone - I really like this year."
"Wait, you were born in the forties? You look thirty-something!"
"Ah. A normal. Right. Forget I said anything."
"Amelia." drawled the young man from his bed, getting up. "How many times do I have to tell you - don't break the masquerade with the first person that comes through that door."
"Yeah, yeah, Eric."
"Just let me..."
"No way!"
"Are you two taking the piss?" said John, his right eye twitching. "Doesn't matter. I'm going to shower."
"You know it's for the b-" continued Eric, before John slammed the door closed behing him.
"Crazy people." | "Coffee…" James said as he was entering the adorned entrance filled with the smell of food.
"Hello Mr. Barker." The attendant said appearing in from of James. "Welcome to the time hotel can I help you with something?" She kept smiling in his face for a while until he reacted.
"Ehm, no thank you. I know everything is" James said in a quiet voice. "Just, how did you knew my name?"
She chuckled for a second before answering. "Well of course. You would come in the future, or better said, the present." She disappeared in the crowd of people filling the entrance while her laughing continued.
James really had no idea where he was. Two weeks ago, considering earth time, he discovered time travel and began visiting all the places he had wanted to go, the distant utopian future, the 1920's, the middle ages and even things as resent as the 1980's to be able to play *mortal combat* in the arcades.
He never saw anything remarkable until his travel to 1789 France so he could see the revolution. There he caught a man with clothes characteristic of the late 1800's moving towards him with a paper on his hand, when he passed by intentionally dropped the paper and moved back to the crow. The yellowish glossy paper contained a year and a location.
_____________________________________________________________
Come all travelers to the Time hotel.
1856
Besides the bridge to the Nothingham palace; London.
__________________________________________________________
That had lead him here.
"Let’s see what we have here" James continued walking through the reception which contained art from all centuries and designs and placements varying from minimalistic to Baroque. The weird mixture of styles was almost overwhelming but at the same time it managed to look harmonious.
"James barker, yes." The employee at the reception began saying as he got close. "Would you like a room or a suite?"
"A room, please" The worker behind the wooden desk took the key to room 25 and gave it to him. "That would be 60 time pieces" He kept staring at James with his palm open to receive the money. Without knowing what to do James began getting out all the money he had in his pocket, it was a collection of 19 and 18 century coins with some current US. bills and even pieces of gold from the Persian Empire.
"Sir, that's more than enough." From the pile of money he took two of the gold coins and store them behind the bar. "Enjoy your stay" He said before going back to organizing.
James took the small bag he had brought with him and went upstairs without knowing what was coming. He heard shouting’s as he was approaching his room. It came from a few doors over. A few seconds later the door opened revealing what was happening, there was a man with snow white hair and an employee.
"Please sir calm down"
"Calm down?" The man shouted at the worker. "I'll calm down when you un-break my things!"
"Sir, its just pottery"
"Yes, and action comics #1 is just a piece of paper. One doesn't come across Ming dynasty pots Y’know" The suited employee looked back completely lost.
"Why don't you just…"
"Go back and get a new one?" The man interrupted. "Oh, yeah. Because it's *sooooooo easy* getting to steal things from the royal palace." When he finished speaking he saw me standing in front of my door and lost focus for a second or two.
"Forget it." He finally said. "Just go now, you're the least of my problems."
The employee leaved looking relieved the problem hadn't got bigger as the man was coming towards James, it was then when he recognized him, he was the one who dropped the hotel's location but he was also someone else, someone important.
"Barker, you came!" He was getting used that everyone knew his name. "Oh, who am I kidding, I knew you would."
"You're that scientist." James finally recognized him. "Yes, the one that hated tesla!"
"Thomas Alba Edison at your service." The man said grinning. "And you're the second person in history to discover time travel. Not bad considering no one knew I did it first."
"What are you, or me for that matter doing here?" James asked clueless. "Is this some kind of initiation to the "Time traveling club" or something?"
Edison began to laugh. "That’s the funniest thing I have heard in all my life Jimmy. Can I call you Jimmy? Oh anyway. I'll tell you everything tomorrow just go and take some rest could you?" Edison walked back to his room making James unable to answer. He too went back to his room and installed himself and tried to get some sleep.
The next day he went straight to the hotel's restaurant which had the Victorian style of the time and not the mixture of styles and cultures than filled the rest of the first floor. There in a faraway table was Edison drinking from a mug of coffee reading the paper. He got close trying not to get unnoticed
"A time traveler who reads the paper" James said in an ironic tone. "Can I know why?"
"That’s the reason we're here to talk about" Edison smiled. "We're going to kill Tesla"
"And you're supposing I’ll help you like so?"
"Oh no" He began laughing. "I'm expecting you to kill him!" He continued laughing now so loud it brought the attention of everyone around.
"But... Why?" James said preoccupied. "And more importantly, why me?"
"Looks like you don't travel to the future very often, eh?" Edison said trying to control himself. "I respect that, wanting everything to be a surprise. You see everyone in the future, even more than in your own time, praises Tesla as this great inventor who, you guessed it, invented time travel."
"Wait, but you said YOU invented time travel."
"I did!" he answered indignant. "He stole it from me, like most of his inventions! The worst thing most people think is backwards. Well as I was saying, he wanted to keep the secret to himself but when everyone tried to see all that he had made they found it by accident." He stopped for a second to clear his throat by drinking his coffee. "That’s when time travel became popular around 2140."
"And why do we want to kill him again?"
"You see. There is a time police making sure nobody causes mayor harm by doing something stupid as killing Hitler, they are *very* bad at their jobs. The only reason the world hasn't turn into havoc is because of me!" Edison shouted with pride standing up, He soon sat down and continued talking. "But as you may see from my hair, I’m getting old. So you have three options: letting the world turn to total destruction, become the new peace keeper, or cut the problem from its root"
"By killing Nikola…" James said nodding.
"That’s right! Then tell me, which one will it be?" Edison asked in a smile.
"I'll help you" He answered before a different, stupid, idea came to his mind.
"Then all I have to tell you is good luck Jimmie!" As he said that he gave some papers to him. "And you better do it right, eh. Getting those identifications and all that money wasn't easy."
James said a last goodbye and went to the front door to the opening. He had believed in a complete stranger and had gotten the mission to kill a man he couldn't tell had done right or wrong. But anyway, he said to himself, I got a job to do.
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Author’s note: Yes, I know I portrayed an almost completly different story but the idea came to mind and i had to give it a try.
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I hope you liked it, if so be sure to check out r/Jack_Harmony for more.
If you wish please leave feedback if you liked or think i can improve on something. | |
[WP] Hell is just as bad for demons as it is for humans. You, a demon, have just spent your entire life trying to get out of hell, and now that you’ve finally done it, some humans are constantly trying to send you back. | They make it seem like we like torturing people. They make it like we're all toothy smiles and glee while we're stabbing people in the chest or branding them with hot irons, while they moan and beg and wail. And look, I'll admit a few demons I know will go home and beat off, thinking about their long day of work. If that's how you get your rocks off, fine, I'm not judging. But it ain't my thing, and it ain't most demons' thing. For me it was just work. Don't act like you've never found yourself stuck in a job you hate.
So I escaped. I guess you want to know how. You know those situations where someone survives a freak accident? Like when a plane crashes and a hundred people die, but one guy survives? Here's the thing. Nobody actually survives shit like that. Frankly, I'm surprised you people ever believed those stories, but I guess silver linings have a lot of appeal, even on Earth. But those one in a million survivors you feel inspired by? They're really just demons, masquerading.
For me, it was a school bus going off a bridge. The driver got loaded on cough syrup a few hours before the field trip and ended up swerving into the Allegheny. I picked out the cutest drowning little girl, in her pigtails and pink Dora lace-ups, and I slipped right inside her body, just as her soul was sent for its judgment. Later, on the local news, I did the whole blubbering and weeping thing like I just lost twenty friends, and I held the hands of my new blue collar parents, who thanked God for saving their daughter. My new big brother had a buzz cut and a silver chain and he promised to be nice to me forever.
Now, let me tell you, I didn't choose to be a public school kid in Pittsburgh for the fun of it. A lot of times, demons will come up with these bizarre schemes to get celebrities addicted to drugs or race cars. They spend years whispering deceit and vice into their ears, waiting for them to get so fucked up, they end up killing themselves. This basically never works. Celebrities just don't surrender their bodies easy. Their souls fight back, hard, and drag you right back where you came from. For all that work, you'll spend 5 minutes on Earth, if you're lucky. But me, I'm not greedy. I'll happily take over for a bored suburban nobody who ain't got enough to fight me for.
Another perk, the Bouncers hate dealing with little kids. It's a bit stressful for me, never knowing if the old woman at the mall thinks I'm a cutie pie or if she's a Bouncer searching for my soul. But usually they don't drop kick a juvenile unless they're very fucking sure. Now, I won't lie, I've had some close calls. There are a few Bouncer bodies buried under the rusty swing set in the backyard, and a couple more I left in flop houses on the other side of the tracks. They think I'm weak because I'm four feet tall and stick thin, but I'm still a fucking demon fighting for survival. Still, at some point I figure they'll get the best of me. But at least I'll have given it a shot. I don't got a problem with killing if it means getting to determine my destiny. I just fucking hate torture.
| "God damn it, it's those fucking dicks again," I said under my breath. I wiped my brow and inhaled. How was I getting away this time?
I started running, and hoping they wouldn't catch up. Last time, they almost got me. Those brothers hate my entire kind. Yes, we're evil, but Hell sucks and we hate it just as much!* Some day, they're going to understand what it's like.*
I run into a random motel room and hope they don't find me, but there's only so much I can do. Teleporting away isn't an option, since it takes too much energy and I'm exhausted.
The red-haired woman whose room I just broke into sees me and screams. The two brothers run in after me. "Get him!" The short one yells.
The giant, hulking, moosey oaf of a human starts shooting at me. I crash through the window and summon *all* of my energy into teleporting.
"Fuck the Winchesters!" I scream as I disappear. | |
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | I pick one. I make it kill others. I don't force it to, I make it want to inflict harm. Small things when it is small, and bigger as it grows. When it is done growing I make it kill its own kind. I make it enjoy it. I make it feel clever. I make it feel pleasure. I make it skin some alive. That's funny. You're naked, ha ha. I make it lock some up. I make it make them do things. Silly thing, think you are me. I make it make items from others. It needs a lot of materials. I make it decorate with others. I get bored. I make others see. They kill it.
I pick one. I tell it to do things. It refuses. I repeat. It refuses. I insist. It obeys. I tell it to hurt small ones. It cries. It begs. It hurts small ones. Stupid thing. I might have gotten bored. All you had to do was not. Now it is fun. I tell it to find lonely ones and give them a home. I tell it to make a big home. I tell it to say good things. Others like it. Others follow it. I tell it to kill them all. It does not cry. It does not beg. It kills them all.
I pick one. I make it charming. I make it inspiring. I make it ambitious. I make others follow it. I make it build. I make it hate. It kills many. It makes others kill many. How many can I make it make die? I make others kill its followers. They're all killing each other now. Will they run out? I make them make better weapons. They kill more. I make some more clever. They kill more. I make clever ones make clever weapons. They kill more. They are not running out of things to kill. They are running out of things that kill. They stop killing each other. A lot of them died. How many?
I pick one. | My shadow has passed long over the earth, my form incomprehensible. You, your kin, gaze motionless upon the passing apparition, unaware that the longer you stand in vacant wonder, the further eldritch tendrils slink deep into your very being. Appendages, damnable vines, constrict those long-forgotten nostalgias and unknowable fears, tearing them before the light of day, shadowed by my own manifestation.
Those which move find only the strength to lie upon roadways, sojourn once only to lofty perches. Those who do not instead own minds which are both full and empty. Shapeless notions, horrifying vistas, all twirl as a maelstrom from which no clear meaning may be discerned.
You beg, as well as one might, to know only why you have been cursed by such callous fate. Such hypotheses of predestined hostility serve the self-centered nature of man. What man fears worse still is apathy. You, your kin, look upon my shadow and see an agent of doom. I fail to look upon you at all. You, your kin, see the fabled angel of death, and yet in my own phantasmic eye there is no malice, no calamity; only oblivion. |
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | A shrill alarm woke me from my wakeful slumber. Leaving the compound eyes near the back of my third head lidded I opened the rest of my 399 eyes and looked for the source of the sound which had stopped by now. I shifted my chitonous 161 legs out of my bed and made my way over to the dresser, the hardwood floor click-clacking sharply against the stark quiet of my bedroom.
The alarm had rung to alert me that some beings had entered my estate on sector 996. I closed my eyes and projected a fraction of my sentience into the sector and watched.
A small pink primate like thing, walking on only two fleshy legs (how in the name of Af’dbr do they balance themselves on only two legs?) made their way down the dark set of stairs. Another one of those things followed the first one down, this one was afraid, I could smell the familiar scent of fear. Inhaling deeply with the three noses perched atop my central proboscis I discerned that the first one was afraid as well, but masking it a bit better. With a slight twinge of irritation that sent a couple of planets in a sector nearby crumbling into dust, I noticed that both of these beings had failed to close the door to the large and dark mansion that they were entering.
I figured that I should introduce myself to the guests and tried to manage the fraction of my being into a more manageable form- three legs (I really can’t balance on two), five arms branching out at the ends of each hand on my two arms. And lastly, I needed to be that unseemly shade of pink.
I stuffed myself into this projected form and ambled out of the shadows towards my two guests, reaching an arm forwards amiably. “Hi, sorry for the mess, I haven’t cleaned up in centuries, but you primates are always allowed here you know?- me casa es su casa.” I chuckled a bit.
To my surprise the two primates were either singing or screaming (hard to tell with beings like these honestly), mostly variations of ‘what the fuck,’ ‘holy shit,’ and ‘get me the fuck out of here.’ I frowned slightly and hit the center of my bulbous and extended forehead with a tiny arm in annoyance as I realized that these pink primates must not have understood a word of what I had said. Sure, I was speaking in their language, but every single one of my 216 brains had forgotten to realize the fact that these beings function on a much slower time-frequency. Why, I must have looked like a fool speaking 79 times more rapidly than they could comprehend, my voice a tinny and unwavering shriek of over 154 decibels.
My projected form vanished as I noticed that my guests were running amok in a different room. I thought for a couple of picoseconds before I ascertained that lower-level beings like them needed sustenance to survive. Weren’t they hunters and gatherers? I decided to treat them to a couple hundred Fgrufg, a fine delicacy found in a corner of sector 27, and released the creatures in the room the primates were currently standing in.
The Fgrufg set out with enthusiasm, bouncing from wall to wall, to outer dimensional wall- to primate eyes, zipping in and out of existence. With fondness I think back to multiple millennium ago when I was young and my brood mother set millions of Fgrufg free in my room to catch and eat with my spear-like pincers. I would catch and devour them by the thousands and my brood mother would look at me with a slight smile playing at the sides of her cosmic lips and berate me for hogging all of the snacks.
I looked back towards the primates and saw them screaming, even louder than they had been previously. I sighed when I saw them running away from the snacks I had given them.
“You’re supposed to run towards them to catch them, not run away.” I said to myself, and one of my heads nodded in agreement, flicking out a forked tongue. I suppose that they might have been vegetarians. But rather than present them with the rare seed of the Crututu plant (these were even harder to catch than the Fgrufg, but once you made your way through the 15 sets of tentacles and feelers to the seed in the middle it is absolutely delectable as it sits in your stomach and whispers dark promises of power and glory) I waved away the Fgrug with an errant thought, the small tentacled creatures screaming in pain as they dissolved under my will.
The incessant shrieks of the two pink creatures subsided and they made deep gasping sounds- catching their breaths I assume. Life is so hard with only two lungs.
I had welcomed these guests, offered them food, but they still continued to be so ungrateful to me. I figured their brood mother were not so diligent in disciplining her maggots and figured it was time for me to berate these miscreants from rousing me from my nap and not accepting my kind hospitality.
Carefully, as I didn’t want my presence to incinerate their entire galaxy (A couple thousand light years from their planet was a delicious fast food place that serves the most delicious live fried Gruti, the feeling of the acid on my tongues melting the exoskeletons away from their bodies while they scream in incomparable pain is truly unique. Wouldn’t want to annihilate that restaurant.) I slipped one of my smaller heads into a crack in their dimension and peeked up from under them, so that it seemed like my head slowly floated out of the ground they were standing on. I did this slowly, so as not to startle them, but they still screamed.
Was it the compound eyes? Or the tentacles? It matters not. I came all this way to teach them a quick lesson in hospitality and teach them I will.
I opened the cavernous chasm of my mouth, exposing rows of teeth that went on for miles and spoke directly into their minds,
I AM THE BRINGER OF CALAMITY AND OBLIVION, THE ONE WHO’S NAME IS ONLY WHISPERED, THE ONE KNOWN AS WRT’GHYJ. YOU THINK YOU KNOW PAIN? YOU THINK YOUR PETTY SPECIES KNOWS WAR, FAMINE, AND DESTRUCTION?
A BLINK FROM A SINGLE EYE OF MINE CAN SEND YOU PUNY PLANET VEERING OFF COURSE AND INTO THE MOUTH OF A BLACK HOLE. AN EXHALATION OF BREATH FROM MY MOUTH CAN KILL EVERY LIVING BEING WITHIN 3,000 LIGHT YEARS. MY WILL EXTENDS OVER THIS ENTIRE DIMENSION AND 689 MORE AND WITH A SINGLE THOUGHT I CAN EXTINGUISH LIFE AS IT IS.
YOUR FINITE EXISTENCE WILL KNOW THE MEANING OF PAIN IF YOU KEEP ON BEING THIS UNGRATEFUL. LEARN TO CLOSE THE DOOR AFTER YOU COME IN. AND IF YOU DON’T WANT THE FOOD THAT’S BEING OFFERED TO YOU, AT LEAST PRETEND TO ENJOY IT.
I did try to be quiet but my omnipotence alerted me to the fact that my voice had flattened all vegetation in a 60 mile radius. Oops. I also noticed that both of the primates had left the premise.
I found them a mile away from my estate, one of them on their knees laughing and clawing at their eyes. The other kept throwing themselves towards the ground, getting back up and repeating the process. I seem to have overdid the lessons, both the pink things seemed to have had their minds (if you can call that clump of neurons a mind) broken. Well. It was no great loss to their species, or to the sector in which their planet resided.
I looked back at my estate. Ah. Their minds may have been broken but at least they closed the door on the way out.
| My shadow has passed long over the earth, my form incomprehensible. You, your kin, gaze motionless upon the passing apparition, unaware that the longer you stand in vacant wonder, the further eldritch tendrils slink deep into your very being. Appendages, damnable vines, constrict those long-forgotten nostalgias and unknowable fears, tearing them before the light of day, shadowed by my own manifestation.
Those which move find only the strength to lie upon roadways, sojourn once only to lofty perches. Those who do not instead own minds which are both full and empty. Shapeless notions, horrifying vistas, all twirl as a maelstrom from which no clear meaning may be discerned.
You beg, as well as one might, to know only why you have been cursed by such callous fate. Such hypotheses of predestined hostility serve the self-centered nature of man. What man fears worse still is apathy. You, your kin, look upon my shadow and see an agent of doom. I fail to look upon you at all. You, your kin, see the fabled angel of death, and yet in my own phantasmic eye there is no malice, no calamity; only oblivion. |
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | Reluctantly, I extended my senses outwards as noise entered my sanctum.
I didn't know how long I'd been sleeping. A century? More? Clearly, not the millennium I had intended. I shifted a few times, my appendages stretching from my all too brief slumber, working the stiffness from my serpentine limbs.
I could feel them nearby. Humis, that's right, they had called themselves humis. Or something like that. It was hard to remember, and even a semi-immortal being can get groggy.
The humis had opened a door. How had they known how to- ah yes. I had told them how to reach me. The last time I had come to their world. They had fallen to their knees, begging for my power. Especially that one, what was his name, in the robe. Their leader.
That had gone...poorly. It must be hard for the Humis to understand something like me, and my attempts to communicate had been fought with peril. I had just been trying to say hello when their leader's head exploded.
The followers had adverted their eyes, which was probably wise. They had mewed up at me in their tiny voices, too primitive to know that I could feel the ebbs of their mind.
Attempting to let him know that had not gone well either. The first one dying had been an accident, still a bit of overzealous communication on my part. The next three were my fault- I should have gone straight to whispers.
So I'd resorted to whispering, but the language of a leviathan translated poorly. I had learned little, and they learned only of my power. They wanted something, I could get that, but the details escaped me.
So I found one of them, whose mind seemed tougher than the rest, and I told him how to reach me. That I would have a bite to eat, and that he should get back to me when they learned to shield their minds. Then I curled up in my astral realm and had a nap.
I signed. Better get this over with. I pushed a bit of myself- not too much, they couldn't handle that- through the portal.
They were bowing, their faces averted. "Oh great Ill'goth, genesis of madness" they chanted, "we awaken you to consume this world, as you intended to do centuries ago."
Crap, that's what they heard?
"We have heard the whispers, the reverberations of your thoughts!"
They had? Damn it, I didn't think my snores were that loud. I must not have closed the portal all the way.
"we bring for you a sacrifice, to kick off your glorious reign."
A man knelt there, bound and bloodied. He wore a soiled suit, and he quaked in fear.
Guys, really, hostages? Bug me if you want, but keep bystanders out of it.
Well, I better sort this out. Clearly, these idiots were going to keep bugging me until their dying breath unless I sorted this out.
"Guys, this is not okay." I said, as quietly as I could, to the cultists.
Their faces shifted in pain. Even that was too loud?
"You are displeased!" The high priest said, "as you should be, this world is a failure!"
"No, guys, stop with this." A ting of anger entered my statement.
"Yes my lord, cleanse us first. Begin with our impure forms, free us to live on in your madness?"
What the hell was he babbling about? But okay, if he insisted.
"Fine." I thought at the cultists, as hard as I could. There was a chorus of pops as all of their heads exploded simultaneously.
That just left the lone man. The least I could do was help him out.
I extended my appendage- a tentacle, as he would see it- towards him. He staggered away, trying to avoid my reach.
"Stop," I whispered. "I just want to help you. Let me break your shackles."
"My mind is my own, monster." He called. He forced his bindings against the cultist's knife, slicing them.
Fine then. That was sorted. I forced my perception to take in the room. There was a dark crystal on the table- that was it. They had used that to reach me. I should just take that back so this couldn't happen again.
I reached for the crystal with my tentacle, and felt a stab at the side of my limb. The humis had sliced me! With that cultist's knife!
"Stop it," I said, trying to retain my voice, but he still fell away in pain.
I sighed. I should finish this. I stretched towards the crystal again.
"No," the man screamed. He leapt towards the crystal, smashing it with his knife.
With a pop, the doorway closed. Pain shot though me, as my appendage had been slammed in the door, and I realized it had been sliced clean.
"Ow". I though. I extended my mind to my limb. It oozed black fluid, but it would reform in time. Damn those cultists, this would take me a century to recover from.
I hoped the human would be okay. He'd been in a bad spot, and my voice had done him no favors, but Humis could be hardy. He'd heal in a century or two.
I signed, weariness fighting irritation. I'm always grumpy in the morning. Maybe just another few centuries... | My shadow has passed long over the earth, my form incomprehensible. You, your kin, gaze motionless upon the passing apparition, unaware that the longer you stand in vacant wonder, the further eldritch tendrils slink deep into your very being. Appendages, damnable vines, constrict those long-forgotten nostalgias and unknowable fears, tearing them before the light of day, shadowed by my own manifestation.
Those which move find only the strength to lie upon roadways, sojourn once only to lofty perches. Those who do not instead own minds which are both full and empty. Shapeless notions, horrifying vistas, all twirl as a maelstrom from which no clear meaning may be discerned.
You beg, as well as one might, to know only why you have been cursed by such callous fate. Such hypotheses of predestined hostility serve the self-centered nature of man. What man fears worse still is apathy. You, your kin, look upon my shadow and see an agent of doom. I fail to look upon you at all. You, your kin, see the fabled angel of death, and yet in my own phantasmic eye there is no malice, no calamity; only oblivion. |
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | Of course.
You're screaming.
Everyone screams. Say what you will about the decline of manners in this modern age but at least most folks are greeted with something other than ear-splitting shrieks. I guess I'm not so lucky. I also guess I'm not to good at proper conversation because I've jumped ahead without even introducing myself.
My name is . . . well, that's not important. I could tell you my name but it never ends well. Apparently, even seeing it written down drives the sanest of men to gibbering madness, drooling and crying and going on and on about the sliding angles of the hungering void.
(It was a bit tough finding that out. I went to an AA meeting for help with dealing with my substance abuse problems and ended up fleeing the church fellowship hall just before one of members set fire to a gas main she'd ripped out of the wall in a fit. The newspapers reported it as an accident due to faulty electrics but failed to mention the self inflicted lacerations on the bodies they recovered.)
There I go again, off on some tangent instead of just telling you why I'm here. Linear time is such a problem for me. I tend to move in seven dimensions, existing everywhere/when so thinking in terms of "this-happened-then-that-happened" gives me a colossal headache.
Well, I say "headache." I don't really have a head, as such. I do have a ventral stalk upon which most of my sensory organs rest. My food intake orifice is underneath my body, though, so I end up over-enunciating when I speak. Not that it matters. I open my mouth and people automatically begin raising sand about the slathering maws of eternity uttering dark syllables of madness.
I can't seem to get a word in edgewise. Speaking of, would you mind piping down a bit? I'd like to speak like adults instead of carrying on like a hairless ape descendant.
Speaking of my mouth, boy is it dry. It's like I've spent all day sucking on sandstone effigies carved by misguided cultists who think mispronouncing my name in their silly rituals means I will grant them power. (Honestly, they never get the right inflection. You'd almost think they'd never heard of using their tertiary uvulas when attempting glottal stops.)
Where was I? Oh yes. Why I am here.
I was a bit thirsty earlier (well, I still am, truth be told) and decided to make tea but realized I am fresh out of sugar. (I'd forgotten I'd used the last of it making brownies for the church fundraiser for fellowship hall repairs.) I slid through the angles from my realm into yours (I came through your wainscoting, I hope you don't mind,) to ask if I could borrow some from you.
Oh. That's right. You're still screaming, aren't you? It's a bit hard for me to tell, what with my hearing be so damaged from no one using a normal speaking voice around me. I'll just help myself to your pantry and head out. Please excuse the effluvia. I leak it everywhere and it tends to be a bit caustic. It'll eat through a house pet like water on cotton candy.
Oh no, don't get up. You look pretty comfortable in your spot behind the couch, blood leaking from your eyes and nose, brandishing your iPad.
Well, this should be all I need. Again, sorry about the mess. I'll be back to return the measuring cup. Don't worry, I'll call in advance next time instead of just barging in.
I'm sure you'll hear the call.
They always do. | My shadow has passed long over the earth, my form incomprehensible. You, your kin, gaze motionless upon the passing apparition, unaware that the longer you stand in vacant wonder, the further eldritch tendrils slink deep into your very being. Appendages, damnable vines, constrict those long-forgotten nostalgias and unknowable fears, tearing them before the light of day, shadowed by my own manifestation.
Those which move find only the strength to lie upon roadways, sojourn once only to lofty perches. Those who do not instead own minds which are both full and empty. Shapeless notions, horrifying vistas, all twirl as a maelstrom from which no clear meaning may be discerned.
You beg, as well as one might, to know only why you have been cursed by such callous fate. Such hypotheses of predestined hostility serve the self-centered nature of man. What man fears worse still is apathy. You, your kin, look upon my shadow and see an agent of doom. I fail to look upon you at all. You, your kin, see the fabled angel of death, and yet in my own phantasmic eye there is no malice, no calamity; only oblivion. |
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