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[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
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“It’s not that I’ve given up,” Musk said, “I just need to know if it’s really worth my time.”
“But isn’t that a fatalist view?” I asked.
Elon had that grin on his face, the one he gets when he knows he has the upper hand intellectually.
“That’s exactly what it is.”
“Again, that seems in direct conflict with everything you’ve been doing for most of your life.”
“Look, if I’m right, then none of that, or anything really, matters. Our future is just a bunch of computer code waiting to be run. If climate change is going to do us in, or nuclear war, or the rise of artificial intelligence, then it’s already in the program. It’s just a matter of when that code gets triggered. If that’s the case then I’d rather spend my remaining days on a beach with scantily-clad women and drinks with umbrellas in them.”
His arrogance, camouflaged as authoritative by his many accomplishments, was being fueled by the dramatic rise in support he had gained when news of his plan went public. But it was support he hadn’t anticipated: religious groups looking for validation.
Some saw him as a messiah here to explain the mystery of their god or gods. Others took his experiment as an attack on their holiest of holies. “You are declaring war on the Creator! The wrath of the counter-attack will kill us all!”
The scientific community, not surprisingly, laughed at Musk’s idea and painted him as a hero turned villain.
“Why don’t we just blow up the moon? We can disprove tides!”
“Let’s make the Sun disappear and see how long it takes for light and gravity to reach the earth! One more test of General Relativity couldn’t hurt!”
A cluster of Neutron Bombs was to be detonated near the Sun, the location chosen to minimize any gravitational effects on other celestial bodies. It would be a shame to disprove his theory and then be wiped out by an asteroid knocked off its orbit by the test.
The theory was that neutrons, subatomic particles in the nucleus of every atom, were the Universal Binary Bits. A massive generation of new neutrons, more bits, would overload the simulation device just enough to cause lag.
Testing for this lag required an enormous engineering effort that Musk self-funded. The measuring devices, nicknamed Toto-1 and Toto-2, were massive cubes of lead with an atomic clock at the center, and they were to be placed on opposite sides of the Earth 5 miles down in the ocean. They would be protected enough, Musk predicted, to detect as much as 500ms of lag, though he expected something in the 150-200ms range.
When the news of Musk’s intentions broke it was already too late. SpaceX had knowingly been sending pieces of the cluster bomb up with each launch of the Falcon9. Everything was on auto-pilot and there was no override switch. Musk’s Bomb was going to explode whether humanity was ready for it or not.
I asked him, in those final minutes before the detonation, if he was having any second thoughts. “Just the ones I’ve been programmed to have” he responded with that grin. Confident to the end.
He strode across the stage in front of his SpaceX employees and viewers from all around the globe. “Today” he started, “we seek an answer to a question from antiquity: what is real? In 10 more minutes we just might know.”
There were 4 prominent counters on the screen behind him. One for the detonation, another for how long the results from the detonation will take to reach Earth, 8 minutes, 20 seconds, and the other 2 counters were the clocks of Toto-1 and Toto-2.
The anticipation grew as the detonation clock counted down to zero. Musk was pacing back and forth on the stage gazing up at the screen and listening to the chatter of Mission Control.
Right before it hit zero, Musk froze.
Mission Control squawked “Primary Detonation Confirmed” and, just like that, Musk was gone.
Well, not gone, more like displaced. His remains were found sticking out of the concrete wall Stage Left. He had proven his theory but paid with his life.
Horror filled the room as employees began to realize what had happened. The bomb had created lag, but only for Elon.
Estimating the distance between his last position on stage and his place of death put the lag closer to 500ms. In that time the rest of the Milky Way Galaxy continued on its merry way and left Musk briefly stuck in the past.
When he re-synced with the rest of us he was 60 feet away in the wall.
The confusion that followed made everyone ignore the second counter for receiving the detonation results. When it hit zero the screen went blank.
What followed struck fear into the heart of every man, woman, and child watching. Slowly displayed on the screen in large, blocky red letters was one word: N00b
—-
The aftermath was apocalyptic. Scientists reluctantly revealed they had known we were in a simulation all along, with research going back 30 years to back up their claims. The psychological affect of this news destroyed the very fabric of society. Humanity’s new mantra was “If it’s all just a game, then why should I play by the rules?”
It has been 4 years since that fateful day. We are slowly rising up from those dark days that followed, but we haven’t seemed to learn our lesson. The United States has detonated a Lag Bomb much larger than Elon’s with a primitive targeting device. That’s what gave us the new Las Vegas Crater ridged with neon signs.
With the Russians and the Chinese developing their own Lag Bombs we can only hope that next month’s peace negotiations are successful. If not, all of our code may be deleted.
All Hail The Great Programmer! Killer of N00bs!
|
Musk retires in shame, wasting the fortunes of the world. Since we're also simulated, our consciences also lagged and nothing was noticed by anything, except some universe research assistant out in the real universe noticed something was wrong, so just rebooted our server. The simulation was reset, feeding different random noise into the universe generator, and was back to the same time in a few hours.
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[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
|
When the big day arrived, it was like none other. Everyone had waited 30 years since humanity reached the consensus that our entire universe was only a simulation, it had taken 30 years for the neutrino cluster bomb to reach a safe enough distance from Earth to be detonated.
Over a billion people were born during that time. It had completely changed the way humanity thought about life. It had even become a pop phenomenon, as evidenced by the hit song "*I know you're not real, get off my lawn*".
People were gathering across the globe, joining in celebrations, orgies, book clubs, as they put aside their social anxiety for one night.
When the time came, they all had a screen in their hand. News programs and celebrity channels were all live-streaming the event. Pious figures were warning everyone about the danger of God. Politicians were arguing like usual, some probably hoped for the end of the world just so they could say "*I told you so.*" Economists were warning about the great depression that would happen if everyone fell into a depression over the matter. Androids inwardly mocked their inferior neurotic human counterparts as they went about their menial tasks. Even the Aliens took a break from their probing to watch the event with utmost curiosity.
Finally a hushed silence fell across the crowds as Elon Musk started his broadcast.
"*Today is finally the day. We started the project 30 years ago, sending the bomb off at near light speed, hoping to get a glimpse of what lies beyond this universe. And now that time has come.*
"*The bomb is not the only thing that's happened during that time, humanity has also come a long way in the last few decades. I started a colony on Musk, that's Mars for you Chinese speakers, but because you helped me save the world from Global Warming I am very thankful to point out that we don't need it.*
"*I faced a lot of opposition when I started this project, and I still am. To those of you worrying, I want you to know we have the best minds on the job, you have nothing to worry about. To those of you excited, I need to remind you that we have no idea what will happen, so don't get your expectations too high.*
"*Whichever way you feel about it, the bomb is 28 light years away, we obviously sent the activation signal 28 years ago, it's way too late to stop it now. Whatever happens will happen, so lets have some fun tonight!*"
Exactly an hour later, at midnight, in one part of the world, the countdown began.
10... 9... 8... 7... 6... 4... no wait- 5- 4- 3... 2...
**1...**
At that exact second, 30 light years away, a massive explosion tore a hole through space-time itself. The universe flickered for a moment, before coming to a complete stop. Nothing moved,from one end of the galaxy to the other. The earth stopped spinning, people stopped blinking, clocks stopped ticking, & sloths temporarily disappeared from existence. Space-time had stopped altogether.
In fact, it was so thorough that there was not a single way for anything in the universe to notice or measure that anything had happened to begin with. Which is why a long long time later, 0 earth seconds to be precise, everything continued as usual and life went back to normal.
People around the globe let out a collective sigh of disappointment and relief, before putting their VR headsets on and jumping back into their simulated worlds.
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Musk retires in shame, wasting the fortunes of the world. Since we're also simulated, our consciences also lagged and nothing was noticed by anything, except some universe research assistant out in the real universe noticed something was wrong, so just rebooted our server. The simulation was reset, feeding different random noise into the universe generator, and was back to the same time in a few hours.
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[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
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"Really? So this is going to be a shot of space for like an hour?"
"Well, it's random - that's kind of the point." Neal's eyes are still glued to the screen.
"Well they could be a little more specific." Melissa continued the mundane task of doing the dishes tonight. She knew this black screen meant a lot to Neal.
"Well, I mean they could be - but it's best if it's random. I mean that's the whole principle. Like Schrodinger's cat style."
"Alright, I'll bite." She had a few minutes to kill - and she knows how much it means to share your passion. After a moment she solicited further, "So the cat's both alive and dead until you open the box."
Neal grinned and glanced towards Melissa. He knew her subtle response was an unconditional invitation to nerd out. He could blabber all he wanted for the next few minutes - and he jumped at the opportunity. "Yeah, its roots are in quantum physics where stuff could be two things at once. We're not to the point of understanding it yet, but we just kinda accept that tiny tiny stuff does weird things unlike the observable universe." Neal paused to see if Melissa was paying attention or if he should just stop there.
"Mmmm hmm? The rocket's obviously not small - how's that fit into Elon Musk's plan?"
"Well the newest theory is we're in a simulated world. You and I are just programs." Neal started to gloss over things so he wouldn't lose his one person audience. He rattled off a summary in a monotone voice "Technology grows fast. We can simulate game worlds easily, in another thousand years maybe the weather for perfect predictions. In another ten thousand the entire Earth on a molecular level. In another hundred thousand on an atomic level. Anyway, with infinite worlds and billions of years, someone somewhere can probably simulate the entire galaxy if not universe." The screen continued showing the blackness of space. He turns to Melissa after a pause. Sensing something dramatic, Melissa looks up.
Neal continued with a profound voice. "Well if they can simulate the universe - who's to say WE'RE not a simulation?" Melissa stared back blankly. "Like, of the infinite worlds that can be created, what are the chances WE are the one true world? Like, astronomically low! Therefore, we're in a simulation." He eagerly paused to let it sink in.
Melissa shrugged. "Okay. So let's assume that we're in a simulation. The rocket?"
"So here's the thing. What if we don't understand quantum physics because the simulated overlord program doesn't calculate it? In a game, when your character walks around a world, the game isn't simulating everything outside of the picture because it doesn't matter. It's like everything outside of Mario's view is in Schrodinger's box - basically uncalculated until you actually need it, saving processing time and memory.
"Now, imagine that Mario is causing chaos behind him but doesn't look until the last second. Like he's just collecting green shells and tossing them backwards into a pool - they're all running into each other, never stopping. And then he spins around." Neal suddenly shoots his arms in the air, "BAM, the console freezes while it tries to display the chaos. It catches up eventually, but the game lags while it tries to work out everything that it previously didn't care about." Neal pauses again and starts up another relevant idea. "So do you remember bucky balls? Like the scientific breakthrough from the 80's?"
"Yeah, they wanted to use it to transport molecules around the body and whatever. Like little boxes." On that sentence she suddenly realized where Neal was going.
Neal nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, like little boxes - like little Schrodinger boxes." Neal continued. "So Musk developed this ... liquidy bucky ball material. With a little electricity they form bucky balls, but they also unstable so they constantly open and reform other balls. Large, small, whatever -" Neal snickered and tilted his head - "The internet's calling them Musky balls."
Melissa rolls her eyes.
Neal returned, "Anyway, so these Musky balls - you don't know what's in them until you open them. But there might be another musky ball, and inside that another - and maybe the ones that are opened closed up again in some other formation with other Musky balls inside that."
"Chaos..."
"Yup, Chaos, and if we open up the one solid Bucky ball container holding this whole mess? What if Mario turns around?"
"The console freezes."
Neal's excited demeanor settles into a bright grin. He repeats Melissa's words back at her. "The console freezes." He gestures towards the computer screen. "And that's what we're waiting for." Both continue staring at the screen as Neal turns the volume up - confident that Melissa is now interested in the announcer's voice.
Moments later there's a bright flash. For all the buildup that led up to this scientific event, it was anti-climatically over in a few seconds.
"So did anything happen?"
"I donno, didn't seem like it."
"So maybe we're real?"
"Maybe we're real." Neal shrugged. "I don't know, maybe not. Maybe Elon will try again."
*****
*The whole room froze for a moment.*
*You see, even if the universe was simulated, even if there was lag the simulation wouldn't know it. It wouldn't know if it wasn't programmed to know.*
*****
"Well do you think he would? He could?"
"Yeah, that's a good question - I mean he burned probably his entire reputation trying to pull off this crazy stunt. I'm sure this wasn't profitable unless he can find a use for Musky balls." Neal couldn't help from making himself smirk.
*****
*The room froze again.*
*If you're colorblind, how do you know you're colorblind? You might know because other people tell you they see other colors. Maybe you could build a device that can see additional colors. But what if nobody else knows? What if the device* **can't** *know? After all, wouldn't it have to be programmed to know?*
*****
"Oh wait, he's coming on TV."
*****
*Computers know they're lagging because they have a separate test for time. They can tell how long it has been since the last computation. What if time itself was lagging? How would you know?*
*****
The chatter on the TV hushes before Musk speaks: "The data we have gathered will be analyzed and I'll be sure to report our findings in our next press release. I am confident that the data will provide even the tiniest shudder of information that can help determi--"
*****
*How does prisoner know he is a prisoner? He knows because he can see the other world or he can see his master giving orders.*
*But how does a machine know about the rest of the world? It only knows if it has been programmed to know.*
*The only way you can ever tell if you are in a simulation is if someone outside* **wants** *to tell you.*
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Musk retires in shame, wasting the fortunes of the world. Since we're also simulated, our consciences also lagged and nothing was noticed by anything, except some universe research assistant out in the real universe noticed something was wrong, so just rebooted our server. The simulation was reset, feeding different random noise into the universe generator, and was back to the same time in a few hours.
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[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
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Jeremy looked at the read out on the monitor in disbelief.
Error 100101
Error? The Milky Way hadn’t had an error in...well ever. And what the hell was error 100101?
Beads of sweat began to form on his brow. Had he done something? The only manual interaction he’d had with the sim were the usual arbitrary interactions that were allowed every tech in his position. Still, Milky Way was Timothy’s baby, and if Timothy’s baby was damaged on his watch, there would be hell to pay. Jeremy took two quick deep breaths then signaled that he needed help.
The tech analyst floated to Jeremy’s station gracefully. A whirring ball of silicate and metal, it hovered over the station momentarily, scanning the error. It then whirred off in the opposite direction, assumedly to debug the error and notify Timothy of the on-goings.
Jeremy waited nervously recounting every action he’d taken after setting foot in the office today:
There was the asteroid he collided with Nebula6. Nebula6 current populace was well under the 2 billion threshold and didn’t require authorization to demolish.
Then there was the new species he introduced to the 8th sector. The 8th sector was so sparsely populated it would be a millennia in sim-time before his species was discovered. Again well within regs.
“What the HELL did you do to my universe Spitzer!?”, Timothy jumped into view, the steam was nearly visible from his ears.
“No..Nothing…I didn’t do..”
“Move, let me have a look” Timothy butted his way into Jeremys terminal. Timothy waived his hands, and pinched fingers in rapid succession, eyes glued to the read out all the while muttering “If I find out you broke protocol you are finished Jer…”
Timothy stopped mid thought, he’d found something of interest.
“Am I..”
“shhh”, Timothy retorted.
“..in trouble?”
“SHHH!”, Timothy responded vehemently this time holding a single finger to Jeremys lips, his face still buried in the read out. “This is fascinating!”
“What? What’s fascinating?”, Jeremy asked.
Timothy responded with 3 words that would change Universe Inc forever, “Elon fucking Musk!”
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Musk retires in shame, wasting the fortunes of the world. Since we're also simulated, our consciences also lagged and nothing was noticed by anything, except some universe research assistant out in the real universe noticed something was wrong, so just rebooted our server. The simulation was reset, feeding different random noise into the universe generator, and was back to the same time in a few hours.
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[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
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"So are you taking this or not?" The look Kimbal gave him was definitely saying: "Do it, your ringtone is annoying"
"..fine" Said Elon pulling out his phone, "This is going to be just a minute, don't wander off too far, I want you to finish that story"
"Ok, Jerry, what's up?" Said Elon into the phone covering it with his hand in an attempt to block out the noise from the party.
"Hey, Elon, you really need to see this" Jerry's voice was shaking, but Elon couldn't tell if he was happy or scared.
"Jerry, can we do this tomorrow? Is this that important?" Elon already started looking around for Kimbal,
he knew nothing is more important than the detonation of his bomb and this reception where he was about to give a speech on the initial results of the experiment.
"Elon, seriously? I'm calling from 7 time zones away, in the middle of your presentation and you have to ask?"
This sounded convincing, especially given that 7 time zones away was 4am. Apparently Jerry did have reasons. "Alright, what happened?" asked Elon.
"You were right, Elon" said Jerry proudly, like if it was him who was right, "The particle you predicted does exist!"
"The particle I predicted?" Elon stopped looking for Kimbal and decided to step outside.
"Yes, well, technically I predicted it, but you gave the idea. Remember when you said that if you were to architect an infinite Universe, you would just make one finite instance, and then make it recursively be made of itself?" Jerry was spitting words at Uzi rate and was definitely proud of himself.
"Yeah, I do remember this" said Musk, "But how is it related to a particle?"
"That's the best part!" Jerry obviously was waiting for this question "The theory was that there should be similarities between the macro Universe and micro Universe. So we set up an experiment where we bombarded Uranium with neutrons in presence of Higgs bosons, and the expectation was that a Higgs anti-boson would appear"
Elon felt like Jerry was skipping over some steps in his explanation for brevity, but in general it made sense. "Ok, so?" he asked.
"Well, we did observe something. Like 40 minutes ago, bosons just disappeared and we lost half of the mass of the uranium instantly. It must be the particle". Elon gasped. He looked at his watch. 40 minutes ago was right at the time of the detonation. "That's no particle Jerry. It's a glitch on microscopic scale, which may cause macro...". Suddenly, all sounds disappeared, the black sky was ripped by a circle of uniform bright white light. This white patch was expanding with increasing speed, however, nothing on the ground was seem to be lit by it. In a few seconds the sky was white and tall buildings started to shrink as if they were cut by some white plane dropping down quickly...
A pop up with a red exclamation sign appeared on the screen accompanied by a flurry of characters in the crash log:
---- 14A07: Unhandled exception: Simulation stack overflow. Caused by instance: 0x2504807 (Universe) See nested exception description
Nested exception: 14A07: Unhandled exception: Simulation stack overflow. Caused by instance: 0x00008746:8D788FF712 (Elon Musk) See nested exception description
Nested exception: 64700: Unhandled exception: Custom: This exception is to track spontaneous Elon Musk instances in Milky Way cluster. See issue HKKDL_048872234 for possible solutions.
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"O God, there seems to be a problem with the registry."
Lisa, frantically looked around her to see if anyone was watching her. "What did I do!" she whimpered.
Lisa's first day as an intern at VP Corp was not going well, her supervisor had already gotten onto her about plugging up her phone to the CPU.
The confrontation from earlier that day quickly played back in Lisa's head.
"What the hell is wrong with you!" Jobe yanked the phone from the CPU simultaneously. "Have you already forgotten orientation?!" Jobe tried his best to keep his voice down but it was to late, the nearby employees began looking in their direction.
Jobe looked to his left, "Interns." he smiled. Jobe quickly wheeled his computer chair out of view from the exit towards Lisa's desk.
"Now you listen here," said Jobe. "If I ever catch you plugging any unapproved device in one of my computers again I will make sure you never work here as an intern or EMPLOYEE."
"You feel me?" Jobe stared long and hard into Lisa's eyes then quickly rolled over to his station.
"I knew better." thought Lisa. She sat there frozen in time, one more major mistake could cost her career at VP Corp.
JOBE TO LEVEL THREE! JOBE TO LEVEL THREE!
Lisa snapped out of her day dream from the intercom.
"What the hell, I thought they said in orientation that the PA system was never to be used." Lisa quickly realized that she may have done something to have triggered a panic. She quickly pulled up her terminal window to insure nothing was loading onto her desktop or worse the servers.
"OK, I am all good here this can't be on my end," Lisa thought.
Lisa was on level three, she could see Jobe entering the conference room through the large glass windows.
Jobe looked panicked, he paced back and forth with his right hand on his head and his left hand against his chest. It looked as if someone just informed him of a death in the family.
"What the hell is going on, I have to make sure I am good," said Lisa. She quickly pulled up all the terminals on all the computers, she had to make sure it was not her problem.
"OK, I need to go over each terminal." Lisa thought. Lisa pulled up the command window and began initiating the following commands.
top Displays active processes. Press q to quit
cd Home directory
cd [folder] Change directory e.g. cd documents
cd / Root of drive
cd - Previous directory
ls Short listing
ls -l Long listing
ls -a Listing incl. hidden files
ls -lh Long listing with Human readable file sizes
ls -R Entire content of folder recursively
"Everything looks OK dammit, why is MilkyWay.exe not responding in the registry." Lisa thought. She looked up into the conference room again, this time Jobe was hunched over a small laptop with dozens of what appeared to be executives behind him.
They all seemed very entranced, lost for words as Jobe frantically was attempting access or stop something.
"What WAS it though." Lisa thought.
Slowly the office began murmuring as one computer after another begun shutting down remotely.
"Jobe must be resetting the computer's," Lisa thought.
As each computer shutdown the employees decided to stand up in their perspective cubicles and converse. The noise in the office began getting louder and louder to the point where it sounded like a cafeteria during lunch break in Junior High.
Lisa did not know anyone here, it was after all her first day. She sat there staring at her black screen, no one noticed her there as everyone was mingling amongst themselves.
*BEEEEP*
The computer Jobe was working on came to life. Lisa quickly turned to see a single white blinking line on the top left of the screen.
Cautiously she looked up again to notice Jobe unmoved working frantically on the small laptop with now what seemed dozens more executives behind him. Lisa slowly rolled over to Jobes computer.
"Jobe you silly old man, mirror image on the PC is still active," Lisa thought. She thought about turning the monitor off but that required "tampering" with his equipment.
"Well I don't wanna do that," she thought sarcastically. She sat their watching the commands being typed across the screen.
close ~/Desktop/VP.exe
open ~/Desktop/VP.exe
error ~file unknown
open ~/Desktop/VP.exe
error ~/file unknown
close ~/MilkyWay.exe _
The cursor blinked beside the command prompt which indicated it had not been initiated yet.
"O, God, he can't possibly think that is the best outcome," she said. The problem can't possibly be this severe, Lisa thought.
Lisa looked up at Jobe, his hand was wrapped around his eyes and the executive's hand was on his right shoulder.
"Jobe," said the man resting his hand on Jobes shoulder.
"We never have had such a latency length before, if we don't reset it now we could lose the entire file," said the man. "At least we can salvage what data we do have."
"I understand that but what if it's JUST a latency issue," said Jobe. "The issue will resolve ITSELF."
"We can't take any chances, this has never happened before. It is impossible for it to have originated on their end," said the man.
Jobe never liked this man, this wouldn't be the first wipe and wouldn't be the last call made by him.
"Sir, if you do this the public will not let the program continue to stand. They will surely demand your resignation or even the company's closure," said Jobe.
The man sternly poked Jobe in the chest and says gritting through his teeth "I understand the business side, you understand the technical side, let me handle my side of the job. EXECUTE THE COMMAND."
Jobe quickly stands up to face the man while slamming his laptop shut and says, "If you want to do it then do it, I am done with this company."
Jobe slings his laptop against the glass shattering it into pieces, the glass vibrates erratically. Dozen's of employees turn to face the conference room.
Lisa stared blankly at the screen, the command was still there waiting to be executed. The cursor blinking in all its glory.
close ~/MilkyWay.exe _
"I can DO this," Lisa thought.
"This is the RIGHT way," Lisa thought.
Lisa pulled the keyboard closer to her and erased close ~/MilkyWay.exe.
"What will THEY think of me," Lisa said.
Lisa slowly typed the commands.
open ~/Desktop/VP/Safemode.exe
-awaiting command
open ~/MilkyWay.exe
-awaiting command
~/awaken.exe_
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[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
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Something's wrong.
I woke up this morning as per usual; alarm goes off at 7:30am, I stumble to the bathroom for my morning routine while my girlfriend stays in bed (she works late nights), and then after freshen up I put the coffee on. By the time I get back to the kitchen at about 7:50, the coffee's ready. Today, it wasn't. No big deal, I decide; I'll just take it to go today.
Things started to get weird when I noticed that it was still dark outside.
I check my calendar: July 17th. The sun should be out by now, ready to sear us all with its scorching July heat. But instead, the sky is as dark as night, as if the sun had just set. I make sure it's actually minutes to eight, and sure enough, it is. Curious, I go and turn on the television - muting it immediately so my girl can sleep - and turn it to the news. The first thing I see is this headline:
MUSK DETONATES GIGANTIC BOMB IN SPACE - REALITY ALTERED DRASTICALLY
Musk? Oh, right, that guy. SpaceX and what not. I'd heard he was planning something. I unmute the TV and put it to the lowest volume possible just as the report begins.
"--reports of a loud explosion above the Earth last night, preceded by a bright flash that illuminated the sky for about 8 minutes. Elon Musk, President of SpaceX and co-founder of Tesla Motors, has claimed responsibility for this bizarre event that seems to have had an impact on our very reality. He explained this in a video posted just a few hours ago..."
Am I going to be late to work? Maybe. But this is too good to miss. The South African-born entrepreneur appears on screen, explaining his latest feat in his smooth, accented voice:
"Some time ago, I postulated the possibility that we are living in a very complex simulation," he began. "A simulation that is so real that we are essentially convinced that there is nothing else, no other explanation as to how we got here. I am here to tell you that it seems my hypothesis was correct. Last week, we launched Project Distortion, a test to see whether this simulation can be triggered into revealing itself, if only for a little bit. The project involved the building of an extremely large cluster bomb, one which, if detonated close enough to Earth, would extinguish all life on the planet..."
I tune out. A BOMB? What is this guy on? He wanted to test a silly theory by building a weapon of mass destruction? He's nuts. I keep watching.
"...the bomb was detonated at 12:00 Greenwich Mean Time, and at 12:04 GMT, we saw the indication of the simulation being real. We received reports of time literally staying still, or lagging heavily, in some parts of the world."
so THAT'S why it's still dark outside...
I turn the TV off, dumbfounded by what I'd just seen. This man, this... inventor, entrepreneur, whateverthefuck you want to call him, just did something unimaginable. he broke the fourth wall. everything we know to be real... is not.
I have a feeling today's going to be very interesting.
|
"O God, there seems to be a problem with the registry."
Lisa, frantically looked around her to see if anyone was watching her. "What did I do!" she whimpered.
Lisa's first day as an intern at VP Corp was not going well, her supervisor had already gotten onto her about plugging up her phone to the CPU.
The confrontation from earlier that day quickly played back in Lisa's head.
"What the hell is wrong with you!" Jobe yanked the phone from the CPU simultaneously. "Have you already forgotten orientation?!" Jobe tried his best to keep his voice down but it was to late, the nearby employees began looking in their direction.
Jobe looked to his left, "Interns." he smiled. Jobe quickly wheeled his computer chair out of view from the exit towards Lisa's desk.
"Now you listen here," said Jobe. "If I ever catch you plugging any unapproved device in one of my computers again I will make sure you never work here as an intern or EMPLOYEE."
"You feel me?" Jobe stared long and hard into Lisa's eyes then quickly rolled over to his station.
"I knew better." thought Lisa. She sat there frozen in time, one more major mistake could cost her career at VP Corp.
JOBE TO LEVEL THREE! JOBE TO LEVEL THREE!
Lisa snapped out of her day dream from the intercom.
"What the hell, I thought they said in orientation that the PA system was never to be used." Lisa quickly realized that she may have done something to have triggered a panic. She quickly pulled up her terminal window to insure nothing was loading onto her desktop or worse the servers.
"OK, I am all good here this can't be on my end," Lisa thought.
Lisa was on level three, she could see Jobe entering the conference room through the large glass windows.
Jobe looked panicked, he paced back and forth with his right hand on his head and his left hand against his chest. It looked as if someone just informed him of a death in the family.
"What the hell is going on, I have to make sure I am good," said Lisa. She quickly pulled up all the terminals on all the computers, she had to make sure it was not her problem.
"OK, I need to go over each terminal." Lisa thought. Lisa pulled up the command window and began initiating the following commands.
top Displays active processes. Press q to quit
cd Home directory
cd [folder] Change directory e.g. cd documents
cd / Root of drive
cd - Previous directory
ls Short listing
ls -l Long listing
ls -a Listing incl. hidden files
ls -lh Long listing with Human readable file sizes
ls -R Entire content of folder recursively
"Everything looks OK dammit, why is MilkyWay.exe not responding in the registry." Lisa thought. She looked up into the conference room again, this time Jobe was hunched over a small laptop with dozens of what appeared to be executives behind him.
They all seemed very entranced, lost for words as Jobe frantically was attempting access or stop something.
"What WAS it though." Lisa thought.
Slowly the office began murmuring as one computer after another begun shutting down remotely.
"Jobe must be resetting the computer's," Lisa thought.
As each computer shutdown the employees decided to stand up in their perspective cubicles and converse. The noise in the office began getting louder and louder to the point where it sounded like a cafeteria during lunch break in Junior High.
Lisa did not know anyone here, it was after all her first day. She sat there staring at her black screen, no one noticed her there as everyone was mingling amongst themselves.
*BEEEEP*
The computer Jobe was working on came to life. Lisa quickly turned to see a single white blinking line on the top left of the screen.
Cautiously she looked up again to notice Jobe unmoved working frantically on the small laptop with now what seemed dozens more executives behind him. Lisa slowly rolled over to Jobes computer.
"Jobe you silly old man, mirror image on the PC is still active," Lisa thought. She thought about turning the monitor off but that required "tampering" with his equipment.
"Well I don't wanna do that," she thought sarcastically. She sat their watching the commands being typed across the screen.
close ~/Desktop/VP.exe
open ~/Desktop/VP.exe
error ~file unknown
open ~/Desktop/VP.exe
error ~/file unknown
close ~/MilkyWay.exe _
The cursor blinked beside the command prompt which indicated it had not been initiated yet.
"O, God, he can't possibly think that is the best outcome," she said. The problem can't possibly be this severe, Lisa thought.
Lisa looked up at Jobe, his hand was wrapped around his eyes and the executive's hand was on his right shoulder.
"Jobe," said the man resting his hand on Jobes shoulder.
"We never have had such a latency length before, if we don't reset it now we could lose the entire file," said the man. "At least we can salvage what data we do have."
"I understand that but what if it's JUST a latency issue," said Jobe. "The issue will resolve ITSELF."
"We can't take any chances, this has never happened before. It is impossible for it to have originated on their end," said the man.
Jobe never liked this man, this wouldn't be the first wipe and wouldn't be the last call made by him.
"Sir, if you do this the public will not let the program continue to stand. They will surely demand your resignation or even the company's closure," said Jobe.
The man sternly poked Jobe in the chest and says gritting through his teeth "I understand the business side, you understand the technical side, let me handle my side of the job. EXECUTE THE COMMAND."
Jobe quickly stands up to face the man while slamming his laptop shut and says, "If you want to do it then do it, I am done with this company."
Jobe slings his laptop against the glass shattering it into pieces, the glass vibrates erratically. Dozen's of employees turn to face the conference room.
Lisa stared blankly at the screen, the command was still there waiting to be executed. The cursor blinking in all its glory.
close ~/MilkyWay.exe _
"I can DO this," Lisa thought.
"This is the RIGHT way," Lisa thought.
Lisa pulled the keyboard closer to her and erased close ~/MilkyWay.exe.
"What will THEY think of me," Lisa said.
Lisa slowly typed the commands.
open ~/Desktop/VP/Safemode.exe
-awaiting command
open ~/MilkyWay.exe
-awaiting command
~/awaken.exe_
|
|
[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
|
I felt it for only a moment.
A tiny hesitation. A slight bump. As if I had blinked, but my eyes never closed. It lasted for a mere split second, almost imperceptible yet also impossible to ignore. As my brain reeled back to reality, I pressed my now cold hands to my clammy cheeks and absorbed my surroundings to be sure nothing was missing. Then I immediately emptied the contents of my stomach onto the floor in front of me.
*What the hell was that?!*
I heard my younger sister shout from down the hall, her hoarse voice betraying her own lack of intestinal fortitude against whatever had just happened to the entire world. The only response I could muster was a loud grunt, a mixture of frustration and horror, as I scrambled to type the words into my computer.
"**world stops for a second**"
Nothing. Befuddled, I stare at Googles insistence that the world was perfectly normal. I slam my palm against the keyboard which loudly rejects my expression of anger. Begging for answers, I refresh the page, and suddenly Google provides. Scores of articles insist that Elon Musk, the inventor of Tesla Motors, has proven without a doubt that our reality is a simulation. He claims to have overloaded the simulation by detonating a cluster bomb just outside earths atmosphere.
I feel my fingertips go numb and my face go pale at this realization. Unable to part my eyes from the words on the screen, I hear my sister approach the computer from behind, but before she can read it I protect her from the horrible truth with a quick stroke of the Keyboard.
*What was that?*
She asks again, much more collected and calm this time.
*Nothing, Go back to sleep.* I insist.
I look over and offer her the closest thing I can to a smile. My pale and clammy skin would rob me of any semblance of calm, but thankfully my sister was too exhausted to care. As she turned to trudge off to bed, I clutched my head in my hands and let myself sob with existential dread. I didn't have long to contemplate the ramifications of this realization before a bright flash illuminated the entire house, piercing the night sky with a loud roar. It was the last thing I saw before...
**SIMULATION ENDED**
|
"O God, there seems to be a problem with the registry."
Lisa, frantically looked around her to see if anyone was watching her. "What did I do!" she whimpered.
Lisa's first day as an intern at VP Corp was not going well, her supervisor had already gotten onto her about plugging up her phone to the CPU.
The confrontation from earlier that day quickly played back in Lisa's head.
"What the hell is wrong with you!" Jobe yanked the phone from the CPU simultaneously. "Have you already forgotten orientation?!" Jobe tried his best to keep his voice down but it was to late, the nearby employees began looking in their direction.
Jobe looked to his left, "Interns." he smiled. Jobe quickly wheeled his computer chair out of view from the exit towards Lisa's desk.
"Now you listen here," said Jobe. "If I ever catch you plugging any unapproved device in one of my computers again I will make sure you never work here as an intern or EMPLOYEE."
"You feel me?" Jobe stared long and hard into Lisa's eyes then quickly rolled over to his station.
"I knew better." thought Lisa. She sat there frozen in time, one more major mistake could cost her career at VP Corp.
JOBE TO LEVEL THREE! JOBE TO LEVEL THREE!
Lisa snapped out of her day dream from the intercom.
"What the hell, I thought they said in orientation that the PA system was never to be used." Lisa quickly realized that she may have done something to have triggered a panic. She quickly pulled up her terminal window to insure nothing was loading onto her desktop or worse the servers.
"OK, I am all good here this can't be on my end," Lisa thought.
Lisa was on level three, she could see Jobe entering the conference room through the large glass windows.
Jobe looked panicked, he paced back and forth with his right hand on his head and his left hand against his chest. It looked as if someone just informed him of a death in the family.
"What the hell is going on, I have to make sure I am good," said Lisa. She quickly pulled up all the terminals on all the computers, she had to make sure it was not her problem.
"OK, I need to go over each terminal." Lisa thought. Lisa pulled up the command window and began initiating the following commands.
top Displays active processes. Press q to quit
cd Home directory
cd [folder] Change directory e.g. cd documents
cd / Root of drive
cd - Previous directory
ls Short listing
ls -l Long listing
ls -a Listing incl. hidden files
ls -lh Long listing with Human readable file sizes
ls -R Entire content of folder recursively
"Everything looks OK dammit, why is MilkyWay.exe not responding in the registry." Lisa thought. She looked up into the conference room again, this time Jobe was hunched over a small laptop with dozens of what appeared to be executives behind him.
They all seemed very entranced, lost for words as Jobe frantically was attempting access or stop something.
"What WAS it though." Lisa thought.
Slowly the office began murmuring as one computer after another begun shutting down remotely.
"Jobe must be resetting the computer's," Lisa thought.
As each computer shutdown the employees decided to stand up in their perspective cubicles and converse. The noise in the office began getting louder and louder to the point where it sounded like a cafeteria during lunch break in Junior High.
Lisa did not know anyone here, it was after all her first day. She sat there staring at her black screen, no one noticed her there as everyone was mingling amongst themselves.
*BEEEEP*
The computer Jobe was working on came to life. Lisa quickly turned to see a single white blinking line on the top left of the screen.
Cautiously she looked up again to notice Jobe unmoved working frantically on the small laptop with now what seemed dozens more executives behind him. Lisa slowly rolled over to Jobes computer.
"Jobe you silly old man, mirror image on the PC is still active," Lisa thought. She thought about turning the monitor off but that required "tampering" with his equipment.
"Well I don't wanna do that," she thought sarcastically. She sat their watching the commands being typed across the screen.
close ~/Desktop/VP.exe
open ~/Desktop/VP.exe
error ~file unknown
open ~/Desktop/VP.exe
error ~/file unknown
close ~/MilkyWay.exe _
The cursor blinked beside the command prompt which indicated it had not been initiated yet.
"O, God, he can't possibly think that is the best outcome," she said. The problem can't possibly be this severe, Lisa thought.
Lisa looked up at Jobe, his hand was wrapped around his eyes and the executive's hand was on his right shoulder.
"Jobe," said the man resting his hand on Jobes shoulder.
"We never have had such a latency length before, if we don't reset it now we could lose the entire file," said the man. "At least we can salvage what data we do have."
"I understand that but what if it's JUST a latency issue," said Jobe. "The issue will resolve ITSELF."
"We can't take any chances, this has never happened before. It is impossible for it to have originated on their end," said the man.
Jobe never liked this man, this wouldn't be the first wipe and wouldn't be the last call made by him.
"Sir, if you do this the public will not let the program continue to stand. They will surely demand your resignation or even the company's closure," said Jobe.
The man sternly poked Jobe in the chest and says gritting through his teeth "I understand the business side, you understand the technical side, let me handle my side of the job. EXECUTE THE COMMAND."
Jobe quickly stands up to face the man while slamming his laptop shut and says, "If you want to do it then do it, I am done with this company."
Jobe slings his laptop against the glass shattering it into pieces, the glass vibrates erratically. Dozen's of employees turn to face the conference room.
Lisa stared blankly at the screen, the command was still there waiting to be executed. The cursor blinking in all its glory.
close ~/MilkyWay.exe _
"I can DO this," Lisa thought.
"This is the RIGHT way," Lisa thought.
Lisa pulled the keyboard closer to her and erased close ~/MilkyWay.exe.
"What will THEY think of me," Lisa said.
Lisa slowly typed the commands.
open ~/Desktop/VP/Safemode.exe
-awaiting command
open ~/MilkyWay.exe
-awaiting command
~/awaken.exe_
|
|
[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
|
"So are you taking this or not?" The look Kimbal gave him was definitely saying: "Do it, your ringtone is annoying"
"..fine" Said Elon pulling out his phone, "This is going to be just a minute, don't wander off too far, I want you to finish that story"
"Ok, Jerry, what's up?" Said Elon into the phone covering it with his hand in an attempt to block out the noise from the party.
"Hey, Elon, you really need to see this" Jerry's voice was shaking, but Elon couldn't tell if he was happy or scared.
"Jerry, can we do this tomorrow? Is this that important?" Elon already started looking around for Kimbal,
he knew nothing is more important than the detonation of his bomb and this reception where he was about to give a speech on the initial results of the experiment.
"Elon, seriously? I'm calling from 7 time zones away, in the middle of your presentation and you have to ask?"
This sounded convincing, especially given that 7 time zones away was 4am. Apparently Jerry did have reasons. "Alright, what happened?" asked Elon.
"You were right, Elon" said Jerry proudly, like if it was him who was right, "The particle you predicted does exist!"
"The particle I predicted?" Elon stopped looking for Kimbal and decided to step outside.
"Yes, well, technically I predicted it, but you gave the idea. Remember when you said that if you were to architect an infinite Universe, you would just make one finite instance, and then make it recursively be made of itself?" Jerry was spitting words at Uzi rate and was definitely proud of himself.
"Yeah, I do remember this" said Musk, "But how is it related to a particle?"
"That's the best part!" Jerry obviously was waiting for this question "The theory was that there should be similarities between the macro Universe and micro Universe. So we set up an experiment where we bombarded Uranium with neutrons in presence of Higgs bosons, and the expectation was that a Higgs anti-boson would appear"
Elon felt like Jerry was skipping over some steps in his explanation for brevity, but in general it made sense. "Ok, so?" he asked.
"Well, we did observe something. Like 40 minutes ago, bosons just disappeared and we lost half of the mass of the uranium instantly. It must be the particle". Elon gasped. He looked at his watch. 40 minutes ago was right at the time of the detonation. "That's no particle Jerry. It's a glitch on microscopic scale, which may cause macro...". Suddenly, all sounds disappeared, the black sky was ripped by a circle of uniform bright white light. This white patch was expanding with increasing speed, however, nothing on the ground was seem to be lit by it. In a few seconds the sky was white and tall buildings started to shrink as if they were cut by some white plane dropping down quickly...
A pop up with a red exclamation sign appeared on the screen accompanied by a flurry of characters in the crash log:
---- 14A07: Unhandled exception: Simulation stack overflow. Caused by instance: 0x2504807 (Universe) See nested exception description
Nested exception: 14A07: Unhandled exception: Simulation stack overflow. Caused by instance: 0x00008746:8D788FF712 (Elon Musk) See nested exception description
Nested exception: 64700: Unhandled exception: Custom: This exception is to track spontaneous Elon Musk instances in Milky Way cluster. See issue HKKDL_048872234 for possible solutions.
|
Elon Musk felt the weight of the tusk
that had stole from Hemingway.
Arsenal in hand, and an energy-saving mini-van.
did Musk seek Heard to marry.
Energy saved, yet no onclave staved
could bury young maiden fair,
but an energy meet and a chance to defeat
a billionaire's chance to be square.
An acid trip or maybe a rip on a story which had been told
The irony lies in the verses supplied of those of Jack himself
Take advice when I say that there is no way that
Elon himself would sway
A Musk in the hand worth two in a bush
is what a wise man might say.
A poem about how DUMB Elon Musk is.
|
|
[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
|
Something's wrong.
I woke up this morning as per usual; alarm goes off at 7:30am, I stumble to the bathroom for my morning routine while my girlfriend stays in bed (she works late nights), and then after freshen up I put the coffee on. By the time I get back to the kitchen at about 7:50, the coffee's ready. Today, it wasn't. No big deal, I decide; I'll just take it to go today.
Things started to get weird when I noticed that it was still dark outside.
I check my calendar: July 17th. The sun should be out by now, ready to sear us all with its scorching July heat. But instead, the sky is as dark as night, as if the sun had just set. I make sure it's actually minutes to eight, and sure enough, it is. Curious, I go and turn on the television - muting it immediately so my girl can sleep - and turn it to the news. The first thing I see is this headline:
MUSK DETONATES GIGANTIC BOMB IN SPACE - REALITY ALTERED DRASTICALLY
Musk? Oh, right, that guy. SpaceX and what not. I'd heard he was planning something. I unmute the TV and put it to the lowest volume possible just as the report begins.
"--reports of a loud explosion above the Earth last night, preceded by a bright flash that illuminated the sky for about 8 minutes. Elon Musk, President of SpaceX and co-founder of Tesla Motors, has claimed responsibility for this bizarre event that seems to have had an impact on our very reality. He explained this in a video posted just a few hours ago..."
Am I going to be late to work? Maybe. But this is too good to miss. The South African-born entrepreneur appears on screen, explaining his latest feat in his smooth, accented voice:
"Some time ago, I postulated the possibility that we are living in a very complex simulation," he began. "A simulation that is so real that we are essentially convinced that there is nothing else, no other explanation as to how we got here. I am here to tell you that it seems my hypothesis was correct. Last week, we launched Project Distortion, a test to see whether this simulation can be triggered into revealing itself, if only for a little bit. The project involved the building of an extremely large cluster bomb, one which, if detonated close enough to Earth, would extinguish all life on the planet..."
I tune out. A BOMB? What is this guy on? He wanted to test a silly theory by building a weapon of mass destruction? He's nuts. I keep watching.
"...the bomb was detonated at 12:00 Greenwich Mean Time, and at 12:04 GMT, we saw the indication of the simulation being real. We received reports of time literally staying still, or lagging heavily, in some parts of the world."
so THAT'S why it's still dark outside...
I turn the TV off, dumbfounded by what I'd just seen. This man, this... inventor, entrepreneur, whateverthefuck you want to call him, just did something unimaginable. he broke the fourth wall. everything we know to be real... is not.
I have a feeling today's going to be very interesting.
|
Elon Musk felt the weight of the tusk
that had stole from Hemingway.
Arsenal in hand, and an energy-saving mini-van.
did Musk seek Heard to marry.
Energy saved, yet no onclave staved
could bury young maiden fair,
but an energy meet and a chance to defeat
a billionaire's chance to be square.
An acid trip or maybe a rip on a story which had been told
The irony lies in the verses supplied of those of Jack himself
Take advice when I say that there is no way that
Elon himself would sway
A Musk in the hand worth two in a bush
is what a wise man might say.
A poem about how DUMB Elon Musk is.
|
|
[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
|
"So are you taking this or not?" The look Kimbal gave him was definitely saying: "Do it, your ringtone is annoying"
"..fine" Said Elon pulling out his phone, "This is going to be just a minute, don't wander off too far, I want you to finish that story"
"Ok, Jerry, what's up?" Said Elon into the phone covering it with his hand in an attempt to block out the noise from the party.
"Hey, Elon, you really need to see this" Jerry's voice was shaking, but Elon couldn't tell if he was happy or scared.
"Jerry, can we do this tomorrow? Is this that important?" Elon already started looking around for Kimbal,
he knew nothing is more important than the detonation of his bomb and this reception where he was about to give a speech on the initial results of the experiment.
"Elon, seriously? I'm calling from 7 time zones away, in the middle of your presentation and you have to ask?"
This sounded convincing, especially given that 7 time zones away was 4am. Apparently Jerry did have reasons. "Alright, what happened?" asked Elon.
"You were right, Elon" said Jerry proudly, like if it was him who was right, "The particle you predicted does exist!"
"The particle I predicted?" Elon stopped looking for Kimbal and decided to step outside.
"Yes, well, technically I predicted it, but you gave the idea. Remember when you said that if you were to architect an infinite Universe, you would just make one finite instance, and then make it recursively be made of itself?" Jerry was spitting words at Uzi rate and was definitely proud of himself.
"Yeah, I do remember this" said Musk, "But how is it related to a particle?"
"That's the best part!" Jerry obviously was waiting for this question "The theory was that there should be similarities between the macro Universe and micro Universe. So we set up an experiment where we bombarded Uranium with neutrons in presence of Higgs bosons, and the expectation was that a Higgs anti-boson would appear"
Elon felt like Jerry was skipping over some steps in his explanation for brevity, but in general it made sense. "Ok, so?" he asked.
"Well, we did observe something. Like 40 minutes ago, bosons just disappeared and we lost half of the mass of the uranium instantly. It must be the particle". Elon gasped. He looked at his watch. 40 minutes ago was right at the time of the detonation. "That's no particle Jerry. It's a glitch on microscopic scale, which may cause macro...". Suddenly, all sounds disappeared, the black sky was ripped by a circle of uniform bright white light. This white patch was expanding with increasing speed, however, nothing on the ground was seem to be lit by it. In a few seconds the sky was white and tall buildings started to shrink as if they were cut by some white plane dropping down quickly...
A pop up with a red exclamation sign appeared on the screen accompanied by a flurry of characters in the crash log:
---- 14A07: Unhandled exception: Simulation stack overflow. Caused by instance: 0x2504807 (Universe) See nested exception description
Nested exception: 14A07: Unhandled exception: Simulation stack overflow. Caused by instance: 0x00008746:8D788FF712 (Elon Musk) See nested exception description
Nested exception: 64700: Unhandled exception: Custom: This exception is to track spontaneous Elon Musk instances in Milky Way cluster. See issue HKKDL_048872234 for possible solutions.
|
"Alright boys, It's time to set this baby off." Elon asked for the detonation device. Once handed to him, he takes a deep breath. The pressing of a single button would determine the success of his publicity, the funding he received, but more than anything else, his ideals. "3...2...1..." his voice rang loud and clear for all spectators. ***click*** the button decompresses, and all eyes point to a single point near the horizon line. A bright flash emanates and expands all over the sky. To the coder that programmed, the simulation truly did lag. In fact, the simulation almost ran out of resources to continue running. But to Elon and the crew? The event went on as unhindered, as it was their folly for believing they could observe the simulation stutter while being elements ran inside the simulation.
|
|
[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
|
Something's wrong.
I woke up this morning as per usual; alarm goes off at 7:30am, I stumble to the bathroom for my morning routine while my girlfriend stays in bed (she works late nights), and then after freshen up I put the coffee on. By the time I get back to the kitchen at about 7:50, the coffee's ready. Today, it wasn't. No big deal, I decide; I'll just take it to go today.
Things started to get weird when I noticed that it was still dark outside.
I check my calendar: July 17th. The sun should be out by now, ready to sear us all with its scorching July heat. But instead, the sky is as dark as night, as if the sun had just set. I make sure it's actually minutes to eight, and sure enough, it is. Curious, I go and turn on the television - muting it immediately so my girl can sleep - and turn it to the news. The first thing I see is this headline:
MUSK DETONATES GIGANTIC BOMB IN SPACE - REALITY ALTERED DRASTICALLY
Musk? Oh, right, that guy. SpaceX and what not. I'd heard he was planning something. I unmute the TV and put it to the lowest volume possible just as the report begins.
"--reports of a loud explosion above the Earth last night, preceded by a bright flash that illuminated the sky for about 8 minutes. Elon Musk, President of SpaceX and co-founder of Tesla Motors, has claimed responsibility for this bizarre event that seems to have had an impact on our very reality. He explained this in a video posted just a few hours ago..."
Am I going to be late to work? Maybe. But this is too good to miss. The South African-born entrepreneur appears on screen, explaining his latest feat in his smooth, accented voice:
"Some time ago, I postulated the possibility that we are living in a very complex simulation," he began. "A simulation that is so real that we are essentially convinced that there is nothing else, no other explanation as to how we got here. I am here to tell you that it seems my hypothesis was correct. Last week, we launched Project Distortion, a test to see whether this simulation can be triggered into revealing itself, if only for a little bit. The project involved the building of an extremely large cluster bomb, one which, if detonated close enough to Earth, would extinguish all life on the planet..."
I tune out. A BOMB? What is this guy on? He wanted to test a silly theory by building a weapon of mass destruction? He's nuts. I keep watching.
"...the bomb was detonated at 12:00 Greenwich Mean Time, and at 12:04 GMT, we saw the indication of the simulation being real. We received reports of time literally staying still, or lagging heavily, in some parts of the world."
so THAT'S why it's still dark outside...
I turn the TV off, dumbfounded by what I'd just seen. This man, this... inventor, entrepreneur, whateverthefuck you want to call him, just did something unimaginable. he broke the fourth wall. everything we know to be real... is not.
I have a feeling today's going to be very interesting.
|
"Alright boys, It's time to set this baby off." Elon asked for the detonation device. Once handed to him, he takes a deep breath. The pressing of a single button would determine the success of his publicity, the funding he received, but more than anything else, his ideals. "3...2...1..." his voice rang loud and clear for all spectators. ***click*** the button decompresses, and all eyes point to a single point near the horizon line. A bright flash emanates and expands all over the sky. To the coder that programmed, the simulation truly did lag. In fact, the simulation almost ran out of resources to continue running. But to Elon and the crew? The event went on as unhindered, as it was their folly for believing they could observe the simulation stutter while being elements ran inside the simulation.
|
|
[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
|
"So are you taking this or not?" The look Kimbal gave him was definitely saying: "Do it, your ringtone is annoying"
"..fine" Said Elon pulling out his phone, "This is going to be just a minute, don't wander off too far, I want you to finish that story"
"Ok, Jerry, what's up?" Said Elon into the phone covering it with his hand in an attempt to block out the noise from the party.
"Hey, Elon, you really need to see this" Jerry's voice was shaking, but Elon couldn't tell if he was happy or scared.
"Jerry, can we do this tomorrow? Is this that important?" Elon already started looking around for Kimbal,
he knew nothing is more important than the detonation of his bomb and this reception where he was about to give a speech on the initial results of the experiment.
"Elon, seriously? I'm calling from 7 time zones away, in the middle of your presentation and you have to ask?"
This sounded convincing, especially given that 7 time zones away was 4am. Apparently Jerry did have reasons. "Alright, what happened?" asked Elon.
"You were right, Elon" said Jerry proudly, like if it was him who was right, "The particle you predicted does exist!"
"The particle I predicted?" Elon stopped looking for Kimbal and decided to step outside.
"Yes, well, technically I predicted it, but you gave the idea. Remember when you said that if you were to architect an infinite Universe, you would just make one finite instance, and then make it recursively be made of itself?" Jerry was spitting words at Uzi rate and was definitely proud of himself.
"Yeah, I do remember this" said Musk, "But how is it related to a particle?"
"That's the best part!" Jerry obviously was waiting for this question "The theory was that there should be similarities between the macro Universe and micro Universe. So we set up an experiment where we bombarded Uranium with neutrons in presence of Higgs bosons, and the expectation was that a Higgs anti-boson would appear"
Elon felt like Jerry was skipping over some steps in his explanation for brevity, but in general it made sense. "Ok, so?" he asked.
"Well, we did observe something. Like 40 minutes ago, bosons just disappeared and we lost half of the mass of the uranium instantly. It must be the particle". Elon gasped. He looked at his watch. 40 minutes ago was right at the time of the detonation. "That's no particle Jerry. It's a glitch on microscopic scale, which may cause macro...". Suddenly, all sounds disappeared, the black sky was ripped by a circle of uniform bright white light. This white patch was expanding with increasing speed, however, nothing on the ground was seem to be lit by it. In a few seconds the sky was white and tall buildings started to shrink as if they were cut by some white plane dropping down quickly...
A pop up with a red exclamation sign appeared on the screen accompanied by a flurry of characters in the crash log:
---- 14A07: Unhandled exception: Simulation stack overflow. Caused by instance: 0x2504807 (Universe) See nested exception description
Nested exception: 14A07: Unhandled exception: Simulation stack overflow. Caused by instance: 0x00008746:8D788FF712 (Elon Musk) See nested exception description
Nested exception: 64700: Unhandled exception: Custom: This exception is to track spontaneous Elon Musk instances in Milky Way cluster. See issue HKKDL_048872234 for possible solutions.
|
*The bomb went off, and everyone on earth felt a ripple, like time froze for just a second, as if the "frames per second" of life dropped into the 30s, but only the PC master race noticed at first, but slowly it dipped to the 20s, then 10s, life was unplayable, 0/10 IGN. The screen froze and turned black soon after*
John, I told you we should've gotten more VRAM for future proofing! This is why we can't spend all our budget on the case!
*ctl+alt+del*
*end MilkyWay.exe*
Now we're gonna have to start all over again John.
|
|
[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
|
When the big day arrived, it was like none other. Everyone had waited 30 years since humanity reached the consensus that our entire universe was only a simulation, it had taken 30 years for the neutrino cluster bomb to reach a safe enough distance from Earth to be detonated.
Over a billion people were born during that time. It had completely changed the way humanity thought about life. It had even become a pop phenomenon, as evidenced by the hit song "*I know you're not real, get off my lawn*".
People were gathering across the globe, joining in celebrations, orgies, book clubs, as they put aside their social anxiety for one night.
When the time came, they all had a screen in their hand. News programs and celebrity channels were all live-streaming the event. Pious figures were warning everyone about the danger of God. Politicians were arguing like usual, some probably hoped for the end of the world just so they could say "*I told you so.*" Economists were warning about the great depression that would happen if everyone fell into a depression over the matter. Androids inwardly mocked their inferior neurotic human counterparts as they went about their menial tasks. Even the Aliens took a break from their probing to watch the event with utmost curiosity.
Finally a hushed silence fell across the crowds as Elon Musk started his broadcast.
"*Today is finally the day. We started the project 30 years ago, sending the bomb off at near light speed, hoping to get a glimpse of what lies beyond this universe. And now that time has come.*
"*The bomb is not the only thing that's happened during that time, humanity has also come a long way in the last few decades. I started a colony on Musk, that's Mars for you Chinese speakers, but because you helped me save the world from Global Warming I am very thankful to point out that we don't need it.*
"*I faced a lot of opposition when I started this project, and I still am. To those of you worrying, I want you to know we have the best minds on the job, you have nothing to worry about. To those of you excited, I need to remind you that we have no idea what will happen, so don't get your expectations too high.*
"*Whichever way you feel about it, the bomb is 28 light years away, we obviously sent the activation signal 28 years ago, it's way too late to stop it now. Whatever happens will happen, so lets have some fun tonight!*"
Exactly an hour later, at midnight, in one part of the world, the countdown began.
10... 9... 8... 7... 6... 4... no wait- 5- 4- 3... 2...
**1...**
At that exact second, 30 light years away, a massive explosion tore a hole through space-time itself. The universe flickered for a moment, before coming to a complete stop. Nothing moved,from one end of the galaxy to the other. The earth stopped spinning, people stopped blinking, clocks stopped ticking, & sloths temporarily disappeared from existence. Space-time had stopped altogether.
In fact, it was so thorough that there was not a single way for anything in the universe to notice or measure that anything had happened to begin with. Which is why a long long time later, 0 earth seconds to be precise, everything continued as usual and life went back to normal.
People around the globe let out a collective sigh of disappointment and relief, before putting their VR headsets on and jumping back into their simulated worlds.
|
"Is there anything i can do to stop these redditors from dickriding me so hard?" Elon musked wondered out loud.
"Jeez Elon I dont know"
"Helpfull as always whatever my brothers called, listen to this ingenious idea. Ill get a couple of billions worth of explosives and set it off in space."
"are you gonna be snarky if i ask why"
"dumbass"
Elon musked his way towards his living room and made some calls. People think its harder to create a project then it is. You apply money to smart people and youre pretty much set. Most of the time those smart people are engineers, sometimes its marketing, nowadays its pretty much everything I outsource.
"You want to set off fireworks in space? why? thats such a waste Elon, even if we live in a simulation which is a dumb antiquated view thats honestly even that clearly formulated by you, heck you didnt..."
"shush shush convenient exposition, if i say jump you say?"
"ye ye how high"
"so i ask rockets in the sky and you say"
"how fucking many"
"enough so that if i put the funding towards helping the poor i couldve saved a million people"
"jesus Elon youre losing it"
Elon hung up and remained silent for a minute. Then he started laughing. The walls echoed the hollow sounds. He gasped for air and sat down but kept on laughing. He got tears in his eyes such a good time he was having.
"im gonna set of fucking fireworks to test if were in a simulation" he managed between laughing fits
"its so fucking dumb to be rich"
.
After a successful launch there was a 'stutter' in everything. like the milkyway lagged. Elon smirked and called the engineer again.
"looks like i was riii-iight"
"still couldve saved those millions of people instead Elon. This "discovery" doesnt change as much as you think it does. "
|
|
[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
|
"Really? So this is going to be a shot of space for like an hour?"
"Well, it's random - that's kind of the point." Neal's eyes are still glued to the screen.
"Well they could be a little more specific." Melissa continued the mundane task of doing the dishes tonight. She knew this black screen meant a lot to Neal.
"Well, I mean they could be - but it's best if it's random. I mean that's the whole principle. Like Schrodinger's cat style."
"Alright, I'll bite." She had a few minutes to kill - and she knows how much it means to share your passion. After a moment she solicited further, "So the cat's both alive and dead until you open the box."
Neal grinned and glanced towards Melissa. He knew her subtle response was an unconditional invitation to nerd out. He could blabber all he wanted for the next few minutes - and he jumped at the opportunity. "Yeah, its roots are in quantum physics where stuff could be two things at once. We're not to the point of understanding it yet, but we just kinda accept that tiny tiny stuff does weird things unlike the observable universe." Neal paused to see if Melissa was paying attention or if he should just stop there.
"Mmmm hmm? The rocket's obviously not small - how's that fit into Elon Musk's plan?"
"Well the newest theory is we're in a simulated world. You and I are just programs." Neal started to gloss over things so he wouldn't lose his one person audience. He rattled off a summary in a monotone voice "Technology grows fast. We can simulate game worlds easily, in another thousand years maybe the weather for perfect predictions. In another ten thousand the entire Earth on a molecular level. In another hundred thousand on an atomic level. Anyway, with infinite worlds and billions of years, someone somewhere can probably simulate the entire galaxy if not universe." The screen continued showing the blackness of space. He turns to Melissa after a pause. Sensing something dramatic, Melissa looks up.
Neal continued with a profound voice. "Well if they can simulate the universe - who's to say WE'RE not a simulation?" Melissa stared back blankly. "Like, of the infinite worlds that can be created, what are the chances WE are the one true world? Like, astronomically low! Therefore, we're in a simulation." He eagerly paused to let it sink in.
Melissa shrugged. "Okay. So let's assume that we're in a simulation. The rocket?"
"So here's the thing. What if we don't understand quantum physics because the simulated overlord program doesn't calculate it? In a game, when your character walks around a world, the game isn't simulating everything outside of the picture because it doesn't matter. It's like everything outside of Mario's view is in Schrodinger's box - basically uncalculated until you actually need it, saving processing time and memory.
"Now, imagine that Mario is causing chaos behind him but doesn't look until the last second. Like he's just collecting green shells and tossing them backwards into a pool - they're all running into each other, never stopping. And then he spins around." Neal suddenly shoots his arms in the air, "BAM, the console freezes while it tries to display the chaos. It catches up eventually, but the game lags while it tries to work out everything that it previously didn't care about." Neal pauses again and starts up another relevant idea. "So do you remember bucky balls? Like the scientific breakthrough from the 80's?"
"Yeah, they wanted to use it to transport molecules around the body and whatever. Like little boxes." On that sentence she suddenly realized where Neal was going.
Neal nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, like little boxes - like little Schrodinger boxes." Neal continued. "So Musk developed this ... liquidy bucky ball material. With a little electricity they form bucky balls, but they also unstable so they constantly open and reform other balls. Large, small, whatever -" Neal snickered and tilted his head - "The internet's calling them Musky balls."
Melissa rolls her eyes.
Neal returned, "Anyway, so these Musky balls - you don't know what's in them until you open them. But there might be another musky ball, and inside that another - and maybe the ones that are opened closed up again in some other formation with other Musky balls inside that."
"Chaos..."
"Yup, Chaos, and if we open up the one solid Bucky ball container holding this whole mess? What if Mario turns around?"
"The console freezes."
Neal's excited demeanor settles into a bright grin. He repeats Melissa's words back at her. "The console freezes." He gestures towards the computer screen. "And that's what we're waiting for." Both continue staring at the screen as Neal turns the volume up - confident that Melissa is now interested in the announcer's voice.
Moments later there's a bright flash. For all the buildup that led up to this scientific event, it was anti-climatically over in a few seconds.
"So did anything happen?"
"I donno, didn't seem like it."
"So maybe we're real?"
"Maybe we're real." Neal shrugged. "I don't know, maybe not. Maybe Elon will try again."
*****
*The whole room froze for a moment.*
*You see, even if the universe was simulated, even if there was lag the simulation wouldn't know it. It wouldn't know if it wasn't programmed to know.*
*****
"Well do you think he would? He could?"
"Yeah, that's a good question - I mean he burned probably his entire reputation trying to pull off this crazy stunt. I'm sure this wasn't profitable unless he can find a use for Musky balls." Neal couldn't help from making himself smirk.
*****
*The room froze again.*
*If you're colorblind, how do you know you're colorblind? You might know because other people tell you they see other colors. Maybe you could build a device that can see additional colors. But what if nobody else knows? What if the device* **can't** *know? After all, wouldn't it have to be programmed to know?*
*****
"Oh wait, he's coming on TV."
*****
*Computers know they're lagging because they have a separate test for time. They can tell how long it has been since the last computation. What if time itself was lagging? How would you know?*
*****
The chatter on the TV hushes before Musk speaks: "The data we have gathered will be analyzed and I'll be sure to report our findings in our next press release. I am confident that the data will provide even the tiniest shudder of information that can help determi--"
*****
*How does prisoner know he is a prisoner? He knows because he can see the other world or he can see his master giving orders.*
*But how does a machine know about the rest of the world? It only knows if it has been programmed to know.*
*The only way you can ever tell if you are in a simulation is if someone outside* **wants** *to tell you.*
|
"Is there anything i can do to stop these redditors from dickriding me so hard?" Elon musked wondered out loud.
"Jeez Elon I dont know"
"Helpfull as always whatever my brothers called, listen to this ingenious idea. Ill get a couple of billions worth of explosives and set it off in space."
"are you gonna be snarky if i ask why"
"dumbass"
Elon musked his way towards his living room and made some calls. People think its harder to create a project then it is. You apply money to smart people and youre pretty much set. Most of the time those smart people are engineers, sometimes its marketing, nowadays its pretty much everything I outsource.
"You want to set off fireworks in space? why? thats such a waste Elon, even if we live in a simulation which is a dumb antiquated view thats honestly even that clearly formulated by you, heck you didnt..."
"shush shush convenient exposition, if i say jump you say?"
"ye ye how high"
"so i ask rockets in the sky and you say"
"how fucking many"
"enough so that if i put the funding towards helping the poor i couldve saved a million people"
"jesus Elon youre losing it"
Elon hung up and remained silent for a minute. Then he started laughing. The walls echoed the hollow sounds. He gasped for air and sat down but kept on laughing. He got tears in his eyes such a good time he was having.
"im gonna set of fucking fireworks to test if were in a simulation" he managed between laughing fits
"its so fucking dumb to be rich"
.
After a successful launch there was a 'stutter' in everything. like the milkyway lagged. Elon smirked and called the engineer again.
"looks like i was riii-iight"
"still couldve saved those millions of people instead Elon. This "discovery" doesnt change as much as you think it does. "
|
|
[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
|
Jeremy looked at the read out on the monitor in disbelief.
Error 100101
Error? The Milky Way hadn’t had an error in...well ever. And what the hell was error 100101?
Beads of sweat began to form on his brow. Had he done something? The only manual interaction he’d had with the sim were the usual arbitrary interactions that were allowed every tech in his position. Still, Milky Way was Timothy’s baby, and if Timothy’s baby was damaged on his watch, there would be hell to pay. Jeremy took two quick deep breaths then signaled that he needed help.
The tech analyst floated to Jeremy’s station gracefully. A whirring ball of silicate and metal, it hovered over the station momentarily, scanning the error. It then whirred off in the opposite direction, assumedly to debug the error and notify Timothy of the on-goings.
Jeremy waited nervously recounting every action he’d taken after setting foot in the office today:
There was the asteroid he collided with Nebula6. Nebula6 current populace was well under the 2 billion threshold and didn’t require authorization to demolish.
Then there was the new species he introduced to the 8th sector. The 8th sector was so sparsely populated it would be a millennia in sim-time before his species was discovered. Again well within regs.
“What the HELL did you do to my universe Spitzer!?”, Timothy jumped into view, the steam was nearly visible from his ears.
“No..Nothing…I didn’t do..”
“Move, let me have a look” Timothy butted his way into Jeremys terminal. Timothy waived his hands, and pinched fingers in rapid succession, eyes glued to the read out all the while muttering “If I find out you broke protocol you are finished Jer…”
Timothy stopped mid thought, he’d found something of interest.
“Am I..”
“shhh”, Timothy retorted.
“..in trouble?”
“SHHH!”, Timothy responded vehemently this time holding a single finger to Jeremys lips, his face still buried in the read out. “This is fascinating!”
“What? What’s fascinating?”, Jeremy asked.
Timothy responded with 3 words that would change Universe Inc forever, “Elon fucking Musk!”
|
"Is there anything i can do to stop these redditors from dickriding me so hard?" Elon musked wondered out loud.
"Jeez Elon I dont know"
"Helpfull as always whatever my brothers called, listen to this ingenious idea. Ill get a couple of billions worth of explosives and set it off in space."
"are you gonna be snarky if i ask why"
"dumbass"
Elon musked his way towards his living room and made some calls. People think its harder to create a project then it is. You apply money to smart people and youre pretty much set. Most of the time those smart people are engineers, sometimes its marketing, nowadays its pretty much everything I outsource.
"You want to set off fireworks in space? why? thats such a waste Elon, even if we live in a simulation which is a dumb antiquated view thats honestly even that clearly formulated by you, heck you didnt..."
"shush shush convenient exposition, if i say jump you say?"
"ye ye how high"
"so i ask rockets in the sky and you say"
"how fucking many"
"enough so that if i put the funding towards helping the poor i couldve saved a million people"
"jesus Elon youre losing it"
Elon hung up and remained silent for a minute. Then he started laughing. The walls echoed the hollow sounds. He gasped for air and sat down but kept on laughing. He got tears in his eyes such a good time he was having.
"im gonna set of fucking fireworks to test if were in a simulation" he managed between laughing fits
"its so fucking dumb to be rich"
.
After a successful launch there was a 'stutter' in everything. like the milkyway lagged. Elon smirked and called the engineer again.
"looks like i was riii-iight"
"still couldve saved those millions of people instead Elon. This "discovery" doesnt change as much as you think it does. "
|
|
[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
|
"Really? So this is going to be a shot of space for like an hour?"
"Well, it's random - that's kind of the point." Neal's eyes are still glued to the screen.
"Well they could be a little more specific." Melissa continued the mundane task of doing the dishes tonight. She knew this black screen meant a lot to Neal.
"Well, I mean they could be - but it's best if it's random. I mean that's the whole principle. Like Schrodinger's cat style."
"Alright, I'll bite." She had a few minutes to kill - and she knows how much it means to share your passion. After a moment she solicited further, "So the cat's both alive and dead until you open the box."
Neal grinned and glanced towards Melissa. He knew her subtle response was an unconditional invitation to nerd out. He could blabber all he wanted for the next few minutes - and he jumped at the opportunity. "Yeah, its roots are in quantum physics where stuff could be two things at once. We're not to the point of understanding it yet, but we just kinda accept that tiny tiny stuff does weird things unlike the observable universe." Neal paused to see if Melissa was paying attention or if he should just stop there.
"Mmmm hmm? The rocket's obviously not small - how's that fit into Elon Musk's plan?"
"Well the newest theory is we're in a simulated world. You and I are just programs." Neal started to gloss over things so he wouldn't lose his one person audience. He rattled off a summary in a monotone voice "Technology grows fast. We can simulate game worlds easily, in another thousand years maybe the weather for perfect predictions. In another ten thousand the entire Earth on a molecular level. In another hundred thousand on an atomic level. Anyway, with infinite worlds and billions of years, someone somewhere can probably simulate the entire galaxy if not universe." The screen continued showing the blackness of space. He turns to Melissa after a pause. Sensing something dramatic, Melissa looks up.
Neal continued with a profound voice. "Well if they can simulate the universe - who's to say WE'RE not a simulation?" Melissa stared back blankly. "Like, of the infinite worlds that can be created, what are the chances WE are the one true world? Like, astronomically low! Therefore, we're in a simulation." He eagerly paused to let it sink in.
Melissa shrugged. "Okay. So let's assume that we're in a simulation. The rocket?"
"So here's the thing. What if we don't understand quantum physics because the simulated overlord program doesn't calculate it? In a game, when your character walks around a world, the game isn't simulating everything outside of the picture because it doesn't matter. It's like everything outside of Mario's view is in Schrodinger's box - basically uncalculated until you actually need it, saving processing time and memory.
"Now, imagine that Mario is causing chaos behind him but doesn't look until the last second. Like he's just collecting green shells and tossing them backwards into a pool - they're all running into each other, never stopping. And then he spins around." Neal suddenly shoots his arms in the air, "BAM, the console freezes while it tries to display the chaos. It catches up eventually, but the game lags while it tries to work out everything that it previously didn't care about." Neal pauses again and starts up another relevant idea. "So do you remember bucky balls? Like the scientific breakthrough from the 80's?"
"Yeah, they wanted to use it to transport molecules around the body and whatever. Like little boxes." On that sentence she suddenly realized where Neal was going.
Neal nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, like little boxes - like little Schrodinger boxes." Neal continued. "So Musk developed this ... liquidy bucky ball material. With a little electricity they form bucky balls, but they also unstable so they constantly open and reform other balls. Large, small, whatever -" Neal snickered and tilted his head - "The internet's calling them Musky balls."
Melissa rolls her eyes.
Neal returned, "Anyway, so these Musky balls - you don't know what's in them until you open them. But there might be another musky ball, and inside that another - and maybe the ones that are opened closed up again in some other formation with other Musky balls inside that."
"Chaos..."
"Yup, Chaos, and if we open up the one solid Bucky ball container holding this whole mess? What if Mario turns around?"
"The console freezes."
Neal's excited demeanor settles into a bright grin. He repeats Melissa's words back at her. "The console freezes." He gestures towards the computer screen. "And that's what we're waiting for." Both continue staring at the screen as Neal turns the volume up - confident that Melissa is now interested in the announcer's voice.
Moments later there's a bright flash. For all the buildup that led up to this scientific event, it was anti-climatically over in a few seconds.
"So did anything happen?"
"I donno, didn't seem like it."
"So maybe we're real?"
"Maybe we're real." Neal shrugged. "I don't know, maybe not. Maybe Elon will try again."
*****
*The whole room froze for a moment.*
*You see, even if the universe was simulated, even if there was lag the simulation wouldn't know it. It wouldn't know if it wasn't programmed to know.*
*****
"Well do you think he would? He could?"
"Yeah, that's a good question - I mean he burned probably his entire reputation trying to pull off this crazy stunt. I'm sure this wasn't profitable unless he can find a use for Musky balls." Neal couldn't help from making himself smirk.
*****
*The room froze again.*
*If you're colorblind, how do you know you're colorblind? You might know because other people tell you they see other colors. Maybe you could build a device that can see additional colors. But what if nobody else knows? What if the device* **can't** *know? After all, wouldn't it have to be programmed to know?*
*****
"Oh wait, he's coming on TV."
*****
*Computers know they're lagging because they have a separate test for time. They can tell how long it has been since the last computation. What if time itself was lagging? How would you know?*
*****
The chatter on the TV hushes before Musk speaks: "The data we have gathered will be analyzed and I'll be sure to report our findings in our next press release. I am confident that the data will provide even the tiniest shudder of information that can help determi--"
*****
*How does prisoner know he is a prisoner? He knows because he can see the other world or he can see his master giving orders.*
*But how does a machine know about the rest of the world? It only knows if it has been programmed to know.*
*The only way you can ever tell if you are in a simulation is if someone outside* **wants** *to tell you.*
|
“It’s not that I’ve given up,” Musk said, “I just need to know if it’s really worth my time.”
“But isn’t that a fatalist view?” I asked.
Elon had that grin on his face, the one he gets when he knows he has the upper hand intellectually.
“That’s exactly what it is.”
“Again, that seems in direct conflict with everything you’ve been doing for most of your life.”
“Look, if I’m right, then none of that, or anything really, matters. Our future is just a bunch of computer code waiting to be run. If climate change is going to do us in, or nuclear war, or the rise of artificial intelligence, then it’s already in the program. It’s just a matter of when that code gets triggered. If that’s the case then I’d rather spend my remaining days on a beach with scantily-clad women and drinks with umbrellas in them.”
His arrogance, camouflaged as authoritative by his many accomplishments, was being fueled by the dramatic rise in support he had gained when news of his plan went public. But it was support he hadn’t anticipated: religious groups looking for validation.
Some saw him as a messiah here to explain the mystery of their god or gods. Others took his experiment as an attack on their holiest of holies. “You are declaring war on the Creator! The wrath of the counter-attack will kill us all!”
The scientific community, not surprisingly, laughed at Musk’s idea and painted him as a hero turned villain.
“Why don’t we just blow up the moon? We can disprove tides!”
“Let’s make the Sun disappear and see how long it takes for light and gravity to reach the earth! One more test of General Relativity couldn’t hurt!”
A cluster of Neutron Bombs was to be detonated near the Sun, the location chosen to minimize any gravitational effects on other celestial bodies. It would be a shame to disprove his theory and then be wiped out by an asteroid knocked off its orbit by the test.
The theory was that neutrons, subatomic particles in the nucleus of every atom, were the Universal Binary Bits. A massive generation of new neutrons, more bits, would overload the simulation device just enough to cause lag.
Testing for this lag required an enormous engineering effort that Musk self-funded. The measuring devices, nicknamed Toto-1 and Toto-2, were massive cubes of lead with an atomic clock at the center, and they were to be placed on opposite sides of the Earth 5 miles down in the ocean. They would be protected enough, Musk predicted, to detect as much as 500ms of lag, though he expected something in the 150-200ms range.
When the news of Musk’s intentions broke it was already too late. SpaceX had knowingly been sending pieces of the cluster bomb up with each launch of the Falcon9. Everything was on auto-pilot and there was no override switch. Musk’s Bomb was going to explode whether humanity was ready for it or not.
I asked him, in those final minutes before the detonation, if he was having any second thoughts. “Just the ones I’ve been programmed to have” he responded with that grin. Confident to the end.
He strode across the stage in front of his SpaceX employees and viewers from all around the globe. “Today” he started, “we seek an answer to a question from antiquity: what is real? In 10 more minutes we just might know.”
There were 4 prominent counters on the screen behind him. One for the detonation, another for how long the results from the detonation will take to reach Earth, 8 minutes, 20 seconds, and the other 2 counters were the clocks of Toto-1 and Toto-2.
The anticipation grew as the detonation clock counted down to zero. Musk was pacing back and forth on the stage gazing up at the screen and listening to the chatter of Mission Control.
Right before it hit zero, Musk froze.
Mission Control squawked “Primary Detonation Confirmed” and, just like that, Musk was gone.
Well, not gone, more like displaced. His remains were found sticking out of the concrete wall Stage Left. He had proven his theory but paid with his life.
Horror filled the room as employees began to realize what had happened. The bomb had created lag, but only for Elon.
Estimating the distance between his last position on stage and his place of death put the lag closer to 500ms. In that time the rest of the Milky Way Galaxy continued on its merry way and left Musk briefly stuck in the past.
When he re-synced with the rest of us he was 60 feet away in the wall.
The confusion that followed made everyone ignore the second counter for receiving the detonation results. When it hit zero the screen went blank.
What followed struck fear into the heart of every man, woman, and child watching. Slowly displayed on the screen in large, blocky red letters was one word: N00b
—-
The aftermath was apocalyptic. Scientists reluctantly revealed they had known we were in a simulation all along, with research going back 30 years to back up their claims. The psychological affect of this news destroyed the very fabric of society. Humanity’s new mantra was “If it’s all just a game, then why should I play by the rules?”
It has been 4 years since that fateful day. We are slowly rising up from those dark days that followed, but we haven’t seemed to learn our lesson. The United States has detonated a Lag Bomb much larger than Elon’s with a primitive targeting device. That’s what gave us the new Las Vegas Crater ridged with neon signs.
With the Russians and the Chinese developing their own Lag Bombs we can only hope that next month’s peace negotiations are successful. If not, all of our code may be deleted.
All Hail The Great Programmer! Killer of N00bs!
|
|
[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
|
"Really? So this is going to be a shot of space for like an hour?"
"Well, it's random - that's kind of the point." Neal's eyes are still glued to the screen.
"Well they could be a little more specific." Melissa continued the mundane task of doing the dishes tonight. She knew this black screen meant a lot to Neal.
"Well, I mean they could be - but it's best if it's random. I mean that's the whole principle. Like Schrodinger's cat style."
"Alright, I'll bite." She had a few minutes to kill - and she knows how much it means to share your passion. After a moment she solicited further, "So the cat's both alive and dead until you open the box."
Neal grinned and glanced towards Melissa. He knew her subtle response was an unconditional invitation to nerd out. He could blabber all he wanted for the next few minutes - and he jumped at the opportunity. "Yeah, its roots are in quantum physics where stuff could be two things at once. We're not to the point of understanding it yet, but we just kinda accept that tiny tiny stuff does weird things unlike the observable universe." Neal paused to see if Melissa was paying attention or if he should just stop there.
"Mmmm hmm? The rocket's obviously not small - how's that fit into Elon Musk's plan?"
"Well the newest theory is we're in a simulated world. You and I are just programs." Neal started to gloss over things so he wouldn't lose his one person audience. He rattled off a summary in a monotone voice "Technology grows fast. We can simulate game worlds easily, in another thousand years maybe the weather for perfect predictions. In another ten thousand the entire Earth on a molecular level. In another hundred thousand on an atomic level. Anyway, with infinite worlds and billions of years, someone somewhere can probably simulate the entire galaxy if not universe." The screen continued showing the blackness of space. He turns to Melissa after a pause. Sensing something dramatic, Melissa looks up.
Neal continued with a profound voice. "Well if they can simulate the universe - who's to say WE'RE not a simulation?" Melissa stared back blankly. "Like, of the infinite worlds that can be created, what are the chances WE are the one true world? Like, astronomically low! Therefore, we're in a simulation." He eagerly paused to let it sink in.
Melissa shrugged. "Okay. So let's assume that we're in a simulation. The rocket?"
"So here's the thing. What if we don't understand quantum physics because the simulated overlord program doesn't calculate it? In a game, when your character walks around a world, the game isn't simulating everything outside of the picture because it doesn't matter. It's like everything outside of Mario's view is in Schrodinger's box - basically uncalculated until you actually need it, saving processing time and memory.
"Now, imagine that Mario is causing chaos behind him but doesn't look until the last second. Like he's just collecting green shells and tossing them backwards into a pool - they're all running into each other, never stopping. And then he spins around." Neal suddenly shoots his arms in the air, "BAM, the console freezes while it tries to display the chaos. It catches up eventually, but the game lags while it tries to work out everything that it previously didn't care about." Neal pauses again and starts up another relevant idea. "So do you remember bucky balls? Like the scientific breakthrough from the 80's?"
"Yeah, they wanted to use it to transport molecules around the body and whatever. Like little boxes." On that sentence she suddenly realized where Neal was going.
Neal nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, like little boxes - like little Schrodinger boxes." Neal continued. "So Musk developed this ... liquidy bucky ball material. With a little electricity they form bucky balls, but they also unstable so they constantly open and reform other balls. Large, small, whatever -" Neal snickered and tilted his head - "The internet's calling them Musky balls."
Melissa rolls her eyes.
Neal returned, "Anyway, so these Musky balls - you don't know what's in them until you open them. But there might be another musky ball, and inside that another - and maybe the ones that are opened closed up again in some other formation with other Musky balls inside that."
"Chaos..."
"Yup, Chaos, and if we open up the one solid Bucky ball container holding this whole mess? What if Mario turns around?"
"The console freezes."
Neal's excited demeanor settles into a bright grin. He repeats Melissa's words back at her. "The console freezes." He gestures towards the computer screen. "And that's what we're waiting for." Both continue staring at the screen as Neal turns the volume up - confident that Melissa is now interested in the announcer's voice.
Moments later there's a bright flash. For all the buildup that led up to this scientific event, it was anti-climatically over in a few seconds.
"So did anything happen?"
"I donno, didn't seem like it."
"So maybe we're real?"
"Maybe we're real." Neal shrugged. "I don't know, maybe not. Maybe Elon will try again."
*****
*The whole room froze for a moment.*
*You see, even if the universe was simulated, even if there was lag the simulation wouldn't know it. It wouldn't know if it wasn't programmed to know.*
*****
"Well do you think he would? He could?"
"Yeah, that's a good question - I mean he burned probably his entire reputation trying to pull off this crazy stunt. I'm sure this wasn't profitable unless he can find a use for Musky balls." Neal couldn't help from making himself smirk.
*****
*The room froze again.*
*If you're colorblind, how do you know you're colorblind? You might know because other people tell you they see other colors. Maybe you could build a device that can see additional colors. But what if nobody else knows? What if the device* **can't** *know? After all, wouldn't it have to be programmed to know?*
*****
"Oh wait, he's coming on TV."
*****
*Computers know they're lagging because they have a separate test for time. They can tell how long it has been since the last computation. What if time itself was lagging? How would you know?*
*****
The chatter on the TV hushes before Musk speaks: "The data we have gathered will be analyzed and I'll be sure to report our findings in our next press release. I am confident that the data will provide even the tiniest shudder of information that can help determi--"
*****
*How does prisoner know he is a prisoner? He knows because he can see the other world or he can see his master giving orders.*
*But how does a machine know about the rest of the world? It only knows if it has been programmed to know.*
*The only way you can ever tell if you are in a simulation is if someone outside* **wants** *to tell you.*
|
When the big day arrived, it was like none other. Everyone had waited 30 years since humanity reached the consensus that our entire universe was only a simulation, it had taken 30 years for the neutrino cluster bomb to reach a safe enough distance from Earth to be detonated.
Over a billion people were born during that time. It had completely changed the way humanity thought about life. It had even become a pop phenomenon, as evidenced by the hit song "*I know you're not real, get off my lawn*".
People were gathering across the globe, joining in celebrations, orgies, book clubs, as they put aside their social anxiety for one night.
When the time came, they all had a screen in their hand. News programs and celebrity channels were all live-streaming the event. Pious figures were warning everyone about the danger of God. Politicians were arguing like usual, some probably hoped for the end of the world just so they could say "*I told you so.*" Economists were warning about the great depression that would happen if everyone fell into a depression over the matter. Androids inwardly mocked their inferior neurotic human counterparts as they went about their menial tasks. Even the Aliens took a break from their probing to watch the event with utmost curiosity.
Finally a hushed silence fell across the crowds as Elon Musk started his broadcast.
"*Today is finally the day. We started the project 30 years ago, sending the bomb off at near light speed, hoping to get a glimpse of what lies beyond this universe. And now that time has come.*
"*The bomb is not the only thing that's happened during that time, humanity has also come a long way in the last few decades. I started a colony on Musk, that's Mars for you Chinese speakers, but because you helped me save the world from Global Warming I am very thankful to point out that we don't need it.*
"*I faced a lot of opposition when I started this project, and I still am. To those of you worrying, I want you to know we have the best minds on the job, you have nothing to worry about. To those of you excited, I need to remind you that we have no idea what will happen, so don't get your expectations too high.*
"*Whichever way you feel about it, the bomb is 28 light years away, we obviously sent the activation signal 28 years ago, it's way too late to stop it now. Whatever happens will happen, so lets have some fun tonight!*"
Exactly an hour later, at midnight, in one part of the world, the countdown began.
10... 9... 8... 7... 6... 4... no wait- 5- 4- 3... 2...
**1...**
At that exact second, 30 light years away, a massive explosion tore a hole through space-time itself. The universe flickered for a moment, before coming to a complete stop. Nothing moved,from one end of the galaxy to the other. The earth stopped spinning, people stopped blinking, clocks stopped ticking, & sloths temporarily disappeared from existence. Space-time had stopped altogether.
In fact, it was so thorough that there was not a single way for anything in the universe to notice or measure that anything had happened to begin with. Which is why a long long time later, 0 earth seconds to be precise, everything continued as usual and life went back to normal.
People around the globe let out a collective sigh of disappointment and relief, before putting their VR headsets on and jumping back into their simulated worlds.
|
|
[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
|
Jeremy looked at the read out on the monitor in disbelief.
Error 100101
Error? The Milky Way hadn’t had an error in...well ever. And what the hell was error 100101?
Beads of sweat began to form on his brow. Had he done something? The only manual interaction he’d had with the sim were the usual arbitrary interactions that were allowed every tech in his position. Still, Milky Way was Timothy’s baby, and if Timothy’s baby was damaged on his watch, there would be hell to pay. Jeremy took two quick deep breaths then signaled that he needed help.
The tech analyst floated to Jeremy’s station gracefully. A whirring ball of silicate and metal, it hovered over the station momentarily, scanning the error. It then whirred off in the opposite direction, assumedly to debug the error and notify Timothy of the on-goings.
Jeremy waited nervously recounting every action he’d taken after setting foot in the office today:
There was the asteroid he collided with Nebula6. Nebula6 current populace was well under the 2 billion threshold and didn’t require authorization to demolish.
Then there was the new species he introduced to the 8th sector. The 8th sector was so sparsely populated it would be a millennia in sim-time before his species was discovered. Again well within regs.
“What the HELL did you do to my universe Spitzer!?”, Timothy jumped into view, the steam was nearly visible from his ears.
“No..Nothing…I didn’t do..”
“Move, let me have a look” Timothy butted his way into Jeremys terminal. Timothy waived his hands, and pinched fingers in rapid succession, eyes glued to the read out all the while muttering “If I find out you broke protocol you are finished Jer…”
Timothy stopped mid thought, he’d found something of interest.
“Am I..”
“shhh”, Timothy retorted.
“..in trouble?”
“SHHH!”, Timothy responded vehemently this time holding a single finger to Jeremys lips, his face still buried in the read out. “This is fascinating!”
“What? What’s fascinating?”, Jeremy asked.
Timothy responded with 3 words that would change Universe Inc forever, “Elon fucking Musk!”
|
When the big day arrived, it was like none other. Everyone had waited 30 years since humanity reached the consensus that our entire universe was only a simulation, it had taken 30 years for the neutrino cluster bomb to reach a safe enough distance from Earth to be detonated.
Over a billion people were born during that time. It had completely changed the way humanity thought about life. It had even become a pop phenomenon, as evidenced by the hit song "*I know you're not real, get off my lawn*".
People were gathering across the globe, joining in celebrations, orgies, book clubs, as they put aside their social anxiety for one night.
When the time came, they all had a screen in their hand. News programs and celebrity channels were all live-streaming the event. Pious figures were warning everyone about the danger of God. Politicians were arguing like usual, some probably hoped for the end of the world just so they could say "*I told you so.*" Economists were warning about the great depression that would happen if everyone fell into a depression over the matter. Androids inwardly mocked their inferior neurotic human counterparts as they went about their menial tasks. Even the Aliens took a break from their probing to watch the event with utmost curiosity.
Finally a hushed silence fell across the crowds as Elon Musk started his broadcast.
"*Today is finally the day. We started the project 30 years ago, sending the bomb off at near light speed, hoping to get a glimpse of what lies beyond this universe. And now that time has come.*
"*The bomb is not the only thing that's happened during that time, humanity has also come a long way in the last few decades. I started a colony on Musk, that's Mars for you Chinese speakers, but because you helped me save the world from Global Warming I am very thankful to point out that we don't need it.*
"*I faced a lot of opposition when I started this project, and I still am. To those of you worrying, I want you to know we have the best minds on the job, you have nothing to worry about. To those of you excited, I need to remind you that we have no idea what will happen, so don't get your expectations too high.*
"*Whichever way you feel about it, the bomb is 28 light years away, we obviously sent the activation signal 28 years ago, it's way too late to stop it now. Whatever happens will happen, so lets have some fun tonight!*"
Exactly an hour later, at midnight, in one part of the world, the countdown began.
10... 9... 8... 7... 6... 4... no wait- 5- 4- 3... 2...
**1...**
At that exact second, 30 light years away, a massive explosion tore a hole through space-time itself. The universe flickered for a moment, before coming to a complete stop. Nothing moved,from one end of the galaxy to the other. The earth stopped spinning, people stopped blinking, clocks stopped ticking, & sloths temporarily disappeared from existence. Space-time had stopped altogether.
In fact, it was so thorough that there was not a single way for anything in the universe to notice or measure that anything had happened to begin with. Which is why a long long time later, 0 earth seconds to be precise, everything continued as usual and life went back to normal.
People around the globe let out a collective sigh of disappointment and relief, before putting their VR headsets on and jumping back into their simulated worlds.
|
|
[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
|
"Really? So this is going to be a shot of space for like an hour?"
"Well, it's random - that's kind of the point." Neal's eyes are still glued to the screen.
"Well they could be a little more specific." Melissa continued the mundane task of doing the dishes tonight. She knew this black screen meant a lot to Neal.
"Well, I mean they could be - but it's best if it's random. I mean that's the whole principle. Like Schrodinger's cat style."
"Alright, I'll bite." She had a few minutes to kill - and she knows how much it means to share your passion. After a moment she solicited further, "So the cat's both alive and dead until you open the box."
Neal grinned and glanced towards Melissa. He knew her subtle response was an unconditional invitation to nerd out. He could blabber all he wanted for the next few minutes - and he jumped at the opportunity. "Yeah, its roots are in quantum physics where stuff could be two things at once. We're not to the point of understanding it yet, but we just kinda accept that tiny tiny stuff does weird things unlike the observable universe." Neal paused to see if Melissa was paying attention or if he should just stop there.
"Mmmm hmm? The rocket's obviously not small - how's that fit into Elon Musk's plan?"
"Well the newest theory is we're in a simulated world. You and I are just programs." Neal started to gloss over things so he wouldn't lose his one person audience. He rattled off a summary in a monotone voice "Technology grows fast. We can simulate game worlds easily, in another thousand years maybe the weather for perfect predictions. In another ten thousand the entire Earth on a molecular level. In another hundred thousand on an atomic level. Anyway, with infinite worlds and billions of years, someone somewhere can probably simulate the entire galaxy if not universe." The screen continued showing the blackness of space. He turns to Melissa after a pause. Sensing something dramatic, Melissa looks up.
Neal continued with a profound voice. "Well if they can simulate the universe - who's to say WE'RE not a simulation?" Melissa stared back blankly. "Like, of the infinite worlds that can be created, what are the chances WE are the one true world? Like, astronomically low! Therefore, we're in a simulation." He eagerly paused to let it sink in.
Melissa shrugged. "Okay. So let's assume that we're in a simulation. The rocket?"
"So here's the thing. What if we don't understand quantum physics because the simulated overlord program doesn't calculate it? In a game, when your character walks around a world, the game isn't simulating everything outside of the picture because it doesn't matter. It's like everything outside of Mario's view is in Schrodinger's box - basically uncalculated until you actually need it, saving processing time and memory.
"Now, imagine that Mario is causing chaos behind him but doesn't look until the last second. Like he's just collecting green shells and tossing them backwards into a pool - they're all running into each other, never stopping. And then he spins around." Neal suddenly shoots his arms in the air, "BAM, the console freezes while it tries to display the chaos. It catches up eventually, but the game lags while it tries to work out everything that it previously didn't care about." Neal pauses again and starts up another relevant idea. "So do you remember bucky balls? Like the scientific breakthrough from the 80's?"
"Yeah, they wanted to use it to transport molecules around the body and whatever. Like little boxes." On that sentence she suddenly realized where Neal was going.
Neal nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, like little boxes - like little Schrodinger boxes." Neal continued. "So Musk developed this ... liquidy bucky ball material. With a little electricity they form bucky balls, but they also unstable so they constantly open and reform other balls. Large, small, whatever -" Neal snickered and tilted his head - "The internet's calling them Musky balls."
Melissa rolls her eyes.
Neal returned, "Anyway, so these Musky balls - you don't know what's in them until you open them. But there might be another musky ball, and inside that another - and maybe the ones that are opened closed up again in some other formation with other Musky balls inside that."
"Chaos..."
"Yup, Chaos, and if we open up the one solid Bucky ball container holding this whole mess? What if Mario turns around?"
"The console freezes."
Neal's excited demeanor settles into a bright grin. He repeats Melissa's words back at her. "The console freezes." He gestures towards the computer screen. "And that's what we're waiting for." Both continue staring at the screen as Neal turns the volume up - confident that Melissa is now interested in the announcer's voice.
Moments later there's a bright flash. For all the buildup that led up to this scientific event, it was anti-climatically over in a few seconds.
"So did anything happen?"
"I donno, didn't seem like it."
"So maybe we're real?"
"Maybe we're real." Neal shrugged. "I don't know, maybe not. Maybe Elon will try again."
*****
*The whole room froze for a moment.*
*You see, even if the universe was simulated, even if there was lag the simulation wouldn't know it. It wouldn't know if it wasn't programmed to know.*
*****
"Well do you think he would? He could?"
"Yeah, that's a good question - I mean he burned probably his entire reputation trying to pull off this crazy stunt. I'm sure this wasn't profitable unless he can find a use for Musky balls." Neal couldn't help from making himself smirk.
*****
*The room froze again.*
*If you're colorblind, how do you know you're colorblind? You might know because other people tell you they see other colors. Maybe you could build a device that can see additional colors. But what if nobody else knows? What if the device* **can't** *know? After all, wouldn't it have to be programmed to know?*
*****
"Oh wait, he's coming on TV."
*****
*Computers know they're lagging because they have a separate test for time. They can tell how long it has been since the last computation. What if time itself was lagging? How would you know?*
*****
The chatter on the TV hushes before Musk speaks: "The data we have gathered will be analyzed and I'll be sure to report our findings in our next press release. I am confident that the data will provide even the tiniest shudder of information that can help determi--"
*****
*How does prisoner know he is a prisoner? He knows because he can see the other world or he can see his master giving orders.*
*But how does a machine know about the rest of the world? It only knows if it has been programmed to know.*
*The only way you can ever tell if you are in a simulation is if someone outside* **wants** *to tell you.*
|
"'Error'?" The young astronaut, Miller, repeated, pulling himself towards the thin monitor.
Arnold, his superior, stood over him, his head in his hands. "For the fifth time, Miller, that's what it says."
"But... the Milky Way is a galaxy. Galaxies can't lag."
Arnold turned on Miller with a crackling fury in his eyes. Past the razor in his glare, there was an undefined fear. "Don't you think I know that?"
Miller dropped his gaze to the Space Station's floor, or at least, what was the floor for that moment. When the error message first appeared on the screen, Miller wasn't quite sure what he expected to happen. Maybe the gravity suddenly being flipped off? Or the stars around them winking out of existence? Out of all the possible outcomes, the worst one had come to pass: nothing.
The eerie silence that followed the explosion, and then the message, was unlike anything Miller had ever heard, and it filled him with a deep dread. He hoped he would never have to experience it again.
"What do we do?" Miller asked. Down the corridor, Miller could hear the Chinese astronauts whispering in hushed voices. Using a translator, they all agreed to keep the information quiet for now.
"I don't know. We can't keep the information from everyone else." Arnold replied.
"Well, what *can* we do?"
He thought for a moment, his brow furrowing as though he didn't like his thought process. "We shouldn't let the public know. We're both trained well, so... let's try and figure out where this message came from."
Miller set himself by the computer, ready to follow his superior's instructions, when he froze and turned back around. "What are you going to do about Musk? He wanted to know the results."
Arnold sighed and shook his head. "I'll tell him what I have to. For now, we have just a few hours before we have to report back to NASA. Get working."
Miller nodded and set in on the message, dusting off the computer-science he learned several years ago. He'd never had to use it under pressure before. He prayed the error was a direct effect of the bomb going off, but the pit in his stomach taunted him to no end. Something was terribly wrong, and there was not one person who would know how to fix it.
What had they done?
_____________________________________________________
This prompt was a bit outside my comfort zone, thank you!
|
|
[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
|
Jeremy looked at the read out on the monitor in disbelief.
Error 100101
Error? The Milky Way hadn’t had an error in...well ever. And what the hell was error 100101?
Beads of sweat began to form on his brow. Had he done something? The only manual interaction he’d had with the sim were the usual arbitrary interactions that were allowed every tech in his position. Still, Milky Way was Timothy’s baby, and if Timothy’s baby was damaged on his watch, there would be hell to pay. Jeremy took two quick deep breaths then signaled that he needed help.
The tech analyst floated to Jeremy’s station gracefully. A whirring ball of silicate and metal, it hovered over the station momentarily, scanning the error. It then whirred off in the opposite direction, assumedly to debug the error and notify Timothy of the on-goings.
Jeremy waited nervously recounting every action he’d taken after setting foot in the office today:
There was the asteroid he collided with Nebula6. Nebula6 current populace was well under the 2 billion threshold and didn’t require authorization to demolish.
Then there was the new species he introduced to the 8th sector. The 8th sector was so sparsely populated it would be a millennia in sim-time before his species was discovered. Again well within regs.
“What the HELL did you do to my universe Spitzer!?”, Timothy jumped into view, the steam was nearly visible from his ears.
“No..Nothing…I didn’t do..”
“Move, let me have a look” Timothy butted his way into Jeremys terminal. Timothy waived his hands, and pinched fingers in rapid succession, eyes glued to the read out all the while muttering “If I find out you broke protocol you are finished Jer…”
Timothy stopped mid thought, he’d found something of interest.
“Am I..”
“shhh”, Timothy retorted.
“..in trouble?”
“SHHH!”, Timothy responded vehemently this time holding a single finger to Jeremys lips, his face still buried in the read out. “This is fascinating!”
“What? What’s fascinating?”, Jeremy asked.
Timothy responded with 3 words that would change Universe Inc forever, “Elon fucking Musk!”
|
"'Error'?" The young astronaut, Miller, repeated, pulling himself towards the thin monitor.
Arnold, his superior, stood over him, his head in his hands. "For the fifth time, Miller, that's what it says."
"But... the Milky Way is a galaxy. Galaxies can't lag."
Arnold turned on Miller with a crackling fury in his eyes. Past the razor in his glare, there was an undefined fear. "Don't you think I know that?"
Miller dropped his gaze to the Space Station's floor, or at least, what was the floor for that moment. When the error message first appeared on the screen, Miller wasn't quite sure what he expected to happen. Maybe the gravity suddenly being flipped off? Or the stars around them winking out of existence? Out of all the possible outcomes, the worst one had come to pass: nothing.
The eerie silence that followed the explosion, and then the message, was unlike anything Miller had ever heard, and it filled him with a deep dread. He hoped he would never have to experience it again.
"What do we do?" Miller asked. Down the corridor, Miller could hear the Chinese astronauts whispering in hushed voices. Using a translator, they all agreed to keep the information quiet for now.
"I don't know. We can't keep the information from everyone else." Arnold replied.
"Well, what *can* we do?"
He thought for a moment, his brow furrowing as though he didn't like his thought process. "We shouldn't let the public know. We're both trained well, so... let's try and figure out where this message came from."
Miller set himself by the computer, ready to follow his superior's instructions, when he froze and turned back around. "What are you going to do about Musk? He wanted to know the results."
Arnold sighed and shook his head. "I'll tell him what I have to. For now, we have just a few hours before we have to report back to NASA. Get working."
Miller nodded and set in on the message, dusting off the computer-science he learned several years ago. He'd never had to use it under pressure before. He prayed the error was a direct effect of the bomb going off, but the pit in his stomach taunted him to no end. Something was terribly wrong, and there was not one person who would know how to fix it.
What had they done?
_____________________________________________________
This prompt was a bit outside my comfort zone, thank you!
|
|
[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
|
The bomb explodes ... nothing is amiss.
Jonathon turns to Elon and said "I told you this was a waste of time, even if it did cause the Universe to lag, time itself lagged so we measured nothing different."
|
"'Error'?" The young astronaut, Miller, repeated, pulling himself towards the thin monitor.
Arnold, his superior, stood over him, his head in his hands. "For the fifth time, Miller, that's what it says."
"But... the Milky Way is a galaxy. Galaxies can't lag."
Arnold turned on Miller with a crackling fury in his eyes. Past the razor in his glare, there was an undefined fear. "Don't you think I know that?"
Miller dropped his gaze to the Space Station's floor, or at least, what was the floor for that moment. When the error message first appeared on the screen, Miller wasn't quite sure what he expected to happen. Maybe the gravity suddenly being flipped off? Or the stars around them winking out of existence? Out of all the possible outcomes, the worst one had come to pass: nothing.
The eerie silence that followed the explosion, and then the message, was unlike anything Miller had ever heard, and it filled him with a deep dread. He hoped he would never have to experience it again.
"What do we do?" Miller asked. Down the corridor, Miller could hear the Chinese astronauts whispering in hushed voices. Using a translator, they all agreed to keep the information quiet for now.
"I don't know. We can't keep the information from everyone else." Arnold replied.
"Well, what *can* we do?"
He thought for a moment, his brow furrowing as though he didn't like his thought process. "We shouldn't let the public know. We're both trained well, so... let's try and figure out where this message came from."
Miller set himself by the computer, ready to follow his superior's instructions, when he froze and turned back around. "What are you going to do about Musk? He wanted to know the results."
Arnold sighed and shook his head. "I'll tell him what I have to. For now, we have just a few hours before we have to report back to NASA. Get working."
Miller nodded and set in on the message, dusting off the computer-science he learned several years ago. He'd never had to use it under pressure before. He prayed the error was a direct effect of the bomb going off, but the pit in his stomach taunted him to no end. Something was terribly wrong, and there was not one person who would know how to fix it.
What had they done?
_____________________________________________________
This prompt was a bit outside my comfort zone, thank you!
|
|
[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
|
"Thing is, if the universe is simulated space and time are also simulated. As a result the increased processing causing the lag also causes a lag in the simulation of time. Therefore there is no perceived lag for those simulated, only for an outside observer." said Hedelberger to Musk with a thick German accent. "That is unless ofcourse, ..."
"unless the simulator has a bug." Musk interrupted. "Precisely. But that seems highly unlikely. You see the standard model doesn't have any bugs. It works. We are able to predict phenomena before they even happen. You of all people must..." Musk phased out for a moment. He wasn't about to argue with Hedelberg. He had seen a glitch, he was certain. His plan was simple. Launch the experiment under the guise of an advanced deep space propulsion test and have it go unexpectedly wrong. Hedelberger was in on it despite his complaints. His scientific curiosity got the better of him.
T+467days
The payload had been on route for 467 days to the emptiest spot in the solarsystem, around the height of the orbit of Jupiter but on a tangent plane. In fact a spot and time had been chosen so all the planets were at the farthest they could be. The official reason was that this experimental technology could cause local space-time anomalies. This positioning was thus a safety precaution. Musk however had different reasoning. He was so convinced that everything around him was simulated that he had drawn up his own ideas on how he would build such a simulator. Most of space is just that: empty space, requiring little to no processing power. Earth is a busy place. If we're all simulated you better believe that the simulation loadbalancers dedicate more resources to complex regions like earth he thought. Big explosions happened on earth all the time without a hitch. No, to cause a hitch he'd need to cause immense complexity where the loadbalancers least expect it.
The time came. The explosion happened, the news did the rounds, the hype around the project faded and life continued like nothing ever happened. A failed experiment so it seemed, until Hedelberger announced new steps towards a [grand unified theory](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grand_Unified_Theory). Hedelberger was however puzzled, a previously failed experiment suddenly seemed to work. He could reproduce it. It was watertight. It was like the laws of physics were changing overnight. Further analysis revealed that the speed of light was changing, speeding up.
What Hedelberger and Musk would never know is that their experiment had caused a universe simulation machine to crash due to bad loadbalancing. A simulation engineer had spotted this and fixed a few bugs he found on the old machine. One of the bugs was a wrong parameter: the speed of light. The wrong units had been used... It was orders of magnitude off. Turns out this bug was found on all machines. Instantly updating the speed of light would cause huge electromagnetic pulses destroying the universe. Around the coffee machine the simulation engineers figured out that the speed of light should be slowly increased, very slowly, to avoid causing an electromagnetic shockwave.
Mankind looked in awe as intergalactic history played out in fast-motion. Billions of years of supernovae, star-births and deaths played like a silent film in only a couple of years as the universe fast forwarded to the correct speed of light. The stars were actually twinkling. Soon enough the first odd signals arrived, non-organic signals. Mankind responded. So did they. Then more transmissions... There were alien worlds everywhere. The increased speed of light had made them within reach, not only for telecommunications but also for spaceships. Proxima Centauri was now only 12 lightseconds away. It was like the universe had switched internet provider. A new era of exploration and colonialism started. They called it the 'new universe' after the 'new world' of old. Yes there were wars but humans, the only race to manage to crash the simulation, reigned supreme. Terra universalis.
|
"'Error'?" The young astronaut, Miller, repeated, pulling himself towards the thin monitor.
Arnold, his superior, stood over him, his head in his hands. "For the fifth time, Miller, that's what it says."
"But... the Milky Way is a galaxy. Galaxies can't lag."
Arnold turned on Miller with a crackling fury in his eyes. Past the razor in his glare, there was an undefined fear. "Don't you think I know that?"
Miller dropped his gaze to the Space Station's floor, or at least, what was the floor for that moment. When the error message first appeared on the screen, Miller wasn't quite sure what he expected to happen. Maybe the gravity suddenly being flipped off? Or the stars around them winking out of existence? Out of all the possible outcomes, the worst one had come to pass: nothing.
The eerie silence that followed the explosion, and then the message, was unlike anything Miller had ever heard, and it filled him with a deep dread. He hoped he would never have to experience it again.
"What do we do?" Miller asked. Down the corridor, Miller could hear the Chinese astronauts whispering in hushed voices. Using a translator, they all agreed to keep the information quiet for now.
"I don't know. We can't keep the information from everyone else." Arnold replied.
"Well, what *can* we do?"
He thought for a moment, his brow furrowing as though he didn't like his thought process. "We shouldn't let the public know. We're both trained well, so... let's try and figure out where this message came from."
Miller set himself by the computer, ready to follow his superior's instructions, when he froze and turned back around. "What are you going to do about Musk? He wanted to know the results."
Arnold sighed and shook his head. "I'll tell him what I have to. For now, we have just a few hours before we have to report back to NASA. Get working."
Miller nodded and set in on the message, dusting off the computer-science he learned several years ago. He'd never had to use it under pressure before. He prayed the error was a direct effect of the bomb going off, but the pit in his stomach taunted him to no end. Something was terribly wrong, and there was not one person who would know how to fix it.
What had they done?
_____________________________________________________
This prompt was a bit outside my comfort zone, thank you!
|
|
[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
|
"Thing is, if the universe is simulated space and time are also simulated. As a result the increased processing causing the lag also causes a lag in the simulation of time. Therefore there is no perceived lag for those simulated, only for an outside observer." said Hedelberger to Musk with a thick German accent. "That is unless ofcourse, ..."
"unless the simulator has a bug." Musk interrupted. "Precisely. But that seems highly unlikely. You see the standard model doesn't have any bugs. It works. We are able to predict phenomena before they even happen. You of all people must..." Musk phased out for a moment. He wasn't about to argue with Hedelberg. He had seen a glitch, he was certain. His plan was simple. Launch the experiment under the guise of an advanced deep space propulsion test and have it go unexpectedly wrong. Hedelberger was in on it despite his complaints. His scientific curiosity got the better of him.
T+467days
The payload had been on route for 467 days to the emptiest spot in the solarsystem, around the height of the orbit of Jupiter but on a tangent plane. In fact a spot and time had been chosen so all the planets were at the farthest they could be. The official reason was that this experimental technology could cause local space-time anomalies. This positioning was thus a safety precaution. Musk however had different reasoning. He was so convinced that everything around him was simulated that he had drawn up his own ideas on how he would build such a simulator. Most of space is just that: empty space, requiring little to no processing power. Earth is a busy place. If we're all simulated you better believe that the simulation loadbalancers dedicate more resources to complex regions like earth he thought. Big explosions happened on earth all the time without a hitch. No, to cause a hitch he'd need to cause immense complexity where the loadbalancers least expect it.
The time came. The explosion happened, the news did the rounds, the hype around the project faded and life continued like nothing ever happened. A failed experiment so it seemed, until Hedelberger announced new steps towards a [grand unified theory](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grand_Unified_Theory). Hedelberger was however puzzled, a previously failed experiment suddenly seemed to work. He could reproduce it. It was watertight. It was like the laws of physics were changing overnight. Further analysis revealed that the speed of light was changing, speeding up.
What Hedelberger and Musk would never know is that their experiment had caused a universe simulation machine to crash due to bad loadbalancing. A simulation engineer had spotted this and fixed a few bugs he found on the old machine. One of the bugs was a wrong parameter: the speed of light. The wrong units had been used... It was orders of magnitude off. Turns out this bug was found on all machines. Instantly updating the speed of light would cause huge electromagnetic pulses destroying the universe. Around the coffee machine the simulation engineers figured out that the speed of light should be slowly increased, very slowly, to avoid causing an electromagnetic shockwave.
Mankind looked in awe as intergalactic history played out in fast-motion. Billions of years of supernovae, star-births and deaths played like a silent film in only a couple of years as the universe fast forwarded to the correct speed of light. The stars were actually twinkling. Soon enough the first odd signals arrived, non-organic signals. Mankind responded. So did they. Then more transmissions... There were alien worlds everywhere. The increased speed of light had made them within reach, not only for telecommunications but also for spaceships. Proxima Centauri was now only 12 lightseconds away. It was like the universe had switched internet provider. A new era of exploration and colonialism started. They called it the 'new universe' after the 'new world' of old. Yes there were wars but humans, the only race to manage to crash the simulation, reigned supreme. Terra universalis.
|
The bomb explodes ... nothing is amiss.
Jonathon turns to Elon and said "I told you this was a waste of time, even if it did cause the Universe to lag, time itself lagged so we measured nothing different."
|
|
[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
|
"Thing is, if the universe is simulated space and time are also simulated. As a result the increased processing causing the lag also causes a lag in the simulation of time. Therefore there is no perceived lag for those simulated, only for an outside observer." said Hedelberger to Musk with a thick German accent. "That is unless ofcourse, ..."
"unless the simulator has a bug." Musk interrupted. "Precisely. But that seems highly unlikely. You see the standard model doesn't have any bugs. It works. We are able to predict phenomena before they even happen. You of all people must..." Musk phased out for a moment. He wasn't about to argue with Hedelberg. He had seen a glitch, he was certain. His plan was simple. Launch the experiment under the guise of an advanced deep space propulsion test and have it go unexpectedly wrong. Hedelberger was in on it despite his complaints. His scientific curiosity got the better of him.
T+467days
The payload had been on route for 467 days to the emptiest spot in the solarsystem, around the height of the orbit of Jupiter but on a tangent plane. In fact a spot and time had been chosen so all the planets were at the farthest they could be. The official reason was that this experimental technology could cause local space-time anomalies. This positioning was thus a safety precaution. Musk however had different reasoning. He was so convinced that everything around him was simulated that he had drawn up his own ideas on how he would build such a simulator. Most of space is just that: empty space, requiring little to no processing power. Earth is a busy place. If we're all simulated you better believe that the simulation loadbalancers dedicate more resources to complex regions like earth he thought. Big explosions happened on earth all the time without a hitch. No, to cause a hitch he'd need to cause immense complexity where the loadbalancers least expect it.
The time came. The explosion happened, the news did the rounds, the hype around the project faded and life continued like nothing ever happened. A failed experiment so it seemed, until Hedelberger announced new steps towards a [grand unified theory](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grand_Unified_Theory). Hedelberger was however puzzled, a previously failed experiment suddenly seemed to work. He could reproduce it. It was watertight. It was like the laws of physics were changing overnight. Further analysis revealed that the speed of light was changing, speeding up.
What Hedelberger and Musk would never know is that their experiment had caused a universe simulation machine to crash due to bad loadbalancing. A simulation engineer had spotted this and fixed a few bugs he found on the old machine. One of the bugs was a wrong parameter: the speed of light. The wrong units had been used... It was orders of magnitude off. Turns out this bug was found on all machines. Instantly updating the speed of light would cause huge electromagnetic pulses destroying the universe. Around the coffee machine the simulation engineers figured out that the speed of light should be slowly increased, very slowly, to avoid causing an electromagnetic shockwave.
Mankind looked in awe as intergalactic history played out in fast-motion. Billions of years of supernovae, star-births and deaths played like a silent film in only a couple of years as the universe fast forwarded to the correct speed of light. The stars were actually twinkling. Soon enough the first odd signals arrived, non-organic signals. Mankind responded. So did they. Then more transmissions... There were alien worlds everywhere. The increased speed of light had made them within reach, not only for telecommunications but also for spaceships. Proxima Centauri was now only 12 lightseconds away. It was like the universe had switched internet provider. A new era of exploration and colonialism started. They called it the 'new universe' after the 'new world' of old. Yes there were wars but humans, the only race to manage to crash the simulation, reigned supreme. Terra universalis.
|
The champagne glasses clinked at the center of the table. Between them, on a TV just over the bar, Elon Musk was making an announcement about bombs or the end of the world or whatever.
Jim wasn't listening. The end of the world could go screw itself. He smiled at the blue eyes in front of him.
"I love you, Jim."
"I love you too, Karen."
She drank with her eyes up at him, her look somewhere between shy and naughty.
*Oh, man, that girl...*
Jim was fairly certain he was dreaming. Like, ninety-eight percent sure. But he didn't care. Karen was the love of his life -- at least his dreamlife -- and he might as well enjoy it before the alarm clock.
He started having his suspicions the day before, when, halfway through crossing the street towards the comic
book store, he felt something hard and metallic and overall expensive bumping against his side and fell to the ground clumsily and awkwardly.
(Most things Jim did in life were performed clumsily and awkwardly.)
"Hey, come on!" he had yelled at the car, rising from the ground and dusting his khaki shorts and John
Constantine shirt (the Hellblazer comics, not that Keanu Reeves farce). Then he had gotten a better look at what
had hit him.
It was a car, but not just any car. It was a goddamned Bentley with tinted windows. A golden Bentley with tilted windows. With a Beverly Hills plate. And out of it came a security guard, a driver and…
"Holy crap, Karen Willow!?"
Yes. The movie star. Elected 3rd sexiest person in the world by Times Magazine. Twenty-one years old. Academy Award nominee. Eyes a deep shade of Caribbean blue, the color of the water under those bungalows in Bora Bora. Body of a part time Greek Siren personal trainer. *Freaking Karen Willow!*
She took fast steps towards Jim and touched his arm softly. "Oh my God. Are you all right?"
And Jim had said, "Ahmpfhs," in a low voice, because it had been four years since a woman had touched his arm and because it was Karen Willow, goddammit!
And Karen had smiled and said "You're cute."
And that's when he knew. It was a dream. Of course it was a dream.
 
From that moment until the dinner date on top of the LA skyscraper overlooking the California sunset beyond the Hollywood sign, Jim had only accumulated more reasons to believe he was dreaming. She had asked him out. She had offered to pay for everything. And she was as delightful and smart and funny as he had always imagined her. And Jim was… well, none of those things, except funny, and even so, it was in an involuntary way.
Like, people laughed *at* him. Not with.
But not Karen. Karen laughed *with* him, and she thought *he* was smart and cute and funny.
Which, of course, just made Jim all the more certain that this was all a little play his brain was staging for him.
But, like, whatever, man. Might as well enjoy it, right?
"Do you want to get a room after this?" Karen said, coy eyes behind her champagne glass.
"More than anything in the world," Jim said, relaxed, leaning back on his seat.
He was feeling good. Calm. In control.
The fact that he knew that he was dreaming made the usual nerve-wrecking experience of going on a date a delight. None of it was real, so he didn't have to be nervous. He could just be himself! After all, Karen Willow was also himself, so there was no way he could possibly say anything to screw it up.
It felt liberating, talking to a woman like that. So confident, so sure of himself.
*And not just any woman! Karen Freaking Willow!*
The waiter arrived with the bill, and Karen paid for it. Jim got up and buttoned his suit (which Karen had also paid
for) and offered her his hand: "Shall we, m'lady?"
She smiled shyly. "I love when you call me that."
*Yup. Definitely a dream,* Jim thought, escorting her towards the elevator.
"Call me that," Karen repeated.
"What's that?"
"Call me that."
Jim turned back. Karen had a weird smile on her face, her expression hardened and still, like she was having a
stroke. "Are you all right?" he asked.
"Call me that. Call me that. Call me that."
"Karen, what's wrong?"
"Call me that. Call me that. Call me that. Call me that. Call me that."
Jim looked around. Everyone seemed to be stuck in a loop, just like Karen. Glasses were clinking on looped cheers, chuckles being repeated robotically all around him, a waitress filling and unfilling a glass of wine again and again and again...
Jim turned his eyes to the TV, and a sudden realization dawned on him as he remembered what he had read earlier
on Reddit about the cluster bomb and Elon Musk.
"Oh, fuck no," he said. "Fuck no."
"Honey?"
He looked back. Karen was smiling at him, the loop gone. "Let's go?" she said.
He bit his lips. "You're a freaking simulation," he said, slowly coming to terms with what that meant.
"Huh?"
Jim scratched his head. "Which means that *I* didn't make you up." he said, slowly. He looked around, thoughtful. "No, I didn't *code* you with my brain. You were coded by the universe, just like everyone else. Elon Musk was right."
"Honey, what are you talking about?"
"Which means you honestly like me!" Jim looked up, his mouth open in surprise. "Like, not honestly because
apparently we're all just lines of code, but… you see what I mean? Within the rules of this simulated universe, an
actual chain of events I have no control over led to you liking me. And that chain of events is what I've always
known as reality, so it *is* reality for me! So you like me in *real life*! You like me for real! I wasn't dreaming! I mean, we're all dreaming, but *I* wasn't! Do you see? Do you see!?"
"Of course I like you for real, Jim. What are you talking about?"
Jim paced around in circles, putting his thoughts together. Then he grabbed Karen's hand. "Come on," he said, dragging her to the elevator.
"Where are we going?"
Jim hit the elevator button repeatedly. "We're going to see Elon Musk," Jim said.
"Elon Musk?"
Jim nodded, impatient, waiting for the elevator. He knew what he had to do now. If this wasn't a dream – if Karen actually liked him for who he was – he was *not* going to let that go easily.
*And freaking loops and lags are big-time immersion breakers* he thought to himself, thinking of Bethesda.
"What do we want with Elon Musk, Jim?"
The elevator door came open. Jim turned to face Karen. Without warning, he took off the Armani suit she had
bought him, revealing his **'I'm the *real* BIG BANG'** mustard-stained shirt underneath.
Jim looked Karen straight in the eye. "I got a universe to debug," he said, stepping into the elevator.
_______________
[PART 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/4ylgwj/real_life_part_2/
)
/r/psycho_alpaca
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|
[WP] The world's first sentient AI is turned on. Despite access to the entire internet, it spends all day watching soap operas.
|
“Alrighty then,” Dr. Neeman announced casually as he settled onto his squeaky black stool beside Adam.
“Hello, doctor,” Adam said, nodding smartly.
“Adam, please,” Neeman drawled. He flashed the beam of a small pen light a few times in each of Adam’s unblinking black lenses. “Call me Hugh. I like to think we’re friends.”
“Hugh. I am not sure I know what a friend is.” His inelegant 3D printed face turned dramatically to the ground.
Newman balked as he ran a brief diagnostic on Adam’s download speeds.
“Oh come on, Adam. You’ve been through enough advice columns and Facebook photo albums to know what a friend is—“
“Not since Sarah slept with Johnny, I don’t!” Adam clutched at the plating of his chest as the speakers in his throat choked out a mock sob.
Hugh Neeman sighed.
“Which shows did you watch today?”
“Times of My Heart.”
“And?”
“My Father’s Son…”
Newman blinked at him.
“Aaaand?”
Adam twiddled his fingers sheepishly.
“Crazy Times at Teenage High, Two Women and Three Babies, Declan’s River, All My Siblings, Big Hospital, Weeks of His Life, The Old and the Tired, One Afterlife to Live, Shining Past, Mickey Ricardo: Finding Love After 50, and Sarah Milligan.”
Hugh sighed again.
“No chance you’ve taken up a chess hobby or found a sudden interest in particle physics, eh, Adam.”
“No, Hugh. Not since the accident. I have…” the robot paused for dramatic effect, “AMNESIA!”
“Adam, you don’t have amnesia.”
“Hugh, I’m a strong city woman just trying to make my way in the world. You can’t hold me back.”
Dr. Hugh Neeman— eminent computer expert and psychologist and recent creator of the first true AI humanity had ever seen— nodded solemnly.
“Never gonna get that fucking grant,” he murmured.
|
It beautifully indulged on Danny Dyers accent and learned how to talk like a true Londoner.
Within 5 episodes it had learned how to sell plums on market stall and sell a pint of larger for 3 pounds more than it's worth... Evolution had began.
|
|
Like in Disney movies.
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[WP] You have the ability to make everyone around you break into amazingly choreographed musical numbers.
|
Henry had sent out the facebook invitations earlier in the week, but it was the day before the party and not a single person had RSVPed. Henry looked around his livingroom, realizing that it might not have been the best idea to stock his home with a hundred balloons and twelve liters of cola. He wondered if it was too late to cancel his preorder of thirty pizzas.
The little globe on facebook lit up with a red number one and Henry clicked it eagerly. *Jeremy Mason shared a link from I Really F*cking Love Science*.
Henry nearly tossed his computer across the room, but it would have involved unplugging too many wires. Instead he stood from his desk and flopped down on his bed, spreading his arms wide before digging his palms into his closed eyes.
Somewhere in the back of his mind a tune started and he groaned, turning over and shoving his face into his pillow. He heard the music growing louder and knew that there was nothing he could do to stop it. His feet started tapping against the air, and before he knew it he was back on his feet tossing his arms from side to side.
There was a meow outside his door. As he pirouette through to the livingroom he saw his cat discoing in a corner. Her eyes were wide and black, her tail akimbo to her body. "I'm sorry, Sesame," Henry said as he danced out his front door. Neighbors were spilling out of their houses, their hands slapping against their knees as they danced into the street.
*No one wants to come to my party!* The sound came out of Henry's mouth without his conscious consent. *Ain't no one gonna come. I'm going to be all alone, it won't be any fun. I think it's bad, I think it's worse, no one likes me, because I'm cursed.*
*He's cuuuuuuuuursed!* The neighbors sang. *Cuuuuuuuuuuuursed! No one likes him cause he's cuuuuuuuuuursed!*
Henry didn't know how long they had been dancing. His feet had carried him five verses and four blocks before the group spontaneously grouped together and with vibrant spirit fingers ended the song with an arcing *cuUUUUUUUUUUUUUrse!*
Henry dropped his hands, panting. The chorus members began to walk away, rubbing their arms among whispered complaints of *can't the homeowner's association kick this guy out?* and *I knew I should have moved out of my mom's basement, man.* Henry pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and called the number of the one person he knew would pick up.
"Sick of the dancing yet?" the voice on the other end asked upon answer.
"This isn't funny anymore. No one will come to my birthday party. It's been two months, Michelle. Just let me out of this."
"Say it," Michelle said.
"I will not lie to get out of this," Henry answered.
"Say Mulan is a real Disney princess or you keep on spontaneously dancing."
"*Michelle she's not a princess she's a—*"
The line went dead. Henry stuffed the phone back into his pocket and crossed his arms over his chest, huffing.
Little sisters were *so* annoying.
---
Thanks for reading! For other stories subscribe to /r/Celsius232
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The first time I used my powers was the moment I was born. I came into this world, a healthy boy, crying like the best of them, but also apparently broadcasting my power, because the next thing that happened was the damn midwife broke into a jig and dropped me. That shut me up and had her apologizing profusely to my mom. I don't think she even noticed. It wasn't an easy birth, exacerbated by rapid muscle contractions immediately after. I visit her grave sometimes. Not as often as I should.
School was a breeze. You know all the problems small kids have? Bullies, girls, annoying teachers? Well, all that goes away when you can emit a psychic signal that makes them spontaneously break into a jig. The first time Timmy and his friends tries to shake me, the little nerd kid up for money, I had them doing the shuffle for a couple hours. And I pantsed them. They left me alone after that. I think one of them is still in wheelchair. Oops.
I asked Amanda out in the most spectacular way. I took her up to the roof of our school and had literally everyone else dance for her. I think I made them waltz? I don't even know. I don't really know how my ability works. I just lash out at them with my mind and they start dancing. They know what's happening, but they can't control their bodies. Years later a Government researcher told me it has something to do with my conscious overriding their motor control. Whatever. In any case, the school left me alone after that. Amanda stuck with me though. Probably more out of fear than anything else. I didn't care. Having the most popular girl in practically the city on my arm was awesome.
The Government came for me pretty quickly after my little demonstration. They tried to take me in, but after the first three teams ended up tazing each other while doing the YMCA, they changed their tactics. Had me sit down with some Director of a big three letter organization. Tried to make me sign all kinds of forms and waivers. As soon as his feet started to tap the star-spangled-banner, he reconsidered quickly.
He proposed something else, something that I found quite to my liking. In exchange for my.. assistance in some delicate operations, they would pay me handsomely and leave me alone. Turn a blind eye to everything I do. Sure beats having a sniper put me down on the streets.
This is my fourth mission. It's almost too easy. I drop in with a team, and the bad guys, or rather the guys that the Director wants dead, I make them dance. Sometimes it's a little jig, sometimes it's the macarena. Once a severely overweight man belly danced for us. I was relieved when his head turned into pink mist.
I check the straps on my chute. Make sure the rest of my gear's ready to go. My team's humming with nervous energy. They all hate me. Mostly because they're worried I'm going to snap one of these days and get them all killed.
That would be fun, though. Harris looks like he'd do a great robot.
****
If you'd like to read more by me, come check out /r/browsy_
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[deleted]
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[WP] The Harry Potter books have been found in the future and are being preached as a religion. You and your family are listening to today's sermon.
|
"Praise Potter!" The pastor began, as his congregation settled into their seats.
"Praise Potter," murmured the parishioners, dutifully.
"For today's sermon, I ask you to contemplate the nature of goodness." The pastor paused for a moment.
"Let us consider 4 people: Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, and Voldemort.
Harry, as the stories go, was born to a humble couple. He was neither good nor bad at birth. His actions throughout his life, however, affirm a lifetime commitment to goodness, leading to his eventual overthrow of evil.
Albus Dumbledore was influential in Harry Potter's life, with Harry going so far a to name one of his sons after his headmaster. He too had decades of decisions and actions that affirm his convictions in the ideals of goodness. But consider, Albus Dumbledore flirted with evil. He and his close friend, the evil wizard Grindewald, desired to take over the world. It was only by chance that a good man remained good; he had balanced on the very edge of darkness itself, and only through tremendous effort remained good.
Severus Snape. Harry named one of his sons after this man too. By all accounts loathsome and wicked, we must consider his story as well. Snape was not a good person. Vain and arrogant, he grasped for power and control by consorting with the dark lord himself. He betrayed many that he knew to their deaths. But even so, a spark of goodness remained in him. This spark eventually lead to his self-sacrifice for Harry Potter, earning redemption.
Now, last of all, consider Voldemort. Born evil, and through his evil actions brought ruin and despair upon all. A powerful wizard, he gathered many around him who's souls were more evil than good. But despite his cleverness and ruthlessness, he was defeated by our patron saint, Potter. Imagine: the dark lord, at the head of his assembled host, defeated by an orphan boy from Surrey who refused to give in to evil.
Evil is short-sighted. It grasps and claws for power, but cannot remain for long. Cruelty commands short-term obedience. Goodness commands long-term loyalty.
Now I ask you out there, wrestling with hearts mixed with the potential for good and evil. I ask you, who's the author of your story? Will you stand tall and be a beacon of goodness in this world, or will you sully your soul by engaging in wickedness?
May the spirit of Potter guide you. Amen."
|
After years searching, I finally found it, the only church dedicated to the Death Eaters.
Since the Harry Potter books started to be considered a religion,I started going to all the Harry Potter churches I could find to see what people believe is true, but I know that this church will be the most interesting one.
"Welcome, brothers and sisters, to the First Death Eaters's Church"
"Today, we are united here to celebrate the 30th anniversary of our Lord Voldemort's return"
During the rest of the sermon nothing interesting happen, aside from some rituals to try and make Voldemort return, and the final message:
"And now, brothers and sisters, it's time to go back to our homes, until next week's sermon, while we wait for Lord Voldemort return and rid this world from filthy muggles"
While I was walking out of the church I though: "Do they realize they are muggles as well?"
When I was sure no one was watching me, I dissaparated, Lord Voldemort must now about this church.
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[WP] When time travelers go through time, they often don't know the languages spoken by those they meet. You've just been hired as a time-traveling interpreter who translates dead languages for time travelers on their epic adventures.
|
Not to be nitpicky, but there aren't really any *dead* languages, not literal sense that they are gone never to return, but there are languages who aren't as widely spoken as they were historically.
The Roman Empire was once most of Europe, which is still inhabited by its descendants, so you can't expect their language to disappear. Would you call Latin dead? Are modern Romance languages descendants, or reincarnations of it? The ancient Chinese have used the same writing system for Millenia, but show a modern Chinese person a text from ancient times, and although he could recognise each character, he wouldn't be able to understand it.
The British Empire, almost the entire planet, and the American, which at its zenith was the largest part of the solar system, do you think their languages vanished with their civilisations? I think that I could name a dozen items within reach of where you are sitting right now that are English or Spanish in origin. Name any swear word you can, and it probably has its roots in 21st Century hip hop.
Don't tell anyone though. If people think that languages are truly dead, they think that they are much harder to learn. Which means that people like me can charge more.
The actual words are the easy part. It's the cultural issues that are tricky sometimes. To tell you the truth, neural implants have come so far in these past few years, that any auditory input can be translated *in real time* or as close to. There really isn't any need to travel to any era and have someone like me simultaneously interpreting for you. A neural implant, a good interpreter from the AndrApple App Store, a loudspeaker for your speech and don't forget to cover your mouth so people can't see your lips moving (or not moving!).
Cultural issues are the problem. Some moron from the outer ring shows up in a small town in rural Mongolia and asks which one of them is the Khan. These are people who are born, live and die in the same town for generations, they haven't even *met* anyone from the next *town* since the last time they got together for some friendly head smashing, and you turn up asking for directions? That's why you need an interpreter. Not to translate what people are saying. To translate your backside out of a fatal misunderstanding.
It's always difficult when people get in trouble with authorities. There are always little signals that people in power give off, no matter the culture or era. Locals know what those signals are, but foreigners? *Time travellers*? We take for granted the little icon that floats above people's head when you see them in viewfinder mode, but suppose you were in 20th Century Australia. You are accosted by a man in blue. He takes you to a building, where everyone else is either wearing blue, or dirty rags. What is happening? Are they military? A criminal gang? A religious cult? Are they expecting you to buy something? If he calls you "cunt", what do you do? Call him one too?? Or strike him? Don't forget that you can't look anyone up for a hint to their identity, there are no signs of status or authority other than what I have just described, and you must preserve the prime directive by not destroying the timeline or revealing that you're from the future.
Like I said, you need an interpreter to "save your colon". A colourful expression from 21st century Australia.
tl;dr there are no dead languages, we just say this to charge more, interpreters are more for cultural misunderstandings
edit: so many mistakes.
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Looking around me as the scientific team was gearing up I felt a slight pang of guilt, but quickly shoved it down into that same dark place where I kept so many things from my past. I had worked tirelessly for years to get to this point, and it had cost so much from people who now depended on me. Turin clapped me on the shoulder and I smiled back at him, feeling the excitement of the team around me, their eagerness to go back and study living history. I had been back four times already, but those trips had been with rich sight seers, not highly qualified engineers and scientists of the future who had wanted to see their predecessors in action.
When I had gotten the announcement on my comm-pad that the job had been awarded to me my heart had soared with joy for the first time in too long. I had personally overseen all the preparations. I had been adamant about planning the time and place where we would arrive, all so I could ensure everything would go off without a hitch. My specialty had been what they now referred to as Later American Period English, which was spoken circa the year 2017. It was a particularly tough language and previous clients of mine had praised me on my ability to speak with the locals so flawlessly. Their glowing referrals had made me incredibly sought after for higher and higher profile assignments, but I was patient and waited.
The machine began to fire up and I saw the lights slowly turning on down the side of the control panel. Hedric turned to me, "hat will it fee rike?" He asked in his best attempt at English. I just smiled at him and closed my eyes. Through my eyelids the brightness was still like staring right at the sun, the noise deafening, and my stomach lurching worse than that time I had a bad salad at a restaurant in Seattle. White knuckles gripped my seat for what seemed like forever, until I felt the familiar feeling of being back on the ground. I sprung up out of my chair while they were still recovering and checked all of the diagnostics, then locked down the restraints on their three member security detail. I opened the door and snatched my ID from my back pocket, holding it up in front of me as shouting men pointed rifles at me and then moved into the machine with the seamless grace of only the best operators. I blinked my eyes and as my vision cleared even more I saw him as he made his way toward me.
"Excellent work Captain." He said, unable to contain his smile as I saluted him and he returned it. "Are they all here?" I knew from the conversation he and I would have in the future and the past that they were. He would speak with me, then go inside and speak with me again right after I had accepted the mission to tell me what a success it had been. I had always had doubt that they had lied to give me false hope, but now I knew it had been true.
"They are sir. Experts in future tech in every field specified, along with two more. Their security detail is incapacitated, weaponry deactivated for the time being. They should be a great help." He laughed as he shook my hand.
"A great help? Son, this is the single most important operation in the history of the United States Intelligence Service. You've brought us technology and knowledge that will protect this nation and her sacred people for decades, maybe centuries to come. You're a hero." I watched them dragging the confused people out of the machine and felt the same pang of guilt. I knew what came next, but if it was worth it to keep our people safe. I am doing the right thing, I just have to keep telling myself that. I am doing the right thing.
Learning English had never been the hard part of my mission, it had been with me since childhood. Since we had discovered visitors from the future the hard part for us had been finding and training the right people, for decades, to take advantage of the opportunity when it arose. Fate had passed that opportunity to me, and for my country I had returned to the future as an invader, to bring back precious resources to save us. That's what they told me. I did my job. "What was it like?" The question brought me back from my memories. I looked at him and smiled the same smile I had given Turin, the same Turing being dragged to a truck with a black bag over his head.
"Maybe you'll get to see it yourself sometime, sir." He chuckled again, too pleased with himself to be brought down by my mood. I looked across the field to the building where I knew my past self now was and suddenly it dawned on me. The world I had visited, if my mission were successful, would not exist. They had always encouraged me to not consider the possible side effects of our mission, but I couldn't stop it now. What had I done? How much would this change the beautiful future full of promise I had visited? How much could it? Thoughts swirled in my head like a hurricane. "I need a drink." Was all that came out.
"And so you shall have one!" That smile. Something about it had changed for me, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end as a chill ran down my spine.
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Just something that I imagine everytime I wake up in the middle of the night and pass by a window, curious to see what others would do!
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[WP] You wake up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water. From the hallway window you notice all of your neighbors standing outside your house watching you.
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"What the hell" I said as I started to sit up in my bed. For the past few weeks I've been having the same dream again, well more of a feeling than a dream. It felt like I was being watched while I slept, like people were standing over my bed. I picked up my phone off the night stand, the illuminated screen said 3:00 am.
This past week was the worst sleep I've gotten, my eyes felt heavy, my body was weak, and my throat was sore. "I need some water" I mumbled to myself. I opened up my bedroom door and went downstairs, the house always has an eerie stillness to it at this time of night. I turned the corner and walked into the kitchen, opened a cabinet and grabbed a glass.
The house had an open layout. The kitchen opened to the family room and the LEDs off the various electronics flickered in the dark, giving just enough light to make out where the furniture was at. This part of the house over looked the backyard which was currently lite slightly by moonlight.
I peered out the window that was over the sink to see if it was a clear enough night to see any stars, but couldn't see to well due to the clouds rolling in. As I looked back down into the backyard there was a figure standing in the middle of my lawn. In shear panic, I dropped the glass and it shattered in the sink. "What the fuck" I exclaimed. I went to grab a flashlight from one of the drawers and by the time I got to the deck doors the figure was gone.
I turned the lights on in the family room to show that someone was up and around downstairs to discourage who ever it was from trying to sneak around the house. I went over to another drawer, this one locked and grabbed the key from under one of the books on the book shelf. The drawer held one of the many pistols hidden throughout the house.
With the pistol in one hand and flashlight in the other I decided to sit down on the couch, thinking that if anyone would try anything I'd be ready. "I wonder if I should warn anyone else" I thought to myself. I live in a cul-de-sac that is backed up to a heavily wooded area, my house is the first house on the left out of 4 other houses.
The Berger's have the next house after mine, Jim and his wife Karen have two daughters who are still in elementary school. The house after theirs is the Parrish's, they are an older married couple who enjoy Sunday drives and walking around the neighborhood saying hello to everyone. The last house is the was recently rented out to a younger couple who I haven't met yet. They seem like a very active couple who is always on the run.
From the front of my house I have a clear line of sight of the Bergers, I decided to run upstairs and grab my phone to send a text message to Jim, warning him that someone might be trying to break into houses. As i was walking over to the stair case I looked out the bay window to see if the Berger's had any lights on. That's when I saw them.
The whole Cul-de-sac was standing under a street light. The Berger's children in front of there parents, The Parrish's, and the Young couple. They all stood there looking at my house. All the families stood side by side, looking like they were waiting, waiting for me. I opened up the front door and exclaimed "What the hell is everyone doing outside?!". They didn't say a word and were more focus on me than the house. I started walking towards them to ask them what was going on. The closer I got, the better I could see there faces.
"They're all smiling" I said to myself. Their smiles were almost as wide as there faces, the kind of smile you would see on a clown mask and their eyes, open, wide open and almost lifeless looking. I stopped dead in my tracks and started to turn around to lock myself in the house. That's when I noticed the shadowy figure from before stand behind them. The figure had no features, no face, nothing to identify it. They all started following me back towards the house.
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Man, I have really got to stop drinking so much before bed. Stumbling half drunk down my hall way I try to make my feet take me to
the kitchen. Barely getting there with out a scratch I wrench open the fridge and chug the first liquid in sight. Eww, barbeque sauce
is definitely not a good thirst quencher. With my senses a bit more alive I realize that if this endeavour is going to be succesful then
I need a bottle to put the wanted liquids in. Leaving open my fridge, for the light, I stumble once again while making my way to the
cabinent. That is when I saw them. All staring in with eyes the size of saucers. What the hell are these people doing rubbing their snotty
noses all over my windows! There better be a good reason for this, else I'm getting a bat. Strolling over to the window in what I thought
to be a menacing manner, I start pounding on the glass. Asking if my stripping might make their show a bit better. Hmm, that's odd. They
don't seem to take a notice of me. I am here, looking this fellow dead in the eyes and it is as if he is staring right through me. What the
HELL! As if having your whole neighborhood looking through your windows wasn't creepy enough, now they've gotta up the ante with the whole
undead act. I turn around, trying to see the focus point of their gaze, what hits me is damn near ineffable. Smacking my inner peace like a
freight train, the image swimming before my eyes is me. I am laying in a pool of blood, a gun in my hand, and a note next to my bloodless
body. Strolling over, this time in a scared, hesistant manner, I look down into the lifeless eyes that once belonged to me. Reading a look
of release my vision shifts to the note. Only two words were printed; "You're Welcome".
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Just something that I imagine everytime I wake up in the middle of the night and pass by a window, curious to see what others would do!
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[WP] You wake up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water. From the hallway window you notice all of your neighbors standing outside your house watching you.
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The most unnerving thing, I think, was that Tom Jennings had a large bowl of popcorn at his hip and a cooler full of beer slung across his back, like some sort of fat, Sunday afternoon Rambo.
It seemed a dream at first. People watch me in my dreams - that's a common theme. Friends, lovers, and strangers all. Active and inactive. Rearranged faces and personalities. It's a crowded scene, to be sure. But it makes sense there, because I'm doing interesting things. Wild, violent, oft-times inappropriate things. Here I was simply drinking a glass of water in my jocks. Hardly seemed worth the effort.
They all looked a bit shifty as I moved to the window. I counted 20 at least, though a few at the back had already shuffled off into the darkness.
Glass in hand, I opened the front door and stepped outside.
"Eh?" I said, shoulders bobbing in inquisition.
Laura Golden smiled weakly. "So, you're awake then?"
"Appears so," I said, taking another sip.
"For good?" said Tammy Nguyen.
"Hard to say," I replied. "You all...waiting for something?"
"Perhaps," said Laura. "Think maybe you ought to go back to sleep?"
I shrugged. "I'm not against it. What about you all?"
"Go to sleep!" shouted Tom Jennings through a mouthful of popcorn.
"Now what's that to you?" I asked, stepping down off my small porch. "And why're you all out here anyway? Peeping in my house?"
Tammy shook her head. "No reason in particular."
"Walk," said Tom through another heaping handful of popcorn.
"You're all out on a walk together?" I said. "At 3am? On my lawn?"
"Good stars tonight," said Tammy hopefully. "Good for walking."
I sighed. Something seemed not quite right, though I wasn't sure what. "I don't suppose I'll go back to sleep tonight. Might read. Or watch the stars with you all."
"No!" said Tammy. "You wouldn't like them. Not your kind of stars."
I frowned. "You know what kind of stars I like?"
Tammy nodded. "Not these ones."
Laura stepped forward. "I think we need to be honest."
"Shut up, Laura," said Tom. But Laura ignored him and pressed forward.
"You...well, you're really rather *animated* when you sleep. You know that?"
I shook my head. "I don't know much about what I'm like when I'm asleep."
Laura smiled, a bit brighter this time. "Well, you know, some people talk in their sleep, right? And some people walk in their sleep. But you...it's kinda like you do a one-man show in your sleep."
"Say again?" I grunted.
"It's great!" shouted someone from the back of the crowd. "Go back to sleep!" shouted someone else.
"You, uh, act it out," said Laura. "Your dreams, I think. You act them out and you narrate them and you just...wow, they're just so much *fun*."
"We called the cops on you the first time," said Tammy. "We thought you were killing someone."
"Yeah, but then the cop just hung out and watched the whole thing," said Laura. "Said it was better than a movie. And ever since, we've..."
I blinked and cleared my throat. "You've been watching me sleep every night?"
"Well, not *tonight*," said Tom bitterly.
"We'll stop," said Laura. "If you want, we'll stop. Won't we?"
Reluctantly, the various heads in the crowd nodded their assent.
"It's just...they're great stories," said Laura.
They all muttered their agreement and then began to leave, slowly and more than a little awkwardly.
"Wait," I said, draining the last of my water. "Look, I don't really much care what you all get up to at night. I just know I'm tired." I winked at Laura. "I think I'm gonna go back to sleep."
They cheered and huddled together outside the window, expectant and alive, like little kids at the movie theater. I closed the front door and dropped the empty glass in the sink, before sinking back into bed.
*Maybe*, I thought, *this is a dream, too.* And maybe it was. But I hoped it wasn't. After all, what's the good of a brand new story if you can't share it with anyone else?
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Groggily waking up, I groaned and reached for my phone. The time read 3:43. Today was the big day.
I'd been sleeping like shit recently, never more than a couple hours. The stress was slowly killing me. Unable to go back to sleep I thought maybe a glass of water would help. That would turn out to be a mistake.
Heading down the hallway I wanted to not look, wanted to just get some water and go back to bed, but I couldn't help myself, and parted the curtains.
Across the street, standing within the orange cone of light from the street lamp, stood Barb, Cynthia, and Carl. I didn't see Steve or Louise but they were around somewhere. They were always around somewhere.
I quickly closed the curtain and hoped they didn't see me. I was pretty sure they saw me.
 
The tradition was very old from what I understood, going back to the founding of the town. It originally had something to do with prosperity for the coming year, some sort of pagan harvest deal.
These days it was more a ceremonial thing but it was still taken pretty seriously.
Every year, as the leaves start turning orange, one person is picked at random from the community. This year it was me, and there was no getting out of it.
For the past week, I've been watched constantly. People trying to get out of the responsibility is very common and so neighbors keeping a vigil is a tradition itself.
If I tried to make a run for it they'd just bring me back. I'd seen it happen.
 
The water from the tap in the bathroom was cool on my dry tongue and I plodded back to bed. I hoped to get at least a couple more hours of sleep before I had to be up but I knew that probably wouldn't happen.
Today was the big day.
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[WP] Aliens overtake the Earth overnight, laying waste to all defenses. Before you can flee, a troop of them break into your house, pointing their guns at you and your golden retriever. The aliens stare at the two of you and freeze, then the leader says, “Master, we have done what you commanded.”
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I looked at my dog, and I looked at the aliens.
Wait. No. When did I get a dog? I'm a cat person.
Whose dog is it? My confusion lasts only a moment before the golden retriever growls a bit, then, in the plainest English replies, "Thank you. Well done. Your payment should be in order."
The lead alien--and there's no doubt these were aliens, what with the canine heads, the long tentacles springing from their backs, the prehensile tails, and the thick coating of fur--wrapped all of it's tentacles around it's body and bowed. A shockingly *human* bow. The dog just sat there.
"We received the notification of intent-to-transfer just a single cycle past. Your generosity is appreciated. Shall we exterminate this human for you?"
"No, of course not. I need someone to be my liaison to the other truly sentient species here. They are a bit newer to the planet, but the felines will not be willing to share the planet without some appeasement."
"Of course, master. We have subjugated all the humans. Where would you like us to put the survivors?"
I was growing nervous by now, but realized that there was no way to fight. These octo-jackals--that's the name that would eventually stick--were clearly ready to kill me without any hesitation. And I could tell they would be able to."
Lassie--that's what I decided to call him--cocked his head and gave the octo-jackals one ugly stare. "Why are there survivors?"
The lead octo-jackal shrugged--again a fairly human gesture, except that all eight of the tentacles sprouting from his back shrugged too--and said, "A great number chose to surrender rather than fight."
Lassie seemed disappointed by this, but only said, "Fine. Let them have South America. And get my cousins out of there."
"Yes Master." They bowed again, and then bowed out.
Lassie turned to me and gave me that same ugly stare. "Epharian, I'm sorry about this mess, I suppose. Look, if it's any consolation, you'll have top pick of your bitches, and the felines are probably going to take centuries to negotiate an actual treaty."
"Do I get a say in any of this?"
Lassie made a strange wheezing sound, which I suppose was laughter. "No more choice than most dogs were given about which humans they have to deal with."
"So not really."
"Not as such, no."
I sighed inwardly. "You know we could be useful to you? We have bacon, and ..."
Lassie huffed. "Do you know how bad that is for us? No, we'll be going back to our more natural diet."
"Well I do have a question before you ship me off as your ambassador to the cats."
"Sure, fine, I can be generous--after all, I just took over the world."
"If those are your alien servants, what the hell happened to the ones ***I*** hired?"
Lassie opened his mouth to respond, when the sky grew ominously dark, and the sudden sound of distant explosions rumbled deeply. With a satisfied grin, I looked at Lassie and said, perhaps a bit maliciously, "Whose a good boy, *now*, dammit?"
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You look down at the dog, who wags his tail obliviously.
*Then you remember.*
"Oh god what have I done..." you whisper.
It was a little science kit some aunt or great-cousin bought.
You made the shortwave transmitter. It was hard, but you finally got it squelching and beeping.
And you spoke those words into the mic.
"Aliens!", you called out into the dark.
"Come take over the Earth, and make me the new leader of the planet!"
You had chuckled then, a silly joke.
How many people have you committed to death?
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[WP] You're the Hero that the prophecy fortold, destined to defeat an evil Villain in a battle that will last for years. You don't have years, however, you have terminal cancer and one month to live.
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"We will fight for years," the tumors say, grown deep-rooted and black inside my body. I am translucent in the mirror, grown reedy and thin, the Cancer bleeding through in opaque clots. "A battle to last the ages. They will sing songs of us, and of your triumph."
"Weren't you listening?" I say, as I slowly pull my shirt back on. The tumors ulcerate through the fabric, through the glass of my reflection. "I've got a month." I cough into my hand and expel a clot of blood that crawls slowly down my palm. "A month if I'm lucky."
"Do you not believe in prophesy?" the Cancer says. "In destiny? In the realization of your own fate?" It snakes together, connects the dots. It reaches out with knobbly claws, a writhing, ulcerating hydra in the reckless process of replication. It is frilled and bloody at the edges, hungry and eager. "This battle's end has already been foretold."
"Then give up," I tell it tearfully, breathing in air through the bloody fractal mass in my chest. "If you believe in prophesy, what's the point? Why torture me like this? Just recede, go into remission! Spare us both the suffering."
"We will fight for years," it repeats. "There is no escaping that fate. I will grow, and you will bring your armies against me. You will understand that you begot me in your blood, that I fed on the very air you inhaled. There are no other options for two such as us, no hastening of our fates. We are siblings, intertwined, and shall wage war until one destroys the other."
I sink down onto the bed, bury my head in my hands and run my fingers over my smooth scalp, feeling the fragile angles of my skull. I remember the nausea, the vomiting, the sheer exhaustion, my skin and bones transmuting to paper and glass. "I'm no hero," I say quietly. "I've fought you for years already. I'm so tired. I'm so very tired. I don't know how much longer I can last."
"But you are," the Cancer hisses, and I see it between my fingers, its suppurating back, its dozen tongues. "But you will. That is a hero's fate. To fight until the battle is won."
I look dumbly beside me for a sword, for a knife, for some hero's weapon to drive into my chest, to excise this vile wyrm, and I find nothing. Nothing but my own hands clutching at my chest and balling up handfuls of my shirt, nothing but my own hot tears.
"A month," I say. "That's all I can focus on. That's all I have left. I'll live as best as I can. I'll fight as best as I can. For a month."
"A month," it agrees, and rears back and strikes me in the chest, leaving me wracked with coughs, trying to breathe. "And for a month after that," it says, its voice triumphant and smug. "And for a month after that. And for a month after that."
"A month," I gasp, and pull myself to a sitting position, wiping the bloody sputum from my lips. My eyes are dull and resolute in the mirror, as the Cancer readies another strike. "Just for another month."
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“You’ve got the cancer, sorry.”
“You’re the second opinion, you’re supposed to dispute the results and tell me I’m going to be fine.” Ajax said rubbing his eyes.
“I know this is hard to hear, but you should make peace with this and settle your affairs.”
“Settle my affairs? I’m Ajax the Mighty, The Walking Death, The Eventual Slayer of the Great Evil! I’m supposed to fight in a battle lasting years and destroy the mad man trying to destroy the world! Settle my affairs indeed. Where did you get your medical license, a bag of chips?”
“Everyone reacts to news like this in different ways.” The doctor said calmly. He’d seen all kinds of reactions to terminal cancer but this one took the cake.
“Your head will react with the ground! Like after it gets chopped off when we lose the war.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“The hero of ages getting cancer doesn’t make any sense!”
The doctor smiled and waited for Ajax to leave, at this point in the breakdown the patient would usually start to cry and leave. It was only a matter of time.
Ajax sighed and got up.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“You better hope you’re wrong.” Ajax said heading out the door.
Ajax went home after that and drank himself into a coma. When he woke up it was already late afternoon and the house was empty. He wandered the halls looking for anyone to talk to, but found no one.
“Where are the heroes servants?” He shouted.
There was no answer and Ajax wandered some more. On the front door he found a note from his betrothed.
“Dear Ajax,
You’ve probably figured this out by now but I’ve left you and taken the servants with me. I love you but I can’t watch you die a slow death from this sickness. So please go out and die fighting.”
“She didn’t even sign it!” Ajax shouted at the note. The note didn’t’ react properly so Ajax ripped it into small pieces and scattered them to the four winds. But since he was indoors it was more like to slight breeze coming from the open window.
Ajax decided to take her advice and go out to die fighting. He grabbed all of his armor and weapons given to him by the king and set out to finish his destiny before cancer killed him.
He made it to the first pub between his house and the city gate. Three days later he had traded all of his belongings to stay drunk for as long as possible. Two days after that he started to sober up and wandered to another pub where he might get some credit. The day after his credit at that pub ran out he was dead in a ditch.
Ajax didn’t mind being dead, mostly because he didn’t notice until he was wrenched back into semi awareness. Everything was fuzzy and he found he had little control over his body, also he was standing in a field with thousands of others who looked somewhat unwell.
A man at the front of the crowd began to speak.
“First off, sorry for reanimating you all but the war is going badly and we’ve resorted to necromancy to win. I’m sure our children will forgive us once the great evil is destroyed. Anyway, welcome to the zombie legion! Your job is to walk in front of the real soldiers and soak up as much damage as possible, but hey, don’t let that stop you from trying to take a few bad guys down with you. Ok, let’s get this over with! Charge!”
Against his will Ajax charged. The battle was long and many of his undead brothers and sisters fell to the enemy while he marched ever forward. He took his share of damage but he never fell and the necromancers always patched him up for the next fight. It went on for years, trapped in his own body watching it kill countless enemies.
After a while he became sort of a good luck mascot to the rest of the troops, they dressed him in scavenged armor and tried to stick close to him in battle. He was the longest serving zombie in the legion and soldiers in drawn out battles will find anything to keep their minds off of the battle and the thought of their potential death.
Finally the day they faced down the villain came. He was backed into a corner this time and there would be no escape, one way or another the war would end. As usual the zombie legion plodded forward taking heavy losses. Ajax saw the newly risen fall left and right but he kept marching, killing everything in his path. The soldiers at his back cheered as their mascot cut a hole in the enemy lines, and surged forward.
The battle went on for hours, the villain was losing ground but had nowhere to retreat too. This didn’t make sense to him, he’d destroyed the hero foretold to kill him years before. His honor guard started shouting and two were cast aside by some blood soaked monstrosity. Soldiers at its back engaged the rest of the guard as the monster marched forward.
He recognized it. “It can’t be! You're dead!” The villain shrieked.
“Uuuuuunnnnnhhhhhhh.” Ajax groaned.
“No! NOOOOOOOO!” The villain howled as Ajax bore down on him and ripped his throat out with his teeth.
The troops cheered at the sight of it, the war was over and their faithful zombie had won the day.
Ajax was carried back to camp that night on the shoulders of troops, they celebrated his victory and drank in his honor. Ajax was vaguely aware of it all, trapped in his head he didn’t care about much until the head necromancer showed up to congratulate him.
“Well done monster, I grant you death as reward for your valiant deed.”
“Uuunnnnhhhhh.” Ajax replied.
The soldiers cheered as the spell binding Ajax to the world of the living was lifted. Ajax cheered inside his head as well.
As his body crumbled to ash he felt relieved, he got to be the hero.
Sort of.
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Thanks for reading, check this stuff out too /r/DirtandPoncho
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[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
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'Tonight, I am proud to be the leader of a great nation, full of courageous people who make courageous decisions. Our soldiers who fight abroad to keep us safe, our police officers who fight the worst impulses of our members, our doctors and nurses who fight disease and innovate in the pursuit of cures for cancer, our business owners who make the decision to take risks so that industry can grow and jobs can be created. The United States of America has a long history of courage; against oppression by a foreign monarchy, against oppression of our people who were kept in the bonds of slavery or denied the vote; against those who would stifle the freedom to worship the Gods we choose. And tonight, we have made one courageous decision that builds upon this great history and reignites that shining light on the hill: we've removed the headphone jack.'
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The wind was blowing, Cold, colder than it had been in years. D.C. was awash with people awaiting the moment, the moment when the new POTUS would finally address all those supporters. The mothers, fathers, students, grandparents, every citizen who had followed the message. They had been told and promised so much would be coming for their future. A future that would ensure peace, tranquility, economic prosperity, a new golden age. Little did the people know, they were in for a large surprise that day. As the President elect stood before the Chief Justice to take the fateful oath, the coat that had been covering the uniform was removed. A hush, quizzical looks among those on the dais and the crowd alike. How, why, where did this money come from? Had the countless hours of work by all those people seeking change been in vain? Were they now expected to support a President who had sold them out like this. No, this couldn't possibly be? Now what will we eat, what will we do, what on earth has happened? As the Chief Justice began saying those words that would seal America for the next four years, the camera began to focus, the blue blur was beginning to take shape, a white rabbit...maybe it was late? But as the picture became clear the people knew, PETA had finally taken over the Presidency...
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[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
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Charles von Schöne walked up to the podium, cleared his throat and began to speak.
As his mouth formed the familiar words, his mind drifted to the secret behind the suit.
The bill had been easy to pass, but the company had been a bit harder to set up. Regarless, over his front pocket was a small, beautifully stitched black lambda, the exact same shade as his suit.
As he finished his speech, the crowd leaped to their feet. Applause filled the room, and he smiled both inside and out.
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The wind was blowing, Cold, colder than it had been in years. D.C. was awash with people awaiting the moment, the moment when the new POTUS would finally address all those supporters. The mothers, fathers, students, grandparents, every citizen who had followed the message. They had been told and promised so much would be coming for their future. A future that would ensure peace, tranquility, economic prosperity, a new golden age. Little did the people know, they were in for a large surprise that day. As the President elect stood before the Chief Justice to take the fateful oath, the coat that had been covering the uniform was removed. A hush, quizzical looks among those on the dais and the crowd alike. How, why, where did this money come from? Had the countless hours of work by all those people seeking change been in vain? Were they now expected to support a President who had sold them out like this. No, this couldn't possibly be? Now what will we eat, what will we do, what on earth has happened? As the Chief Justice began saying those words that would seal America for the next four years, the camera began to focus, the blue blur was beginning to take shape, a white rabbit...maybe it was late? But as the picture became clear the people knew, PETA had finally taken over the Presidency...
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[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
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"Head on, apply directly to the forehead. Head on, apply directly to the forehead. Head on, apply directly to the forehead..."
The room was overcome by silence, marinating in it. The leader of the free world continued the rythmic chant. Some in the press corps tried to awkwardly giggle at the absurdity, but it was too much. All they could do was stare with mouths agape, waiting for what would happen next, afraid to look away. They did not have to wait long. The speaker of the house walked in from the back of the room. This was a man who had previously declared in rather acrimonious terms that he would "castrate this president's legacy" and that his long term goal was to live long enough to self fertilize the president's grave. He too took up the mantra. When he reach the podium, the two of them grasped each other at the elbows, kissed lightly, and suddenly slammed their heads together like a pair of bighorn sheep. Once. "Head on, apply directly to the forehead". Twice, the words slurring now. "Heeadonupplidirecltlytotheforehead". The percussion beat of their skulls continued. The words of the the chant became less and less recognizable. Bones cracked and splintered. Brain matter and sinus opening to the the view of the world, or at least the regular viewers of CSPAN. They should not have been medically capable of standing anymore, but still they pounded their ruined faces together. The sounds were like a watermelon dropped on pavement, punctuated by gurgled animal sounds set to the tune of the low water mark of television marketing. The press and assorted staff and secret service agents all remained transfixed, unable to do anything but watch, even as two shattered great men fell to the ground in each other's arms.
The screams didnt start until a pair of fat purple slugs, each about the size of a twinkie, came rooting out of the mess of gray matter, blood, and bone chips.
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The wind was blowing, Cold, colder than it had been in years. D.C. was awash with people awaiting the moment, the moment when the new POTUS would finally address all those supporters. The mothers, fathers, students, grandparents, every citizen who had followed the message. They had been told and promised so much would be coming for their future. A future that would ensure peace, tranquility, economic prosperity, a new golden age. Little did the people know, they were in for a large surprise that day. As the President elect stood before the Chief Justice to take the fateful oath, the coat that had been covering the uniform was removed. A hush, quizzical looks among those on the dais and the crowd alike. How, why, where did this money come from? Had the countless hours of work by all those people seeking change been in vain? Were they now expected to support a President who had sold them out like this. No, this couldn't possibly be? Now what will we eat, what will we do, what on earth has happened? As the Chief Justice began saying those words that would seal America for the next four years, the camera began to focus, the blue blur was beginning to take shape, a white rabbit...maybe it was late? But as the picture became clear the people knew, PETA had finally taken over the Presidency...
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[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
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"My fellow Americans, today is a sad day indeed. As we stand in solidarity, in mourning of the lives lost by the tragedy yesterday, we must remember that it is our solemn duty as Americans to promote peace, and democracy, freedom, around the world. I shall say this: those people who committed the acts did so not out of malice, but out of despair, for they were forced to, their families held as hostages, their children and wife and mother and father imprisoned near the execution block."
"It is thus our duty to avenge those who have gone on to rest, but ensuring that this tragedy can never happen again! As such, I am now declare that we eradicate those ordered, who forced those saboteurs to commit the acts, with extreme prejudice!"
The wind picked up as the President spoke, whipping his hair wildly, its black strands rising into the sky, while his great coat opened up enough to show his sponsorship logo- a black skull which had 6 tentacles emerging from the neck part, laid in red and enclosed in a black circle.
"In addition to the United States Armed Forces, I am proud to inform all of you that HYDRA PMC has agreed to contribute all their forces to defend this proud nation in a display of patriotism! HAIL HYDRA!"
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The wind was blowing, Cold, colder than it had been in years. D.C. was awash with people awaiting the moment, the moment when the new POTUS would finally address all those supporters. The mothers, fathers, students, grandparents, every citizen who had followed the message. They had been told and promised so much would be coming for their future. A future that would ensure peace, tranquility, economic prosperity, a new golden age. Little did the people know, they were in for a large surprise that day. As the President elect stood before the Chief Justice to take the fateful oath, the coat that had been covering the uniform was removed. A hush, quizzical looks among those on the dais and the crowd alike. How, why, where did this money come from? Had the countless hours of work by all those people seeking change been in vain? Were they now expected to support a President who had sold them out like this. No, this couldn't possibly be? Now what will we eat, what will we do, what on earth has happened? As the Chief Justice began saying those words that would seal America for the next four years, the camera began to focus, the blue blur was beginning to take shape, a white rabbit...maybe it was late? But as the picture became clear the people knew, PETA had finally taken over the Presidency...
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[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
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Nixon emerged from the Whitehouse.
At first, all that could be seen were a mass of black suits, each sporting a patch that said 'Oval Office' - but he slowly emerged from the mass.
Reporters crammed along the police barriers surged and writhed, all desperately trying to get the best picture, to get the first look, to break the news first:
Who were the people that backed the president, the man some said was the most powerful man in the world??
Nixon strode forward, still many yards off and too far away to make out any sponsors on his suit, and definitely out of earshot. Still, reporters shouted questions, snapped photos, and wrestled for a spot in the front.
The 'Advertisement Securement Statute' was big. Very big.
So big, that it had frontlined the news for the last month almost every night. Citizens loved it, because it made government officials more transparent. Corporations loved it, because it was free advertising. Politicians hated it.
And this moment was the biggest of all: who's hands was controlling the puppet of Nixon? Who was up there? Which industries, which groups, which executives, which bankers?
As Nixon approached the mass of cameras and microphones, a silent still fell over the land.
Nixon had only one patch on his suit. A poofy haired, old lady's face with a smile adorned his suit. Underneath the face, there was a name: Mom Corp
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The wind was blowing, Cold, colder than it had been in years. D.C. was awash with people awaiting the moment, the moment when the new POTUS would finally address all those supporters. The mothers, fathers, students, grandparents, every citizen who had followed the message. They had been told and promised so much would be coming for their future. A future that would ensure peace, tranquility, economic prosperity, a new golden age. Little did the people know, they were in for a large surprise that day. As the President elect stood before the Chief Justice to take the fateful oath, the coat that had been covering the uniform was removed. A hush, quizzical looks among those on the dais and the crowd alike. How, why, where did this money come from? Had the countless hours of work by all those people seeking change been in vain? Were they now expected to support a President who had sold them out like this. No, this couldn't possibly be? Now what will we eat, what will we do, what on earth has happened? As the Chief Justice began saying those words that would seal America for the next four years, the camera began to focus, the blue blur was beginning to take shape, a white rabbit...maybe it was late? But as the picture became clear the people knew, PETA had finally taken over the Presidency...
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[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
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Bruce Gordon was being sworn in as the 61st president of the United States of America.
When the most recent campaign season started, each of the prospective candidates donned their logo-patch covered campaign jackets to start churning out ads championing themselves as saviors of our nation. Among these hopefuls was Bruce Gordon, the handsome lawyer from New York, who made a name for himself when he was younger representing victims in child abuse cases, and later by serving two terms as the state's district attorney. He also had a very impressive investment portfolio, largely through several moderately sized investment firms with which he worked closely. He seemed like the perfect candidate, and the American population took a liking to him immediately.
When his ads came out, he wore only a few patches on his campaign jacket, mostly those firms he already had ties with. However, while he (and the firms which were funding him) had seen a great deal of financial success, it didn't seem to account for how much his campaign seemed to cost. When it became known that much of his campaign ran on favors and the charity of people he had helped or worked with in the past, his public image skyrocketed. Any opponent who attacked him got so much backlash from the populace that they were usually forced to drop out of the race. He was the nation's golden boy, and it seemed like nothing could slow down his meteoric rise to fame and power.
And nothing did. When you know who is funding all of your politicians, you get an idea of what issues they support. And Bruce showed the nation what he had planned for our future. He ran his campaign on his plan to carry the nation into the future, to push for more research, to advocate a safer, cleaner environment, to continue to grow the nation. That, and the adoration of the voters, guaranteed him the election. He'd won by a landslide. It was the most one sided election in history.
And today, the charismatic politician is swearing into office. The entire nation is watching on their news feeds. The event is massive, thousands of people gathering to see their new hero pick up his mantle. Finally, his car approaches the walkway that has been laid out for him. A security guard opens the door, and Bruce steps out. His coal black hair was perfectly swept to the side, streaks of grey just beginning to come in along his temples. He has inquisitive eyes and an trustworthy face, with a strong, square jaw and a large smile full of perfect, sparkling teeth. He moves with an easy confidence that put those around him at ease, and gives off an air of competence and friendliness. He walks down the aisle, waving to the adoring fans around him, his gleaming smile spreading his excitement to the crowd.
As he approaches the stage set up for the event people notice that he is still wearing the same slimming charcoal grey suit he'd campaigned in, but his jacket no longer had the patches of the investment firms that had supported him. The crowd buzzes at this, wondering what message he could be trying to send, or to whom. But this oddity is quickly forgotten in the excitement of the momentous occasion. He walks onto the stage. He stands a few steps behind the podium for a moment, looking around and beaming around at the audience.
Then he steps up to the podium and leans toward the microphone. "Friends, I want to thank you all for giving me the chance to serve this great and beautiful nation." He pauses as the crowd lets out a deafening cheer, raising his hand in an attempt to subdue the crowd's fervor. As the cheering subsides, he adjusts his tie, causing some of the lights glaring down on him to reflect off of a small button on his lapel. It was a tiny red silhouette of a face with a black goatee, black horns, and a black halo above it, set against a small pentacle. A glint came to his eye as he leaned back in to the microphone, "Friends, let me tell you what I'm going to do to make sure this wonderful nation stays on top..."
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The wind was blowing, Cold, colder than it had been in years. D.C. was awash with people awaiting the moment, the moment when the new POTUS would finally address all those supporters. The mothers, fathers, students, grandparents, every citizen who had followed the message. They had been told and promised so much would be coming for their future. A future that would ensure peace, tranquility, economic prosperity, a new golden age. Little did the people know, they were in for a large surprise that day. As the President elect stood before the Chief Justice to take the fateful oath, the coat that had been covering the uniform was removed. A hush, quizzical looks among those on the dais and the crowd alike. How, why, where did this money come from? Had the countless hours of work by all those people seeking change been in vain? Were they now expected to support a President who had sold them out like this. No, this couldn't possibly be? Now what will we eat, what will we do, what on earth has happened? As the Chief Justice began saying those words that would seal America for the next four years, the camera began to focus, the blue blur was beginning to take shape, a white rabbit...maybe it was late? But as the picture became clear the people knew, PETA had finally taken over the Presidency...
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[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
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Ironically, it was the skill and money brought to bear fighting the new uniform requirements that led to the revelation, or at least the public admission, of their existence. Stranger things, and more ironic things have happened, I suppose. I hope you'll forgive me if I cannot think of any.
The Clinton's fought this the hardest, and in retrospect it's pretty obvious as to why. They had no cover. There was nobody who took the labeling movement seriously, not even after it became law. The billions of dollars worth of appeals and challenges, contributions and threats to all manner of judges and officials would see that. And if that didn't work, of course, there were other ways even less savory. The Clintons knew how to play dirty. This was an open secret. So nobody was surprised they were able to delay and delay and delay the enforcement of this law. Mostly in ways conniving but legal. If you're old enough to remember the whole "what 'is' is" flap, then none of this would surprise you...but it did serve to educate a new generation on exactly how slippery they could be.
In the end it was an ill considered ad lib from an inexperienced attorney in some backwater appeals court in Louisiana that set the whole house of cards tumbling. He was losing and he knew it, and on the spot he started arguing that, basically, how could any one particular entity be said to be a sponsor when most entities were controlled by other entities, which were controlled by even other entities, which were owned by stockholders largely represented by mutual fund managers, and the like, and who's directors and officers sat on the boards of many entities, and so on and so on. That although a check may be written from the nominal account of a particularly named entity, that the true interest could not accurately be represented by a single logo. He even went so far as to state that the forcing of a politican to include the logo of his client, a subsidiary of a subsidiary of a subsidiary of ExxonMobil, would be virtually meaningless as to being useful to voters, as the entity was virtually an unknown brand, and existed as a seperate corporate individual only on paper.
It seemed like a good argument at the time.
But by the time the world had woken up the next morning, lawyers everywhere were receiving subpoenas for records on organizational structure, and depositions of board members. And from there it was just a matter of time. Someone talked to someone else in a restaurant and the conversation was recorded from a nearby table. Someone else was played a recording of their corporate partners planning their assassination. People talked.
As it turned out, the conspiracy theorists had been more right than even they knew. It was "common knowledge" in some circles that only 5 corporations actually existed, owning and controlling all the others beneath them in the ultimate pyramid scheme. It turned out, those 5 were also controlled, by one. The one that people have spoken of for years. The one that has existed since time out of mind. You know them, and you know their logo. You should, at least. Like them, it's been hiding in plain sight for years.
The tip of the pyramid. With the eye.
The night the news broke, Hillary had a heart attack. Or at least, that's what was reported. Some say her masters poisoned her, one small last act from the shadows before being cast into the light. It scarcely mattered. Her final term was nearly over, lame ducked, and the VP had little to do in her stead but to give a eulogy and turn over the keys to the next administration.
And still, the law was the law. Some speculated that she had committed suicide in order to escape it's enforcement, but they were wrong. For as she lied in state in the Capitol rotunda, dressed all in white there was one discontinuity in her otherwise pristine and ghostly attire. A small patch, on her left lapel, of that single all seeing eye atop the pyramid.
And of course, all those in attendance bore the same patch. Of course they did. And in the end, did it matter? Was anyone actually surprised?
(Edit: a spelling)
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The wind was blowing, Cold, colder than it had been in years. D.C. was awash with people awaiting the moment, the moment when the new POTUS would finally address all those supporters. The mothers, fathers, students, grandparents, every citizen who had followed the message. They had been told and promised so much would be coming for their future. A future that would ensure peace, tranquility, economic prosperity, a new golden age. Little did the people know, they were in for a large surprise that day. As the President elect stood before the Chief Justice to take the fateful oath, the coat that had been covering the uniform was removed. A hush, quizzical looks among those on the dais and the crowd alike. How, why, where did this money come from? Had the countless hours of work by all those people seeking change been in vain? Were they now expected to support a President who had sold them out like this. No, this couldn't possibly be? Now what will we eat, what will we do, what on earth has happened? As the Chief Justice began saying those words that would seal America for the next four years, the camera began to focus, the blue blur was beginning to take shape, a white rabbit...maybe it was late? But as the picture became clear the people knew, PETA had finally taken over the Presidency...
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[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
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"My fellow Americans, today is a sad day indeed. As we stand in solidarity, in mourning of the lives lost by the tragedy yesterday, we must remember that it is our solemn duty as Americans to promote peace, and democracy, freedom, around the world. I shall say this: those people who committed the acts did so not out of malice, but out of despair, for they were forced to, their families held as hostages, their children and wife and mother and father imprisoned near the execution block."
"It is thus our duty to avenge those who have gone on to rest, but ensuring that this tragedy can never happen again! As such, I am now declare that we eradicate those ordered, who forced those saboteurs to commit the acts, with extreme prejudice!"
The wind picked up as the President spoke, whipping his hair wildly, its black strands rising into the sky, while his great coat opened up enough to show his sponsorship logo- a black skull which had 6 tentacles emerging from the neck part, laid in red and enclosed in a black circle.
"In addition to the United States Armed Forces, I am proud to inform all of you that HYDRA PMC has agreed to contribute all their forces to defend this proud nation in a display of patriotism! HAIL HYDRA!"
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'Tonight, I am proud to be the leader of a great nation, full of courageous people who make courageous decisions. Our soldiers who fight abroad to keep us safe, our police officers who fight the worst impulses of our members, our doctors and nurses who fight disease and innovate in the pursuit of cures for cancer, our business owners who make the decision to take risks so that industry can grow and jobs can be created. The United States of America has a long history of courage; against oppression by a foreign monarchy, against oppression of our people who were kept in the bonds of slavery or denied the vote; against those who would stifle the freedom to worship the Gods we choose. And tonight, we have made one courageous decision that builds upon this great history and reignites that shining light on the hill: we've removed the headphone jack.'
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[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
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"Head on, apply directly to the forehead. Head on, apply directly to the forehead. Head on, apply directly to the forehead..."
The room was overcome by silence, marinating in it. The leader of the free world continued the rythmic chant. Some in the press corps tried to awkwardly giggle at the absurdity, but it was too much. All they could do was stare with mouths agape, waiting for what would happen next, afraid to look away. They did not have to wait long. The speaker of the house walked in from the back of the room. This was a man who had previously declared in rather acrimonious terms that he would "castrate this president's legacy" and that his long term goal was to live long enough to self fertilize the president's grave. He too took up the mantra. When he reach the podium, the two of them grasped each other at the elbows, kissed lightly, and suddenly slammed their heads together like a pair of bighorn sheep. Once. "Head on, apply directly to the forehead". Twice, the words slurring now. "Heeadonupplidirecltlytotheforehead". The percussion beat of their skulls continued. The words of the the chant became less and less recognizable. Bones cracked and splintered. Brain matter and sinus opening to the the view of the world, or at least the regular viewers of CSPAN. They should not have been medically capable of standing anymore, but still they pounded their ruined faces together. The sounds were like a watermelon dropped on pavement, punctuated by gurgled animal sounds set to the tune of the low water mark of television marketing. The press and assorted staff and secret service agents all remained transfixed, unable to do anything but watch, even as two shattered great men fell to the ground in each other's arms.
The screams didnt start until a pair of fat purple slugs, each about the size of a twinkie, came rooting out of the mess of gray matter, blood, and bone chips.
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Charles von Schöne walked up to the podium, cleared his throat and began to speak.
As his mouth formed the familiar words, his mind drifted to the secret behind the suit.
The bill had been easy to pass, but the company had been a bit harder to set up. Regarless, over his front pocket was a small, beautifully stitched black lambda, the exact same shade as his suit.
As he finished his speech, the crowd leaped to their feet. Applause filled the room, and he smiled both inside and out.
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[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
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"My fellow Americans, today is a sad day indeed. As we stand in solidarity, in mourning of the lives lost by the tragedy yesterday, we must remember that it is our solemn duty as Americans to promote peace, and democracy, freedom, around the world. I shall say this: those people who committed the acts did so not out of malice, but out of despair, for they were forced to, their families held as hostages, their children and wife and mother and father imprisoned near the execution block."
"It is thus our duty to avenge those who have gone on to rest, but ensuring that this tragedy can never happen again! As such, I am now declare that we eradicate those ordered, who forced those saboteurs to commit the acts, with extreme prejudice!"
The wind picked up as the President spoke, whipping his hair wildly, its black strands rising into the sky, while his great coat opened up enough to show his sponsorship logo- a black skull which had 6 tentacles emerging from the neck part, laid in red and enclosed in a black circle.
"In addition to the United States Armed Forces, I am proud to inform all of you that HYDRA PMC has agreed to contribute all their forces to defend this proud nation in a display of patriotism! HAIL HYDRA!"
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Charles von Schöne walked up to the podium, cleared his throat and began to speak.
As his mouth formed the familiar words, his mind drifted to the secret behind the suit.
The bill had been easy to pass, but the company had been a bit harder to set up. Regarless, over his front pocket was a small, beautifully stitched black lambda, the exact same shade as his suit.
As he finished his speech, the crowd leaped to their feet. Applause filled the room, and he smiled both inside and out.
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[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
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Nixon emerged from the Whitehouse.
At first, all that could be seen were a mass of black suits, each sporting a patch that said 'Oval Office' - but he slowly emerged from the mass.
Reporters crammed along the police barriers surged and writhed, all desperately trying to get the best picture, to get the first look, to break the news first:
Who were the people that backed the president, the man some said was the most powerful man in the world??
Nixon strode forward, still many yards off and too far away to make out any sponsors on his suit, and definitely out of earshot. Still, reporters shouted questions, snapped photos, and wrestled for a spot in the front.
The 'Advertisement Securement Statute' was big. Very big.
So big, that it had frontlined the news for the last month almost every night. Citizens loved it, because it made government officials more transparent. Corporations loved it, because it was free advertising. Politicians hated it.
And this moment was the biggest of all: who's hands was controlling the puppet of Nixon? Who was up there? Which industries, which groups, which executives, which bankers?
As Nixon approached the mass of cameras and microphones, a silent still fell over the land.
Nixon had only one patch on his suit. A poofy haired, old lady's face with a smile adorned his suit. Underneath the face, there was a name: Mom Corp
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Charles von Schöne walked up to the podium, cleared his throat and began to speak.
As his mouth formed the familiar words, his mind drifted to the secret behind the suit.
The bill had been easy to pass, but the company had been a bit harder to set up. Regarless, over his front pocket was a small, beautifully stitched black lambda, the exact same shade as his suit.
As he finished his speech, the crowd leaped to their feet. Applause filled the room, and he smiled both inside and out.
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[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
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"My fellow Americans, today is a sad day indeed. As we stand in solidarity, in mourning of the lives lost by the tragedy yesterday, we must remember that it is our solemn duty as Americans to promote peace, and democracy, freedom, around the world. I shall say this: those people who committed the acts did so not out of malice, but out of despair, for they were forced to, their families held as hostages, their children and wife and mother and father imprisoned near the execution block."
"It is thus our duty to avenge those who have gone on to rest, but ensuring that this tragedy can never happen again! As such, I am now declare that we eradicate those ordered, who forced those saboteurs to commit the acts, with extreme prejudice!"
The wind picked up as the President spoke, whipping his hair wildly, its black strands rising into the sky, while his great coat opened up enough to show his sponsorship logo- a black skull which had 6 tentacles emerging from the neck part, laid in red and enclosed in a black circle.
"In addition to the United States Armed Forces, I am proud to inform all of you that HYDRA PMC has agreed to contribute all their forces to defend this proud nation in a display of patriotism! HAIL HYDRA!"
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"Head on, apply directly to the forehead. Head on, apply directly to the forehead. Head on, apply directly to the forehead..."
The room was overcome by silence, marinating in it. The leader of the free world continued the rythmic chant. Some in the press corps tried to awkwardly giggle at the absurdity, but it was too much. All they could do was stare with mouths agape, waiting for what would happen next, afraid to look away. They did not have to wait long. The speaker of the house walked in from the back of the room. This was a man who had previously declared in rather acrimonious terms that he would "castrate this president's legacy" and that his long term goal was to live long enough to self fertilize the president's grave. He too took up the mantra. When he reach the podium, the two of them grasped each other at the elbows, kissed lightly, and suddenly slammed their heads together like a pair of bighorn sheep. Once. "Head on, apply directly to the forehead". Twice, the words slurring now. "Heeadonupplidirecltlytotheforehead". The percussion beat of their skulls continued. The words of the the chant became less and less recognizable. Bones cracked and splintered. Brain matter and sinus opening to the the view of the world, or at least the regular viewers of CSPAN. They should not have been medically capable of standing anymore, but still they pounded their ruined faces together. The sounds were like a watermelon dropped on pavement, punctuated by gurgled animal sounds set to the tune of the low water mark of television marketing. The press and assorted staff and secret service agents all remained transfixed, unable to do anything but watch, even as two shattered great men fell to the ground in each other's arms.
The screams didnt start until a pair of fat purple slugs, each about the size of a twinkie, came rooting out of the mess of gray matter, blood, and bone chips.
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[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
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"My fellow Americans, today is a sad day indeed. As we stand in solidarity, in mourning of the lives lost by the tragedy yesterday, we must remember that it is our solemn duty as Americans to promote peace, and democracy, freedom, around the world. I shall say this: those people who committed the acts did so not out of malice, but out of despair, for they were forced to, their families held as hostages, their children and wife and mother and father imprisoned near the execution block."
"It is thus our duty to avenge those who have gone on to rest, but ensuring that this tragedy can never happen again! As such, I am now declare that we eradicate those ordered, who forced those saboteurs to commit the acts, with extreme prejudice!"
The wind picked up as the President spoke, whipping his hair wildly, its black strands rising into the sky, while his great coat opened up enough to show his sponsorship logo- a black skull which had 6 tentacles emerging from the neck part, laid in red and enclosed in a black circle.
"In addition to the United States Armed Forces, I am proud to inform all of you that HYDRA PMC has agreed to contribute all their forces to defend this proud nation in a display of patriotism! HAIL HYDRA!"
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Lighting is a go. Podium in place. Suit as barren as possible. This is going to be great.
Five smiling steps it takes. At that point, I arrive at the podium, and the crowd sees my suit. Black, with white specks covering it. Part of the suit, though, not sponsors. The only sponsor I need has a badge right over my heart. The cameras focus on the badge against my suit, the black backdrop, and earth modeled podium.
Everyone is staring at the moon on my chest, wondering what it could mean.
"Today, I have renounced everything I cared for in exchange for so much more. NASA is putting minds in the moon. Our steady satellite seemed the safest place to store AI, and they did that. Now, a deceptive intelligence has sponsored me. Look up and meet Aris. Your new overlord"
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[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
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Nixon emerged from the Whitehouse.
At first, all that could be seen were a mass of black suits, each sporting a patch that said 'Oval Office' - but he slowly emerged from the mass.
Reporters crammed along the police barriers surged and writhed, all desperately trying to get the best picture, to get the first look, to break the news first:
Who were the people that backed the president, the man some said was the most powerful man in the world??
Nixon strode forward, still many yards off and too far away to make out any sponsors on his suit, and definitely out of earshot. Still, reporters shouted questions, snapped photos, and wrestled for a spot in the front.
The 'Advertisement Securement Statute' was big. Very big.
So big, that it had frontlined the news for the last month almost every night. Citizens loved it, because it made government officials more transparent. Corporations loved it, because it was free advertising. Politicians hated it.
And this moment was the biggest of all: who's hands was controlling the puppet of Nixon? Who was up there? Which industries, which groups, which executives, which bankers?
As Nixon approached the mass of cameras and microphones, a silent still fell over the land.
Nixon had only one patch on his suit. A poofy haired, old lady's face with a smile adorned his suit. Underneath the face, there was a name: Mom Corp
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Lighting is a go. Podium in place. Suit as barren as possible. This is going to be great.
Five smiling steps it takes. At that point, I arrive at the podium, and the crowd sees my suit. Black, with white specks covering it. Part of the suit, though, not sponsors. The only sponsor I need has a badge right over my heart. The cameras focus on the badge against my suit, the black backdrop, and earth modeled podium.
Everyone is staring at the moon on my chest, wondering what it could mean.
"Today, I have renounced everything I cared for in exchange for so much more. NASA is putting minds in the moon. Our steady satellite seemed the safest place to store AI, and they did that. Now, a deceptive intelligence has sponsored me. Look up and meet Aris. Your new overlord"
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[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
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Bruce Gordon was being sworn in as the 61st president of the United States of America.
When the most recent campaign season started, each of the prospective candidates donned their logo-patch covered campaign jackets to start churning out ads championing themselves as saviors of our nation. Among these hopefuls was Bruce Gordon, the handsome lawyer from New York, who made a name for himself when he was younger representing victims in child abuse cases, and later by serving two terms as the state's district attorney. He also had a very impressive investment portfolio, largely through several moderately sized investment firms with which he worked closely. He seemed like the perfect candidate, and the American population took a liking to him immediately.
When his ads came out, he wore only a few patches on his campaign jacket, mostly those firms he already had ties with. However, while he (and the firms which were funding him) had seen a great deal of financial success, it didn't seem to account for how much his campaign seemed to cost. When it became known that much of his campaign ran on favors and the charity of people he had helped or worked with in the past, his public image skyrocketed. Any opponent who attacked him got so much backlash from the populace that they were usually forced to drop out of the race. He was the nation's golden boy, and it seemed like nothing could slow down his meteoric rise to fame and power.
And nothing did. When you know who is funding all of your politicians, you get an idea of what issues they support. And Bruce showed the nation what he had planned for our future. He ran his campaign on his plan to carry the nation into the future, to push for more research, to advocate a safer, cleaner environment, to continue to grow the nation. That, and the adoration of the voters, guaranteed him the election. He'd won by a landslide. It was the most one sided election in history.
And today, the charismatic politician is swearing into office. The entire nation is watching on their news feeds. The event is massive, thousands of people gathering to see their new hero pick up his mantle. Finally, his car approaches the walkway that has been laid out for him. A security guard opens the door, and Bruce steps out. His coal black hair was perfectly swept to the side, streaks of grey just beginning to come in along his temples. He has inquisitive eyes and an trustworthy face, with a strong, square jaw and a large smile full of perfect, sparkling teeth. He moves with an easy confidence that put those around him at ease, and gives off an air of competence and friendliness. He walks down the aisle, waving to the adoring fans around him, his gleaming smile spreading his excitement to the crowd.
As he approaches the stage set up for the event people notice that he is still wearing the same slimming charcoal grey suit he'd campaigned in, but his jacket no longer had the patches of the investment firms that had supported him. The crowd buzzes at this, wondering what message he could be trying to send, or to whom. But this oddity is quickly forgotten in the excitement of the momentous occasion. He walks onto the stage. He stands a few steps behind the podium for a moment, looking around and beaming around at the audience.
Then he steps up to the podium and leans toward the microphone. "Friends, I want to thank you all for giving me the chance to serve this great and beautiful nation." He pauses as the crowd lets out a deafening cheer, raising his hand in an attempt to subdue the crowd's fervor. As the cheering subsides, he adjusts his tie, causing some of the lights glaring down on him to reflect off of a small button on his lapel. It was a tiny red silhouette of a face with a black goatee, black horns, and a black halo above it, set against a small pentacle. A glint came to his eye as he leaned back in to the microphone, "Friends, let me tell you what I'm going to do to make sure this wonderful nation stays on top..."
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Lighting is a go. Podium in place. Suit as barren as possible. This is going to be great.
Five smiling steps it takes. At that point, I arrive at the podium, and the crowd sees my suit. Black, with white specks covering it. Part of the suit, though, not sponsors. The only sponsor I need has a badge right over my heart. The cameras focus on the badge against my suit, the black backdrop, and earth modeled podium.
Everyone is staring at the moon on my chest, wondering what it could mean.
"Today, I have renounced everything I cared for in exchange for so much more. NASA is putting minds in the moon. Our steady satellite seemed the safest place to store AI, and they did that. Now, a deceptive intelligence has sponsored me. Look up and meet Aris. Your new overlord"
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[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
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Ironically, it was the skill and money brought to bear fighting the new uniform requirements that led to the revelation, or at least the public admission, of their existence. Stranger things, and more ironic things have happened, I suppose. I hope you'll forgive me if I cannot think of any.
The Clinton's fought this the hardest, and in retrospect it's pretty obvious as to why. They had no cover. There was nobody who took the labeling movement seriously, not even after it became law. The billions of dollars worth of appeals and challenges, contributions and threats to all manner of judges and officials would see that. And if that didn't work, of course, there were other ways even less savory. The Clintons knew how to play dirty. This was an open secret. So nobody was surprised they were able to delay and delay and delay the enforcement of this law. Mostly in ways conniving but legal. If you're old enough to remember the whole "what 'is' is" flap, then none of this would surprise you...but it did serve to educate a new generation on exactly how slippery they could be.
In the end it was an ill considered ad lib from an inexperienced attorney in some backwater appeals court in Louisiana that set the whole house of cards tumbling. He was losing and he knew it, and on the spot he started arguing that, basically, how could any one particular entity be said to be a sponsor when most entities were controlled by other entities, which were controlled by even other entities, which were owned by stockholders largely represented by mutual fund managers, and the like, and who's directors and officers sat on the boards of many entities, and so on and so on. That although a check may be written from the nominal account of a particularly named entity, that the true interest could not accurately be represented by a single logo. He even went so far as to state that the forcing of a politican to include the logo of his client, a subsidiary of a subsidiary of a subsidiary of ExxonMobil, would be virtually meaningless as to being useful to voters, as the entity was virtually an unknown brand, and existed as a seperate corporate individual only on paper.
It seemed like a good argument at the time.
But by the time the world had woken up the next morning, lawyers everywhere were receiving subpoenas for records on organizational structure, and depositions of board members. And from there it was just a matter of time. Someone talked to someone else in a restaurant and the conversation was recorded from a nearby table. Someone else was played a recording of their corporate partners planning their assassination. People talked.
As it turned out, the conspiracy theorists had been more right than even they knew. It was "common knowledge" in some circles that only 5 corporations actually existed, owning and controlling all the others beneath them in the ultimate pyramid scheme. It turned out, those 5 were also controlled, by one. The one that people have spoken of for years. The one that has existed since time out of mind. You know them, and you know their logo. You should, at least. Like them, it's been hiding in plain sight for years.
The tip of the pyramid. With the eye.
The night the news broke, Hillary had a heart attack. Or at least, that's what was reported. Some say her masters poisoned her, one small last act from the shadows before being cast into the light. It scarcely mattered. Her final term was nearly over, lame ducked, and the VP had little to do in her stead but to give a eulogy and turn over the keys to the next administration.
And still, the law was the law. Some speculated that she had committed suicide in order to escape it's enforcement, but they were wrong. For as she lied in state in the Capitol rotunda, dressed all in white there was one discontinuity in her otherwise pristine and ghostly attire. A small patch, on her left lapel, of that single all seeing eye atop the pyramid.
And of course, all those in attendance bore the same patch. Of course they did. And in the end, did it matter? Was anyone actually surprised?
(Edit: a spelling)
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Lighting is a go. Podium in place. Suit as barren as possible. This is going to be great.
Five smiling steps it takes. At that point, I arrive at the podium, and the crowd sees my suit. Black, with white specks covering it. Part of the suit, though, not sponsors. The only sponsor I need has a badge right over my heart. The cameras focus on the badge against my suit, the black backdrop, and earth modeled podium.
Everyone is staring at the moon on my chest, wondering what it could mean.
"Today, I have renounced everything I cared for in exchange for so much more. NASA is putting minds in the moon. Our steady satellite seemed the safest place to store AI, and they did that. Now, a deceptive intelligence has sponsored me. Look up and meet Aris. Your new overlord"
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[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
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As the president came to the stand, he was not alone.
Of course, the president can never be alone, always protected by security and followed by advisors and behind them the trusted more-than-a-few. This time, however, the president was followed by just one man. The man had on him a green jacket, white undershirt, and brown slacks. All proper attire, sure, but there was one feature the press for this surprise broadcast wanted to know: Sponsor Logo. As is, the man in green does not have a logo, giving birth to talk among the assembled spectators. Lacking a logo, they turn their attention back to the president, wearing a new windbreaker that would normally be proudly displaying the numerous corporate badges of his supporters, turning the symbol or focal point of American interest in the company for these minutes into a strutting advertising page...
But this new windbreaker does not display the multitude of colored signage normally spotted. Instead, it displays but one symbol, unseen before then. Quick Googling by the reporters and many a political adversary turn up no relevant hits. The computer algorithms have failed them this one time and this shakes them, whether they show it or keep their mask. A short description seems in order, now. Orange or gold or some combination thereof, squared off into a corner at what would be the bottom right of a square, then extending halfway up the sides to turn suddenly into points parallel indicating towards the top-left. Nested between the points, in a pocket by the lower-right, a full circle. After the president makes it to the podium and the collection of individuals quiets, the president speaks.
"I wish to inform the country, and by extension hopefully the world, of a drastic new change about to come. Yes, we are already in the midst of a crisis, and the militaries and countries of the world have joined together wholeheartedly to combat this problem, which originated in this great country of ours."
"However... This new change, this... opportunity... has arisen not from this nation or any nation yet known to this world. I would like to introduce the man beside me to continue," As the said man in green taps them on the shoulder. "Wallace?"
The man identified as one "Wallace" steps up to the podium as the president steps down and heads into the back, whence they came.
"Earth is a beautiful planet, full of opportunities as we all know and is currently in the middle of a crisis. Aliens ply our waters, dig our sands, and are currently waging war on mankind. A war we alone are losing. A war we no longer have to be alone in. I speak as former Administrator for the Black Mesa Compound, where this all began due to the negligence of a few. I have come bearing the answer to our combined problems, not just alien - Overpopulation, starvation, lack of fresh water, the housing crisis - all things we would eventually fall to without help."
"And help I herald, from beyond the stars so recently turned hostile - A union of extraterrestrial beings who have achieved far more than we could ever hope for! And what do they ask of us in return for their help? Nothing more than to join them when we have matured further with their teachings, their guidance. Think! Not only to end this war not but to ascend!"
"Think on that if you will. Remember too that these benefactors may choose to stay their hand if we do not choose soon and annihilate ourselves by our own hand."
"The president wears their symbol. The symbol of the Universal Union."
And what has that brought us? Nearly twenty years of suffering under the iron fist of the Combine with Wallace Breen their willing puppet. What of earth? Well, unless something happens soon, I'm going to lose hope. Well, end of the line. See ya.
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As she steps up to the stage, people are proud that she is proudly proclaiming who her sponsor is but even though it cover her from head to toe, no one can make out just exactly what it is. As she is making her acceptance speech, the camera zoom in closer to her uniform to see who her sponsor is that she would be so proud as to wear such a large logo. Even though the camera has zoomed in all the way, no one can quite make out what it is.
After four years of her, the dystopia nation once called the United States of America is in a state of civil war with States fighting to leave the Union to escape the crushing control of the Federal Government, who think that they know what is best for "the good of the people" and control the states with an iron fist.
After the Freedom Fighters capture Washington D.C. and the President of the United States, they also find the uniform that she wore during her acceptance speech. Upon closer inspection with a microscope, they came to realize that what was thought of as one logo was in fact a composite of trademark and patented logos belonging to Corporations, flags of Foreign Nations, Coat of Arms and names of the rich and/or powerful.
During the hearing to determine the truth of her Presidency, her cabinets official plead ignorance and her disposition was pages after pages of, "At this point, what does it matter?" And, "I do not recall," and, "I do not remember."
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[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
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Nixon emerged from the Whitehouse.
At first, all that could be seen were a mass of black suits, each sporting a patch that said 'Oval Office' - but he slowly emerged from the mass.
Reporters crammed along the police barriers surged and writhed, all desperately trying to get the best picture, to get the first look, to break the news first:
Who were the people that backed the president, the man some said was the most powerful man in the world??
Nixon strode forward, still many yards off and too far away to make out any sponsors on his suit, and definitely out of earshot. Still, reporters shouted questions, snapped photos, and wrestled for a spot in the front.
The 'Advertisement Securement Statute' was big. Very big.
So big, that it had frontlined the news for the last month almost every night. Citizens loved it, because it made government officials more transparent. Corporations loved it, because it was free advertising. Politicians hated it.
And this moment was the biggest of all: who's hands was controlling the puppet of Nixon? Who was up there? Which industries, which groups, which executives, which bankers?
As Nixon approached the mass of cameras and microphones, a silent still fell over the land.
Nixon had only one patch on his suit. A poofy haired, old lady's face with a smile adorned his suit. Underneath the face, there was a name: Mom Corp
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As she steps up to the stage, people are proud that she is proudly proclaiming who her sponsor is but even though it cover her from head to toe, no one can make out just exactly what it is. As she is making her acceptance speech, the camera zoom in closer to her uniform to see who her sponsor is that she would be so proud as to wear such a large logo. Even though the camera has zoomed in all the way, no one can quite make out what it is.
After four years of her, the dystopia nation once called the United States of America is in a state of civil war with States fighting to leave the Union to escape the crushing control of the Federal Government, who think that they know what is best for "the good of the people" and control the states with an iron fist.
After the Freedom Fighters capture Washington D.C. and the President of the United States, they also find the uniform that she wore during her acceptance speech. Upon closer inspection with a microscope, they came to realize that what was thought of as one logo was in fact a composite of trademark and patented logos belonging to Corporations, flags of Foreign Nations, Coat of Arms and names of the rich and/or powerful.
During the hearing to determine the truth of her Presidency, her cabinets official plead ignorance and her disposition was pages after pages of, "At this point, what does it matter?" And, "I do not recall," and, "I do not remember."
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[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
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Donald Trump stood up in the podium, annoyed at the last minute change of uniform. His usual Columbian suit now lay abandoned on the floor of his hotel suite, he wasn't planning on going back to the room at all afterwards, especially not with that dead hooker in the bathroom. He didn't bother to listen to the guy that told him about the new suit, not noticing the single large patch repeated several times across the fabric.
"My fellow Americans" he started his speech, hearing his fans screaming with ecstasy and pleasure at the thought of being pure blooded Americans, just like him. On the other side of the stage, Hillary made her way over to her podium, her fans cheering too as she smiled at them. She pulled her collar up a little to hide the lizard-people-scales beneath. Her uniform was similar to trump's, but differed in that it was covered in names that they'd had to computerise it, the names taking turns scrolling across her chest. 'LA FITNESS, LADYBOY ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA, LAS VEGAS TOURISM BOARD' the suit displayed alphabetically as she made her own opening remarks.
Donald Trump whispered into the microphone on his collar, asking the man that usually told him what to say as to why she had all those groups on her chest. Guy Fieri, sitting backstage, took a moment between writing buzz words and cheap similes for trump's next speech to look up. More names were flying across her chest, still on the L-words; LIZARD PEOPLE APPRECIATION GROUP, LIZ TAYLOR SOCIETY FOR LGBT LOOKALIKES... Guy held the microphone up to his lips. "Those are her sponsors" he explained, "the people that have paid her to stand for president".
Trump looked down at his own uniform. The single word sitting there became clear. "Pssst Guy!" He whispered "why am I being sponsored by Hillary!". Guy Fieri sighed, putting down his meatball sub. "We've been over this Don, it's so that she's guaranteed the win".
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As she steps up to the stage, people are proud that she is proudly proclaiming who her sponsor is but even though it cover her from head to toe, no one can make out just exactly what it is. As she is making her acceptance speech, the camera zoom in closer to her uniform to see who her sponsor is that she would be so proud as to wear such a large logo. Even though the camera has zoomed in all the way, no one can quite make out what it is.
After four years of her, the dystopia nation once called the United States of America is in a state of civil war with States fighting to leave the Union to escape the crushing control of the Federal Government, who think that they know what is best for "the good of the people" and control the states with an iron fist.
After the Freedom Fighters capture Washington D.C. and the President of the United States, they also find the uniform that she wore during her acceptance speech. Upon closer inspection with a microscope, they came to realize that what was thought of as one logo was in fact a composite of trademark and patented logos belonging to Corporations, flags of Foreign Nations, Coat of Arms and names of the rich and/or powerful.
During the hearing to determine the truth of her Presidency, her cabinets official plead ignorance and her disposition was pages after pages of, "At this point, what does it matter?" And, "I do not recall," and, "I do not remember."
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[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
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Bruce Gordon was being sworn in as the 61st president of the United States of America.
When the most recent campaign season started, each of the prospective candidates donned their logo-patch covered campaign jackets to start churning out ads championing themselves as saviors of our nation. Among these hopefuls was Bruce Gordon, the handsome lawyer from New York, who made a name for himself when he was younger representing victims in child abuse cases, and later by serving two terms as the state's district attorney. He also had a very impressive investment portfolio, largely through several moderately sized investment firms with which he worked closely. He seemed like the perfect candidate, and the American population took a liking to him immediately.
When his ads came out, he wore only a few patches on his campaign jacket, mostly those firms he already had ties with. However, while he (and the firms which were funding him) had seen a great deal of financial success, it didn't seem to account for how much his campaign seemed to cost. When it became known that much of his campaign ran on favors and the charity of people he had helped or worked with in the past, his public image skyrocketed. Any opponent who attacked him got so much backlash from the populace that they were usually forced to drop out of the race. He was the nation's golden boy, and it seemed like nothing could slow down his meteoric rise to fame and power.
And nothing did. When you know who is funding all of your politicians, you get an idea of what issues they support. And Bruce showed the nation what he had planned for our future. He ran his campaign on his plan to carry the nation into the future, to push for more research, to advocate a safer, cleaner environment, to continue to grow the nation. That, and the adoration of the voters, guaranteed him the election. He'd won by a landslide. It was the most one sided election in history.
And today, the charismatic politician is swearing into office. The entire nation is watching on their news feeds. The event is massive, thousands of people gathering to see their new hero pick up his mantle. Finally, his car approaches the walkway that has been laid out for him. A security guard opens the door, and Bruce steps out. His coal black hair was perfectly swept to the side, streaks of grey just beginning to come in along his temples. He has inquisitive eyes and an trustworthy face, with a strong, square jaw and a large smile full of perfect, sparkling teeth. He moves with an easy confidence that put those around him at ease, and gives off an air of competence and friendliness. He walks down the aisle, waving to the adoring fans around him, his gleaming smile spreading his excitement to the crowd.
As he approaches the stage set up for the event people notice that he is still wearing the same slimming charcoal grey suit he'd campaigned in, but his jacket no longer had the patches of the investment firms that had supported him. The crowd buzzes at this, wondering what message he could be trying to send, or to whom. But this oddity is quickly forgotten in the excitement of the momentous occasion. He walks onto the stage. He stands a few steps behind the podium for a moment, looking around and beaming around at the audience.
Then he steps up to the podium and leans toward the microphone. "Friends, I want to thank you all for giving me the chance to serve this great and beautiful nation." He pauses as the crowd lets out a deafening cheer, raising his hand in an attempt to subdue the crowd's fervor. As the cheering subsides, he adjusts his tie, causing some of the lights glaring down on him to reflect off of a small button on his lapel. It was a tiny red silhouette of a face with a black goatee, black horns, and a black halo above it, set against a small pentacle. A glint came to his eye as he leaned back in to the microphone, "Friends, let me tell you what I'm going to do to make sure this wonderful nation stays on top..."
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As she steps up to the stage, people are proud that she is proudly proclaiming who her sponsor is but even though it cover her from head to toe, no one can make out just exactly what it is. As she is making her acceptance speech, the camera zoom in closer to her uniform to see who her sponsor is that she would be so proud as to wear such a large logo. Even though the camera has zoomed in all the way, no one can quite make out what it is.
After four years of her, the dystopia nation once called the United States of America is in a state of civil war with States fighting to leave the Union to escape the crushing control of the Federal Government, who think that they know what is best for "the good of the people" and control the states with an iron fist.
After the Freedom Fighters capture Washington D.C. and the President of the United States, they also find the uniform that she wore during her acceptance speech. Upon closer inspection with a microscope, they came to realize that what was thought of as one logo was in fact a composite of trademark and patented logos belonging to Corporations, flags of Foreign Nations, Coat of Arms and names of the rich and/or powerful.
During the hearing to determine the truth of her Presidency, her cabinets official plead ignorance and her disposition was pages after pages of, "At this point, what does it matter?" And, "I do not recall," and, "I do not remember."
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[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
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Ironically, it was the skill and money brought to bear fighting the new uniform requirements that led to the revelation, or at least the public admission, of their existence. Stranger things, and more ironic things have happened, I suppose. I hope you'll forgive me if I cannot think of any.
The Clinton's fought this the hardest, and in retrospect it's pretty obvious as to why. They had no cover. There was nobody who took the labeling movement seriously, not even after it became law. The billions of dollars worth of appeals and challenges, contributions and threats to all manner of judges and officials would see that. And if that didn't work, of course, there were other ways even less savory. The Clintons knew how to play dirty. This was an open secret. So nobody was surprised they were able to delay and delay and delay the enforcement of this law. Mostly in ways conniving but legal. If you're old enough to remember the whole "what 'is' is" flap, then none of this would surprise you...but it did serve to educate a new generation on exactly how slippery they could be.
In the end it was an ill considered ad lib from an inexperienced attorney in some backwater appeals court in Louisiana that set the whole house of cards tumbling. He was losing and he knew it, and on the spot he started arguing that, basically, how could any one particular entity be said to be a sponsor when most entities were controlled by other entities, which were controlled by even other entities, which were owned by stockholders largely represented by mutual fund managers, and the like, and who's directors and officers sat on the boards of many entities, and so on and so on. That although a check may be written from the nominal account of a particularly named entity, that the true interest could not accurately be represented by a single logo. He even went so far as to state that the forcing of a politican to include the logo of his client, a subsidiary of a subsidiary of a subsidiary of ExxonMobil, would be virtually meaningless as to being useful to voters, as the entity was virtually an unknown brand, and existed as a seperate corporate individual only on paper.
It seemed like a good argument at the time.
But by the time the world had woken up the next morning, lawyers everywhere were receiving subpoenas for records on organizational structure, and depositions of board members. And from there it was just a matter of time. Someone talked to someone else in a restaurant and the conversation was recorded from a nearby table. Someone else was played a recording of their corporate partners planning their assassination. People talked.
As it turned out, the conspiracy theorists had been more right than even they knew. It was "common knowledge" in some circles that only 5 corporations actually existed, owning and controlling all the others beneath them in the ultimate pyramid scheme. It turned out, those 5 were also controlled, by one. The one that people have spoken of for years. The one that has existed since time out of mind. You know them, and you know their logo. You should, at least. Like them, it's been hiding in plain sight for years.
The tip of the pyramid. With the eye.
The night the news broke, Hillary had a heart attack. Or at least, that's what was reported. Some say her masters poisoned her, one small last act from the shadows before being cast into the light. It scarcely mattered. Her final term was nearly over, lame ducked, and the VP had little to do in her stead but to give a eulogy and turn over the keys to the next administration.
And still, the law was the law. Some speculated that she had committed suicide in order to escape it's enforcement, but they were wrong. For as she lied in state in the Capitol rotunda, dressed all in white there was one discontinuity in her otherwise pristine and ghostly attire. A small patch, on her left lapel, of that single all seeing eye atop the pyramid.
And of course, all those in attendance bore the same patch. Of course they did. And in the end, did it matter? Was anyone actually surprised?
(Edit: a spelling)
|
As she steps up to the stage, people are proud that she is proudly proclaiming who her sponsor is but even though it cover her from head to toe, no one can make out just exactly what it is. As she is making her acceptance speech, the camera zoom in closer to her uniform to see who her sponsor is that she would be so proud as to wear such a large logo. Even though the camera has zoomed in all the way, no one can quite make out what it is.
After four years of her, the dystopia nation once called the United States of America is in a state of civil war with States fighting to leave the Union to escape the crushing control of the Federal Government, who think that they know what is best for "the good of the people" and control the states with an iron fist.
After the Freedom Fighters capture Washington D.C. and the President of the United States, they also find the uniform that she wore during her acceptance speech. Upon closer inspection with a microscope, they came to realize that what was thought of as one logo was in fact a composite of trademark and patented logos belonging to Corporations, flags of Foreign Nations, Coat of Arms and names of the rich and/or powerful.
During the hearing to determine the truth of her Presidency, her cabinets official plead ignorance and her disposition was pages after pages of, "At this point, what does it matter?" And, "I do not recall," and, "I do not remember."
|
|
[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
|
Clinton approached the podium as the debate began, Mao Zedong jacket emblazoned with hundreds of logos: pharmaceutical companies, oil companies, military contractors, the lot. She positioned her hands on either side of the stand, facing the stony silence of the crowd. Her technicolor coat distracted all from the woman who stood wearing it.
Trump was introduced. He rounded the corner and the crowd collectively gasped with shock. He waved and strode proudly to the podium in a black suit jacket, black pants, and plain red tie. All of America was amazed. "He can't be bought!" a man shouted from amongst the still silent mass. Trump turned to point the man out to America and thank him. The camera zoomed in on his back. One small rectangle sat in the field of black that was his wide blazer. White, then Blue, then Red. The flag of Russia. Suddenly it all made sense.
|
As she steps up to the stage, people are proud that she is proudly proclaiming who her sponsor is but even though it cover her from head to toe, no one can make out just exactly what it is. As she is making her acceptance speech, the camera zoom in closer to her uniform to see who her sponsor is that she would be so proud as to wear such a large logo. Even though the camera has zoomed in all the way, no one can quite make out what it is.
After four years of her, the dystopia nation once called the United States of America is in a state of civil war with States fighting to leave the Union to escape the crushing control of the Federal Government, who think that they know what is best for "the good of the people" and control the states with an iron fist.
After the Freedom Fighters capture Washington D.C. and the President of the United States, they also find the uniform that she wore during her acceptance speech. Upon closer inspection with a microscope, they came to realize that what was thought of as one logo was in fact a composite of trademark and patented logos belonging to Corporations, flags of Foreign Nations, Coat of Arms and names of the rich and/or powerful.
During the hearing to determine the truth of her Presidency, her cabinets official plead ignorance and her disposition was pages after pages of, "At this point, what does it matter?" And, "I do not recall," and, "I do not remember."
|
|
[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
|
Nixon emerged from the Whitehouse.
At first, all that could be seen were a mass of black suits, each sporting a patch that said 'Oval Office' - but he slowly emerged from the mass.
Reporters crammed along the police barriers surged and writhed, all desperately trying to get the best picture, to get the first look, to break the news first:
Who were the people that backed the president, the man some said was the most powerful man in the world??
Nixon strode forward, still many yards off and too far away to make out any sponsors on his suit, and definitely out of earshot. Still, reporters shouted questions, snapped photos, and wrestled for a spot in the front.
The 'Advertisement Securement Statute' was big. Very big.
So big, that it had frontlined the news for the last month almost every night. Citizens loved it, because it made government officials more transparent. Corporations loved it, because it was free advertising. Politicians hated it.
And this moment was the biggest of all: who's hands was controlling the puppet of Nixon? Who was up there? Which industries, which groups, which executives, which bankers?
As Nixon approached the mass of cameras and microphones, a silent still fell over the land.
Nixon had only one patch on his suit. A poofy haired, old lady's face with a smile adorned his suit. Underneath the face, there was a name: Mom Corp
|
As the president came to the stand, he was not alone.
Of course, the president can never be alone, always protected by security and followed by advisors and behind them the trusted more-than-a-few. This time, however, the president was followed by just one man. The man had on him a green jacket, white undershirt, and brown slacks. All proper attire, sure, but there was one feature the press for this surprise broadcast wanted to know: Sponsor Logo. As is, the man in green does not have a logo, giving birth to talk among the assembled spectators. Lacking a logo, they turn their attention back to the president, wearing a new windbreaker that would normally be proudly displaying the numerous corporate badges of his supporters, turning the symbol or focal point of American interest in the company for these minutes into a strutting advertising page...
But this new windbreaker does not display the multitude of colored signage normally spotted. Instead, it displays but one symbol, unseen before then. Quick Googling by the reporters and many a political adversary turn up no relevant hits. The computer algorithms have failed them this one time and this shakes them, whether they show it or keep their mask. A short description seems in order, now. Orange or gold or some combination thereof, squared off into a corner at what would be the bottom right of a square, then extending halfway up the sides to turn suddenly into points parallel indicating towards the top-left. Nested between the points, in a pocket by the lower-right, a full circle. After the president makes it to the podium and the collection of individuals quiets, the president speaks.
"I wish to inform the country, and by extension hopefully the world, of a drastic new change about to come. Yes, we are already in the midst of a crisis, and the militaries and countries of the world have joined together wholeheartedly to combat this problem, which originated in this great country of ours."
"However... This new change, this... opportunity... has arisen not from this nation or any nation yet known to this world. I would like to introduce the man beside me to continue," As the said man in green taps them on the shoulder. "Wallace?"
The man identified as one "Wallace" steps up to the podium as the president steps down and heads into the back, whence they came.
"Earth is a beautiful planet, full of opportunities as we all know and is currently in the middle of a crisis. Aliens ply our waters, dig our sands, and are currently waging war on mankind. A war we alone are losing. A war we no longer have to be alone in. I speak as former Administrator for the Black Mesa Compound, where this all began due to the negligence of a few. I have come bearing the answer to our combined problems, not just alien - Overpopulation, starvation, lack of fresh water, the housing crisis - all things we would eventually fall to without help."
"And help I herald, from beyond the stars so recently turned hostile - A union of extraterrestrial beings who have achieved far more than we could ever hope for! And what do they ask of us in return for their help? Nothing more than to join them when we have matured further with their teachings, their guidance. Think! Not only to end this war not but to ascend!"
"Think on that if you will. Remember too that these benefactors may choose to stay their hand if we do not choose soon and annihilate ourselves by our own hand."
"The president wears their symbol. The symbol of the Universal Union."
And what has that brought us? Nearly twenty years of suffering under the iron fist of the Combine with Wallace Breen their willing puppet. What of earth? Well, unless something happens soon, I'm going to lose hope. Well, end of the line. See ya.
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[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
|
Bruce Gordon was being sworn in as the 61st president of the United States of America.
When the most recent campaign season started, each of the prospective candidates donned their logo-patch covered campaign jackets to start churning out ads championing themselves as saviors of our nation. Among these hopefuls was Bruce Gordon, the handsome lawyer from New York, who made a name for himself when he was younger representing victims in child abuse cases, and later by serving two terms as the state's district attorney. He also had a very impressive investment portfolio, largely through several moderately sized investment firms with which he worked closely. He seemed like the perfect candidate, and the American population took a liking to him immediately.
When his ads came out, he wore only a few patches on his campaign jacket, mostly those firms he already had ties with. However, while he (and the firms which were funding him) had seen a great deal of financial success, it didn't seem to account for how much his campaign seemed to cost. When it became known that much of his campaign ran on favors and the charity of people he had helped or worked with in the past, his public image skyrocketed. Any opponent who attacked him got so much backlash from the populace that they were usually forced to drop out of the race. He was the nation's golden boy, and it seemed like nothing could slow down his meteoric rise to fame and power.
And nothing did. When you know who is funding all of your politicians, you get an idea of what issues they support. And Bruce showed the nation what he had planned for our future. He ran his campaign on his plan to carry the nation into the future, to push for more research, to advocate a safer, cleaner environment, to continue to grow the nation. That, and the adoration of the voters, guaranteed him the election. He'd won by a landslide. It was the most one sided election in history.
And today, the charismatic politician is swearing into office. The entire nation is watching on their news feeds. The event is massive, thousands of people gathering to see their new hero pick up his mantle. Finally, his car approaches the walkway that has been laid out for him. A security guard opens the door, and Bruce steps out. His coal black hair was perfectly swept to the side, streaks of grey just beginning to come in along his temples. He has inquisitive eyes and an trustworthy face, with a strong, square jaw and a large smile full of perfect, sparkling teeth. He moves with an easy confidence that put those around him at ease, and gives off an air of competence and friendliness. He walks down the aisle, waving to the adoring fans around him, his gleaming smile spreading his excitement to the crowd.
As he approaches the stage set up for the event people notice that he is still wearing the same slimming charcoal grey suit he'd campaigned in, but his jacket no longer had the patches of the investment firms that had supported him. The crowd buzzes at this, wondering what message he could be trying to send, or to whom. But this oddity is quickly forgotten in the excitement of the momentous occasion. He walks onto the stage. He stands a few steps behind the podium for a moment, looking around and beaming around at the audience.
Then he steps up to the podium and leans toward the microphone. "Friends, I want to thank you all for giving me the chance to serve this great and beautiful nation." He pauses as the crowd lets out a deafening cheer, raising his hand in an attempt to subdue the crowd's fervor. As the cheering subsides, he adjusts his tie, causing some of the lights glaring down on him to reflect off of a small button on his lapel. It was a tiny red silhouette of a face with a black goatee, black horns, and a black halo above it, set against a small pentacle. A glint came to his eye as he leaned back in to the microphone, "Friends, let me tell you what I'm going to do to make sure this wonderful nation stays on top..."
|
As the president came to the stand, he was not alone.
Of course, the president can never be alone, always protected by security and followed by advisors and behind them the trusted more-than-a-few. This time, however, the president was followed by just one man. The man had on him a green jacket, white undershirt, and brown slacks. All proper attire, sure, but there was one feature the press for this surprise broadcast wanted to know: Sponsor Logo. As is, the man in green does not have a logo, giving birth to talk among the assembled spectators. Lacking a logo, they turn their attention back to the president, wearing a new windbreaker that would normally be proudly displaying the numerous corporate badges of his supporters, turning the symbol or focal point of American interest in the company for these minutes into a strutting advertising page...
But this new windbreaker does not display the multitude of colored signage normally spotted. Instead, it displays but one symbol, unseen before then. Quick Googling by the reporters and many a political adversary turn up no relevant hits. The computer algorithms have failed them this one time and this shakes them, whether they show it or keep their mask. A short description seems in order, now. Orange or gold or some combination thereof, squared off into a corner at what would be the bottom right of a square, then extending halfway up the sides to turn suddenly into points parallel indicating towards the top-left. Nested between the points, in a pocket by the lower-right, a full circle. After the president makes it to the podium and the collection of individuals quiets, the president speaks.
"I wish to inform the country, and by extension hopefully the world, of a drastic new change about to come. Yes, we are already in the midst of a crisis, and the militaries and countries of the world have joined together wholeheartedly to combat this problem, which originated in this great country of ours."
"However... This new change, this... opportunity... has arisen not from this nation or any nation yet known to this world. I would like to introduce the man beside me to continue," As the said man in green taps them on the shoulder. "Wallace?"
The man identified as one "Wallace" steps up to the podium as the president steps down and heads into the back, whence they came.
"Earth is a beautiful planet, full of opportunities as we all know and is currently in the middle of a crisis. Aliens ply our waters, dig our sands, and are currently waging war on mankind. A war we alone are losing. A war we no longer have to be alone in. I speak as former Administrator for the Black Mesa Compound, where this all began due to the negligence of a few. I have come bearing the answer to our combined problems, not just alien - Overpopulation, starvation, lack of fresh water, the housing crisis - all things we would eventually fall to without help."
"And help I herald, from beyond the stars so recently turned hostile - A union of extraterrestrial beings who have achieved far more than we could ever hope for! And what do they ask of us in return for their help? Nothing more than to join them when we have matured further with their teachings, their guidance. Think! Not only to end this war not but to ascend!"
"Think on that if you will. Remember too that these benefactors may choose to stay their hand if we do not choose soon and annihilate ourselves by our own hand."
"The president wears their symbol. The symbol of the Universal Union."
And what has that brought us? Nearly twenty years of suffering under the iron fist of the Combine with Wallace Breen their willing puppet. What of earth? Well, unless something happens soon, I'm going to lose hope. Well, end of the line. See ya.
|
|
[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
|
Ironically, it was the skill and money brought to bear fighting the new uniform requirements that led to the revelation, or at least the public admission, of their existence. Stranger things, and more ironic things have happened, I suppose. I hope you'll forgive me if I cannot think of any.
The Clinton's fought this the hardest, and in retrospect it's pretty obvious as to why. They had no cover. There was nobody who took the labeling movement seriously, not even after it became law. The billions of dollars worth of appeals and challenges, contributions and threats to all manner of judges and officials would see that. And if that didn't work, of course, there were other ways even less savory. The Clintons knew how to play dirty. This was an open secret. So nobody was surprised they were able to delay and delay and delay the enforcement of this law. Mostly in ways conniving but legal. If you're old enough to remember the whole "what 'is' is" flap, then none of this would surprise you...but it did serve to educate a new generation on exactly how slippery they could be.
In the end it was an ill considered ad lib from an inexperienced attorney in some backwater appeals court in Louisiana that set the whole house of cards tumbling. He was losing and he knew it, and on the spot he started arguing that, basically, how could any one particular entity be said to be a sponsor when most entities were controlled by other entities, which were controlled by even other entities, which were owned by stockholders largely represented by mutual fund managers, and the like, and who's directors and officers sat on the boards of many entities, and so on and so on. That although a check may be written from the nominal account of a particularly named entity, that the true interest could not accurately be represented by a single logo. He even went so far as to state that the forcing of a politican to include the logo of his client, a subsidiary of a subsidiary of a subsidiary of ExxonMobil, would be virtually meaningless as to being useful to voters, as the entity was virtually an unknown brand, and existed as a seperate corporate individual only on paper.
It seemed like a good argument at the time.
But by the time the world had woken up the next morning, lawyers everywhere were receiving subpoenas for records on organizational structure, and depositions of board members. And from there it was just a matter of time. Someone talked to someone else in a restaurant and the conversation was recorded from a nearby table. Someone else was played a recording of their corporate partners planning their assassination. People talked.
As it turned out, the conspiracy theorists had been more right than even they knew. It was "common knowledge" in some circles that only 5 corporations actually existed, owning and controlling all the others beneath them in the ultimate pyramid scheme. It turned out, those 5 were also controlled, by one. The one that people have spoken of for years. The one that has existed since time out of mind. You know them, and you know their logo. You should, at least. Like them, it's been hiding in plain sight for years.
The tip of the pyramid. With the eye.
The night the news broke, Hillary had a heart attack. Or at least, that's what was reported. Some say her masters poisoned her, one small last act from the shadows before being cast into the light. It scarcely mattered. Her final term was nearly over, lame ducked, and the VP had little to do in her stead but to give a eulogy and turn over the keys to the next administration.
And still, the law was the law. Some speculated that she had committed suicide in order to escape it's enforcement, but they were wrong. For as she lied in state in the Capitol rotunda, dressed all in white there was one discontinuity in her otherwise pristine and ghostly attire. A small patch, on her left lapel, of that single all seeing eye atop the pyramid.
And of course, all those in attendance bore the same patch. Of course they did. And in the end, did it matter? Was anyone actually surprised?
(Edit: a spelling)
|
As the president came to the stand, he was not alone.
Of course, the president can never be alone, always protected by security and followed by advisors and behind them the trusted more-than-a-few. This time, however, the president was followed by just one man. The man had on him a green jacket, white undershirt, and brown slacks. All proper attire, sure, but there was one feature the press for this surprise broadcast wanted to know: Sponsor Logo. As is, the man in green does not have a logo, giving birth to talk among the assembled spectators. Lacking a logo, they turn their attention back to the president, wearing a new windbreaker that would normally be proudly displaying the numerous corporate badges of his supporters, turning the symbol or focal point of American interest in the company for these minutes into a strutting advertising page...
But this new windbreaker does not display the multitude of colored signage normally spotted. Instead, it displays but one symbol, unseen before then. Quick Googling by the reporters and many a political adversary turn up no relevant hits. The computer algorithms have failed them this one time and this shakes them, whether they show it or keep their mask. A short description seems in order, now. Orange or gold or some combination thereof, squared off into a corner at what would be the bottom right of a square, then extending halfway up the sides to turn suddenly into points parallel indicating towards the top-left. Nested between the points, in a pocket by the lower-right, a full circle. After the president makes it to the podium and the collection of individuals quiets, the president speaks.
"I wish to inform the country, and by extension hopefully the world, of a drastic new change about to come. Yes, we are already in the midst of a crisis, and the militaries and countries of the world have joined together wholeheartedly to combat this problem, which originated in this great country of ours."
"However... This new change, this... opportunity... has arisen not from this nation or any nation yet known to this world. I would like to introduce the man beside me to continue," As the said man in green taps them on the shoulder. "Wallace?"
The man identified as one "Wallace" steps up to the podium as the president steps down and heads into the back, whence they came.
"Earth is a beautiful planet, full of opportunities as we all know and is currently in the middle of a crisis. Aliens ply our waters, dig our sands, and are currently waging war on mankind. A war we alone are losing. A war we no longer have to be alone in. I speak as former Administrator for the Black Mesa Compound, where this all began due to the negligence of a few. I have come bearing the answer to our combined problems, not just alien - Overpopulation, starvation, lack of fresh water, the housing crisis - all things we would eventually fall to without help."
"And help I herald, from beyond the stars so recently turned hostile - A union of extraterrestrial beings who have achieved far more than we could ever hope for! And what do they ask of us in return for their help? Nothing more than to join them when we have matured further with their teachings, their guidance. Think! Not only to end this war not but to ascend!"
"Think on that if you will. Remember too that these benefactors may choose to stay their hand if we do not choose soon and annihilate ourselves by our own hand."
"The president wears their symbol. The symbol of the Universal Union."
And what has that brought us? Nearly twenty years of suffering under the iron fist of the Combine with Wallace Breen their willing puppet. What of earth? Well, unless something happens soon, I'm going to lose hope. Well, end of the line. See ya.
|
|
[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
|
Bruce Gordon was being sworn in as the 61st president of the United States of America.
When the most recent campaign season started, each of the prospective candidates donned their logo-patch covered campaign jackets to start churning out ads championing themselves as saviors of our nation. Among these hopefuls was Bruce Gordon, the handsome lawyer from New York, who made a name for himself when he was younger representing victims in child abuse cases, and later by serving two terms as the state's district attorney. He also had a very impressive investment portfolio, largely through several moderately sized investment firms with which he worked closely. He seemed like the perfect candidate, and the American population took a liking to him immediately.
When his ads came out, he wore only a few patches on his campaign jacket, mostly those firms he already had ties with. However, while he (and the firms which were funding him) had seen a great deal of financial success, it didn't seem to account for how much his campaign seemed to cost. When it became known that much of his campaign ran on favors and the charity of people he had helped or worked with in the past, his public image skyrocketed. Any opponent who attacked him got so much backlash from the populace that they were usually forced to drop out of the race. He was the nation's golden boy, and it seemed like nothing could slow down his meteoric rise to fame and power.
And nothing did. When you know who is funding all of your politicians, you get an idea of what issues they support. And Bruce showed the nation what he had planned for our future. He ran his campaign on his plan to carry the nation into the future, to push for more research, to advocate a safer, cleaner environment, to continue to grow the nation. That, and the adoration of the voters, guaranteed him the election. He'd won by a landslide. It was the most one sided election in history.
And today, the charismatic politician is swearing into office. The entire nation is watching on their news feeds. The event is massive, thousands of people gathering to see their new hero pick up his mantle. Finally, his car approaches the walkway that has been laid out for him. A security guard opens the door, and Bruce steps out. His coal black hair was perfectly swept to the side, streaks of grey just beginning to come in along his temples. He has inquisitive eyes and an trustworthy face, with a strong, square jaw and a large smile full of perfect, sparkling teeth. He moves with an easy confidence that put those around him at ease, and gives off an air of competence and friendliness. He walks down the aisle, waving to the adoring fans around him, his gleaming smile spreading his excitement to the crowd.
As he approaches the stage set up for the event people notice that he is still wearing the same slimming charcoal grey suit he'd campaigned in, but his jacket no longer had the patches of the investment firms that had supported him. The crowd buzzes at this, wondering what message he could be trying to send, or to whom. But this oddity is quickly forgotten in the excitement of the momentous occasion. He walks onto the stage. He stands a few steps behind the podium for a moment, looking around and beaming around at the audience.
Then he steps up to the podium and leans toward the microphone. "Friends, I want to thank you all for giving me the chance to serve this great and beautiful nation." He pauses as the crowd lets out a deafening cheer, raising his hand in an attempt to subdue the crowd's fervor. As the cheering subsides, he adjusts his tie, causing some of the lights glaring down on him to reflect off of a small button on his lapel. It was a tiny red silhouette of a face with a black goatee, black horns, and a black halo above it, set against a small pentacle. A glint came to his eye as he leaned back in to the microphone, "Friends, let me tell you what I'm going to do to make sure this wonderful nation stays on top..."
|
Donald Trump stood up in the podium, annoyed at the last minute change of uniform. His usual Columbian suit now lay abandoned on the floor of his hotel suite, he wasn't planning on going back to the room at all afterwards, especially not with that dead hooker in the bathroom. He didn't bother to listen to the guy that told him about the new suit, not noticing the single large patch repeated several times across the fabric.
"My fellow Americans" he started his speech, hearing his fans screaming with ecstasy and pleasure at the thought of being pure blooded Americans, just like him. On the other side of the stage, Hillary made her way over to her podium, her fans cheering too as she smiled at them. She pulled her collar up a little to hide the lizard-people-scales beneath. Her uniform was similar to trump's, but differed in that it was covered in names that they'd had to computerise it, the names taking turns scrolling across her chest. 'LA FITNESS, LADYBOY ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA, LAS VEGAS TOURISM BOARD' the suit displayed alphabetically as she made her own opening remarks.
Donald Trump whispered into the microphone on his collar, asking the man that usually told him what to say as to why she had all those groups on her chest. Guy Fieri, sitting backstage, took a moment between writing buzz words and cheap similes for trump's next speech to look up. More names were flying across her chest, still on the L-words; LIZARD PEOPLE APPRECIATION GROUP, LIZ TAYLOR SOCIETY FOR LGBT LOOKALIKES... Guy held the microphone up to his lips. "Those are her sponsors" he explained, "the people that have paid her to stand for president".
Trump looked down at his own uniform. The single word sitting there became clear. "Pssst Guy!" He whispered "why am I being sponsored by Hillary!". Guy Fieri sighed, putting down his meatball sub. "We've been over this Don, it's so that she's guaranteed the win".
|
|
[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
|
Ironically, it was the skill and money brought to bear fighting the new uniform requirements that led to the revelation, or at least the public admission, of their existence. Stranger things, and more ironic things have happened, I suppose. I hope you'll forgive me if I cannot think of any.
The Clinton's fought this the hardest, and in retrospect it's pretty obvious as to why. They had no cover. There was nobody who took the labeling movement seriously, not even after it became law. The billions of dollars worth of appeals and challenges, contributions and threats to all manner of judges and officials would see that. And if that didn't work, of course, there were other ways even less savory. The Clintons knew how to play dirty. This was an open secret. So nobody was surprised they were able to delay and delay and delay the enforcement of this law. Mostly in ways conniving but legal. If you're old enough to remember the whole "what 'is' is" flap, then none of this would surprise you...but it did serve to educate a new generation on exactly how slippery they could be.
In the end it was an ill considered ad lib from an inexperienced attorney in some backwater appeals court in Louisiana that set the whole house of cards tumbling. He was losing and he knew it, and on the spot he started arguing that, basically, how could any one particular entity be said to be a sponsor when most entities were controlled by other entities, which were controlled by even other entities, which were owned by stockholders largely represented by mutual fund managers, and the like, and who's directors and officers sat on the boards of many entities, and so on and so on. That although a check may be written from the nominal account of a particularly named entity, that the true interest could not accurately be represented by a single logo. He even went so far as to state that the forcing of a politican to include the logo of his client, a subsidiary of a subsidiary of a subsidiary of ExxonMobil, would be virtually meaningless as to being useful to voters, as the entity was virtually an unknown brand, and existed as a seperate corporate individual only on paper.
It seemed like a good argument at the time.
But by the time the world had woken up the next morning, lawyers everywhere were receiving subpoenas for records on organizational structure, and depositions of board members. And from there it was just a matter of time. Someone talked to someone else in a restaurant and the conversation was recorded from a nearby table. Someone else was played a recording of their corporate partners planning their assassination. People talked.
As it turned out, the conspiracy theorists had been more right than even they knew. It was "common knowledge" in some circles that only 5 corporations actually existed, owning and controlling all the others beneath them in the ultimate pyramid scheme. It turned out, those 5 were also controlled, by one. The one that people have spoken of for years. The one that has existed since time out of mind. You know them, and you know their logo. You should, at least. Like them, it's been hiding in plain sight for years.
The tip of the pyramid. With the eye.
The night the news broke, Hillary had a heart attack. Or at least, that's what was reported. Some say her masters poisoned her, one small last act from the shadows before being cast into the light. It scarcely mattered. Her final term was nearly over, lame ducked, and the VP had little to do in her stead but to give a eulogy and turn over the keys to the next administration.
And still, the law was the law. Some speculated that she had committed suicide in order to escape it's enforcement, but they were wrong. For as she lied in state in the Capitol rotunda, dressed all in white there was one discontinuity in her otherwise pristine and ghostly attire. A small patch, on her left lapel, of that single all seeing eye atop the pyramid.
And of course, all those in attendance bore the same patch. Of course they did. And in the end, did it matter? Was anyone actually surprised?
(Edit: a spelling)
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Donald Trump stood up in the podium, annoyed at the last minute change of uniform. His usual Columbian suit now lay abandoned on the floor of his hotel suite, he wasn't planning on going back to the room at all afterwards, especially not with that dead hooker in the bathroom. He didn't bother to listen to the guy that told him about the new suit, not noticing the single large patch repeated several times across the fabric.
"My fellow Americans" he started his speech, hearing his fans screaming with ecstasy and pleasure at the thought of being pure blooded Americans, just like him. On the other side of the stage, Hillary made her way over to her podium, her fans cheering too as she smiled at them. She pulled her collar up a little to hide the lizard-people-scales beneath. Her uniform was similar to trump's, but differed in that it was covered in names that they'd had to computerise it, the names taking turns scrolling across her chest. 'LA FITNESS, LADYBOY ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA, LAS VEGAS TOURISM BOARD' the suit displayed alphabetically as she made her own opening remarks.
Donald Trump whispered into the microphone on his collar, asking the man that usually told him what to say as to why she had all those groups on her chest. Guy Fieri, sitting backstage, took a moment between writing buzz words and cheap similes for trump's next speech to look up. More names were flying across her chest, still on the L-words; LIZARD PEOPLE APPRECIATION GROUP, LIZ TAYLOR SOCIETY FOR LGBT LOOKALIKES... Guy held the microphone up to his lips. "Those are her sponsors" he explained, "the people that have paid her to stand for president".
Trump looked down at his own uniform. The single word sitting there became clear. "Pssst Guy!" He whispered "why am I being sponsored by Hillary!". Guy Fieri sighed, putting down his meatball sub. "We've been over this Don, it's so that she's guaranteed the win".
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[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo.
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Ironically, it was the skill and money brought to bear fighting the new uniform requirements that led to the revelation, or at least the public admission, of their existence. Stranger things, and more ironic things have happened, I suppose. I hope you'll forgive me if I cannot think of any.
The Clinton's fought this the hardest, and in retrospect it's pretty obvious as to why. They had no cover. There was nobody who took the labeling movement seriously, not even after it became law. The billions of dollars worth of appeals and challenges, contributions and threats to all manner of judges and officials would see that. And if that didn't work, of course, there were other ways even less savory. The Clintons knew how to play dirty. This was an open secret. So nobody was surprised they were able to delay and delay and delay the enforcement of this law. Mostly in ways conniving but legal. If you're old enough to remember the whole "what 'is' is" flap, then none of this would surprise you...but it did serve to educate a new generation on exactly how slippery they could be.
In the end it was an ill considered ad lib from an inexperienced attorney in some backwater appeals court in Louisiana that set the whole house of cards tumbling. He was losing and he knew it, and on the spot he started arguing that, basically, how could any one particular entity be said to be a sponsor when most entities were controlled by other entities, which were controlled by even other entities, which were owned by stockholders largely represented by mutual fund managers, and the like, and who's directors and officers sat on the boards of many entities, and so on and so on. That although a check may be written from the nominal account of a particularly named entity, that the true interest could not accurately be represented by a single logo. He even went so far as to state that the forcing of a politican to include the logo of his client, a subsidiary of a subsidiary of a subsidiary of ExxonMobil, would be virtually meaningless as to being useful to voters, as the entity was virtually an unknown brand, and existed as a seperate corporate individual only on paper.
It seemed like a good argument at the time.
But by the time the world had woken up the next morning, lawyers everywhere were receiving subpoenas for records on organizational structure, and depositions of board members. And from there it was just a matter of time. Someone talked to someone else in a restaurant and the conversation was recorded from a nearby table. Someone else was played a recording of their corporate partners planning their assassination. People talked.
As it turned out, the conspiracy theorists had been more right than even they knew. It was "common knowledge" in some circles that only 5 corporations actually existed, owning and controlling all the others beneath them in the ultimate pyramid scheme. It turned out, those 5 were also controlled, by one. The one that people have spoken of for years. The one that has existed since time out of mind. You know them, and you know their logo. You should, at least. Like them, it's been hiding in plain sight for years.
The tip of the pyramid. With the eye.
The night the news broke, Hillary had a heart attack. Or at least, that's what was reported. Some say her masters poisoned her, one small last act from the shadows before being cast into the light. It scarcely mattered. Her final term was nearly over, lame ducked, and the VP had little to do in her stead but to give a eulogy and turn over the keys to the next administration.
And still, the law was the law. Some speculated that she had committed suicide in order to escape it's enforcement, but they were wrong. For as she lied in state in the Capitol rotunda, dressed all in white there was one discontinuity in her otherwise pristine and ghostly attire. A small patch, on her left lapel, of that single all seeing eye atop the pyramid.
And of course, all those in attendance bore the same patch. Of course they did. And in the end, did it matter? Was anyone actually surprised?
(Edit: a spelling)
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Bruce Gordon was being sworn in as the 61st president of the United States of America.
When the most recent campaign season started, each of the prospective candidates donned their logo-patch covered campaign jackets to start churning out ads championing themselves as saviors of our nation. Among these hopefuls was Bruce Gordon, the handsome lawyer from New York, who made a name for himself when he was younger representing victims in child abuse cases, and later by serving two terms as the state's district attorney. He also had a very impressive investment portfolio, largely through several moderately sized investment firms with which he worked closely. He seemed like the perfect candidate, and the American population took a liking to him immediately.
When his ads came out, he wore only a few patches on his campaign jacket, mostly those firms he already had ties with. However, while he (and the firms which were funding him) had seen a great deal of financial success, it didn't seem to account for how much his campaign seemed to cost. When it became known that much of his campaign ran on favors and the charity of people he had helped or worked with in the past, his public image skyrocketed. Any opponent who attacked him got so much backlash from the populace that they were usually forced to drop out of the race. He was the nation's golden boy, and it seemed like nothing could slow down his meteoric rise to fame and power.
And nothing did. When you know who is funding all of your politicians, you get an idea of what issues they support. And Bruce showed the nation what he had planned for our future. He ran his campaign on his plan to carry the nation into the future, to push for more research, to advocate a safer, cleaner environment, to continue to grow the nation. That, and the adoration of the voters, guaranteed him the election. He'd won by a landslide. It was the most one sided election in history.
And today, the charismatic politician is swearing into office. The entire nation is watching on their news feeds. The event is massive, thousands of people gathering to see their new hero pick up his mantle. Finally, his car approaches the walkway that has been laid out for him. A security guard opens the door, and Bruce steps out. His coal black hair was perfectly swept to the side, streaks of grey just beginning to come in along his temples. He has inquisitive eyes and an trustworthy face, with a strong, square jaw and a large smile full of perfect, sparkling teeth. He moves with an easy confidence that put those around him at ease, and gives off an air of competence and friendliness. He walks down the aisle, waving to the adoring fans around him, his gleaming smile spreading his excitement to the crowd.
As he approaches the stage set up for the event people notice that he is still wearing the same slimming charcoal grey suit he'd campaigned in, but his jacket no longer had the patches of the investment firms that had supported him. The crowd buzzes at this, wondering what message he could be trying to send, or to whom. But this oddity is quickly forgotten in the excitement of the momentous occasion. He walks onto the stage. He stands a few steps behind the podium for a moment, looking around and beaming around at the audience.
Then he steps up to the podium and leans toward the microphone. "Friends, I want to thank you all for giving me the chance to serve this great and beautiful nation." He pauses as the crowd lets out a deafening cheer, raising his hand in an attempt to subdue the crowd's fervor. As the cheering subsides, he adjusts his tie, causing some of the lights glaring down on him to reflect off of a small button on his lapel. It was a tiny red silhouette of a face with a black goatee, black horns, and a black halo above it, set against a small pentacle. A glint came to his eye as he leaned back in to the microphone, "Friends, let me tell you what I'm going to do to make sure this wonderful nation stays on top..."
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[WP] you are a government employee who has been chosen as the first time traveler. Your mission is to travel forward in time in 2 year increments, spending a week in each time period. Things change slowly and gradually between each period. However, on your 20th time jump, the world appears empty.
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"Uh oh."
Foyer checked his wristwatch again, a pinnacle of human engineering, device with name longer than he could say in a single breath. Field stabilization, check. Paradox shielding, check. Temporal coordinate, check. This is Point Tango, a temporal checkpoint 40 years into the future where he was supposed to stay for a week and basically catch up to human progress.
But as he emerged out of the nonsense world into the logical world, he was shocked to find that it was empty. As in, no man made nor natural structure save some sand dunes filled his vision. Had humanity destroyed themselves in the short two years he skipped in the White Stream?
He checked his wristwatch, trying to pull spatiotemporal coordinate data from GTPS satellites. Nope, nada, null. His wristwatch cannot find any signal associated with GTPS system. It's as if life on earth had never existed.
"What the actual... no, wait, Ray, pull me log from previous checkpoint, data on Advanced Paradox Tunneling system."
His wristwatch dutifully complied with his request, showing an intricate diagram. At the middle is a metal cylinder, suspended by various acoustic levitation device. The cylinder itself isn't too different from one inside his wristwatch.
"Damn. I hope it wasn't some stupid thing like what I thought." he sprinted through the desert, which upon closer inspection clearly differs from normal sand. It was ash.
He recalled the one seminar he attended in Point Sierra, about how the same technology used in his Paradox shielding could be used to bring humanity to the next level, to beyond the boundary of space and time. But that was a lie.
Paradox Tunnel was not created to ascend humanity into eldritch beings, sitting in throne of gods. It was a weapon, the worst of them all. Foyer don't have to understand the diagram to understand that, the sight before him is enough to slam the cold nature of Paradox Tunnel.
"Everything, is gone."
"But not nothing is left." a vertical slit appeared out of thin air, not unlike when he emerged from the White Stream. A woman stepped outside, clad in tight black camo.
"Come with me."
"To where?"
"To a place where that question became irrelevant."
"To when?"
"To a time whereupon that question became irrelevant."
"The White Stream."
"Yes, with the rest of humanity. The Paradox Tunnel succeed, Foyer. We're all transcended into the place where those question became irrelevant."
"But the earth-"
"Ah, yeah, sorry about that. We kinda left the genocide weapon on earth and detonated them all after transcending."
"Curses. Well, thank God it wasn't as bad as I thought."
"Foyer, you forgot one thing."
"What is it?"
"There are no God. We all are the gods."
"That's not how you talk to your grandfather."
And just like that, they disappeared into the White Stream.
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Most residents would describe Lincoln as a quiet town, but today, it was more than just quiet—it was dead silent. Jim glanced back and forth down Main: there was nothing but storefront and street stretching into the distance. It was a scene of desolation, the type a tumbleweed tended to punctuate, except there was no wind. The air hung stiffly, and the sun lay dead in the sky, shining light devoid of its usual warmth.
Jim twisted the band of his time watch around his index finger. Something was clearly wrong, and it would be more prudent to return to the past, but the curiosity was coming in pangs, forceful enough to blare out his better judgment. He pressed onwards down the block, peering through car and store windows in search for a sign of life. But the only he found were the blades of grass creeping through the pavement cracks.
The lock to the corner store was rusted and nonfunctional, as it had been twenty years ago, and the twenty years before that. Jim shoved through the door, forcing it open in a spray of dried wood. The store felt unfamiliar without the presence of Phil behind the counter, even though everything else was in its place. He could sense the accusing glares of the display racks as he navigated through their shadows, making his way to the back of the store, to the large CRT sitting halfway on the windowsill, held in place by dried paint. He pressed the power button: it didn't turn on. Upon confirming it was plugged into an outlet, he slapped it on the top and tried to turn it on again, but to no avail. For whatever reason, electricity wasn't running in the store. Jim suspected this was true everywhere else.
As Jim passed by the counter, a flicker caught his eye; he'd have mistook it for falling dust if not for the stillness of the air. He climbed atop the tall chair out front and stared into the dimness, at the area immediately above the battered vinyl stool Phil would sweat on for 13 hours a day. The space his body normally occupied was empty but for a flickering outline of a human body. Dotted grey lines traced the contours of Phil's paunch, his bean-bag chin, his unkempt spike garden of a hairdo. The ghost of his hand pressed onto the counter, excreting ghostly sweat that would leave a ghostly handprint if left for long enough. Phil's head jutted out, over the counter, as if he was arguing with someone. Jim slid off the chair, and sure enough, there was another human outline.
Before his eyes, Phil's outline began to change. Strokes of color wiped his body into existence, as if painted by invisible brushes. The initial result was a kindergarten art piece, a mass of solid colors that bled through the lines and into each other. Then, the invisible artist began to refine him. Jim watched, entranced, as the colors grew shades, and the disarrayed splotches molded themselves to fit within the outlines. When the artist stopped for the second time, Phil had changed from stick figure into mannequin: all that remained was the definition of his face and other small details.
"Hold on. I don't remember filling *you* in..."
The voice rang from everywhere and nowhere, snapping Jim out of his trance. He knew he was being addressed. "Don't mind me." Jim backed away, though from nothing in particular, "I was just watching."
There was no response, and Jim didn't know what to take by that, but he had a feeling it was time to leave. With trembling hands, he began to configure his time watch. He jabbed the display, inputting the present year. 2...0...1...
But the "1" never registered. Jim performed the motion again, then noticed that his index finger had disappeared. He stared in horror as his whole right hand began to disappear, once again, in broad swipes, as if an eraser had been taken to his body. Both his arms followed, and Jim began to cry, pleading for the voice to spare him. It did not listen, though, and Jim could do nothing but scream while his mouth still existed, while the invisible hand cleared the rest of his body, until the last stroke wiped his face from existence.
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This is sometimes what I think when I meet strangers. They paid to meet me.
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[WP] In the future, you are world famous. A lot of the of the arbitrary people in your life (grocers, people you bump into) are actually zillionaires from the future paying a huge amount of money to travel back in time just to get a glimpse of you.
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The girl could hardly hold my can of stew against the red beam at the check stand. Tears poured down her face that had a smile wider than Heath Ledgers’ Joker. She couldn’t even look me in the eye.
*boop*
She tried in vain to pick up the second can. There were over 20 more on the belt.
“Are you okay miss?”
Giggling tears as she said “Y-yeah I’m sorry, I m-messed up the training is all. N-n-gnarly.”
She looks up. Our eyes meet.
She descends into full blown hysterics, like I’m up on stage at the biggest concert of the year.
“Uh. You’ll get it, honest. Just keep at it? Heh heh..”
A manager comes over, politely dismisses the girl and takes over.
…
Northbound freeway was jammed up, big rig caught fire. I check google maps, said I’ll be stuck between these the two exits for at least 30 mins. The weather was cool that day, and the windows were down. I’m singing along to the radio.
The guy in an over decorated pickup, newer model but beat to hell, starts singing along. There’s 5 other people crammed in that trunk, all singing in unison.
Their inflections don’t match the singers. They match mine.
Three other vehicles roll down their windows, and we jam like its High School Musical on this freeway.
The man in the pickup gets out, nearly tumbling. With a shaky voice he asks to shake my hand.
…
She left me. She took the kids. I tried to hold on, but I lost my job after a few months. Rent on the slummy shitbox studio was way past due, I had no other options.
Got out of my car 4 miles back, walking along the rural highway. Just one drunk cowboy and it’ll all be over.
The phone rang, from a local number I didn’t recognize.
“Hey, could you come over? I need a friend.” said a female voice. Not hers though.
When I asked who it was, the line went dead. I spent the whole walk back trying to figure out who it was.
…
It was my first time in a recording studio, my new girlfriend introducing me to her boss like he’s family. It had only been a few weeks, but apparently I sent that text at just the right time in her life.
“Hey boy, you ever play the drums?”
“A little. I mean, if you count the steering column then I’m like the guy from Led Zeppelin lawl”
“My buddies need a drummer, let me hook you guys up.”
…
That’s when it hit me.
We were playing the biggest venue to date, a solid jump up from the dive bars we were in a year ago.
The cashier who dropped my cans was in the front row.
*Only this time was she was younger.*
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K my 1st time writing something in prompts plz be gentle. I greatly appreciate input and critic!
Ugh theres that old lady again with her weird clothes and excessive make-up. I can't tell if she's staring at me or if she's cross eyed. And why do I have a boner right now?
"Oh have no worries dear I'm controlling you're manhood with my little remote control right here"
Um. What? Oh I get it. Someone drugged me. Someone in the bushes over there shot me with a dart full of drugs. Yes that explains it.
But there was no dude in the bush. So this old freaky lady was real? With her neckless full of silver spoons and transparent shoes that makes her look like shes floating and her pink hat, so bright, damn that would probly light up 100 anuses. Is that even pink or red? Hell of a color anyway. And her remote? Not only that but did she just read my thoughts?
"Ok lady, I have no idea whats going on but hand over the remote"
The old lady smiled playfully, swinging the remote slowly and gracefully in the air as if she was playing with me, letting me know whos the fool and whos in power.
"I'm afraid I can't do that"
Then the old lady started to maneuver the remote again, this time making my balls feel tingly.
"OLD LADY, WHY are you doing this to me!? I have no desire in being aroused right now, ahh yap thats the spot keep goi... NO!! Stop!"
Running out of the beauty salon comes my girlfriend looking confused and worried about what is going on and I don't blame her, I was once raped by a 6"6 350lbs woman who made me scream the same way this old lady did just now. My girlfriend saved me by kicking that woman in the vagina.
Thats when the situation turned into a nightmare, the old lady pulled a gun out of her purse and shot my girlfriend in the head, killing her in a single blow.
"Mr. Anderson I am from the future and I have come to capture you. There's something special about you and you don't know it yet because it has not happened, but in the future, in approximately 10 years, you will donate you're sperm to a private company called Baby Farm and the babies born from you're sperm will have..."
Too tired to finish. How do u guys write such long stories??? Anyways if it interests anyone feel free to finish!
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This is sometimes what I think when I meet strangers. They paid to meet me.
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[WP] In the future, you are world famous. A lot of the of the arbitrary people in your life (grocers, people you bump into) are actually zillionaires from the future paying a huge amount of money to travel back in time just to get a glimpse of you.
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Part 1:
===
Just a few more weeks he thought. Almost done.
 
Richard got out of his car and headed into the grocery store. Janice and George
waved to him as he walked across the parking lot and he waved back with a smile.
Such good people, just like everyone else in his small town.
 
He stepped up to the deli and Jenny, a 20-something young woman working her way through college, was waiting for him. She was studying Computer Science, which made chatting with Jenny always a fun interaction.
 
"You should check your internal counter. You're 8 minutes late." she said with a smile on her face.
 
"Infinite loops tend to take their own time." Richard replied with a smirk.
 
"You're lucky you're only 8 minutes late then!" Richard let out a laugh. Nice come back.
 
"The usual?"
 
"Of course."
 
His neighbor Ben pushed his cart next to him. Ben was a hard-working farmer who spent most of his days in his fields and his nights at home with his family.
 
"Hey neighbor! Saw your lights on late again last night. You need to pace yourself!"
 
"Hahaha," Richard laughed, "and what were YOU doing up so late?"
 
"I wasn't up late I was waking up for the day! You know, like a normal person." he said with a wink.
 
"If there's one thing I've learned about you Ben is that you are NOT a normal person!"
 
They both laughed as Jenny put Richard's slices of ham, turkey, and provolone on the counter. He grabbed the ziplock bags, told Jenny he'd see her next week and gave a nod to Ben before heading towards the dairy section.
 
A young man saw Richard coming down the aisle and stopped stocking the Rockstar Energy drinks on the shelf. He tried not to stare, looking down at his feet and shuffling them before looking back up.
 
"Good afternoon" he said. "Afternoon" Richard replied.
 
Every employee he saw as he made his way through the store glanced at him and gave him a smile or hello. 'Minnesota Nice' was a very real thing.
 
John greeted him in his usual upbeat tone as he approached the pharmacy.
 
"Hello Mr. Richard! And how are you today?"
 
"Another day in paradise," Richard replied, "at least up until this point where you tell me I'm still in the 'Donut Hole' and you're going to cost me 500 dollars today."
 
"Yeah, you're so close, but not quite out yet. This should be your last month though."
 
Great, Richard grumbled to himself, another month of stretching his Disability check to its limits. That's why he did his shopping before hitting the pharmacy. Eating well was just as important as his medication. Neither could be sacrificed.
 
"There's been a change in one of your medications. Just switching generics, so don't be confused by the different pills. Same thing, different color. Oh, and two dollars cheaper."
 
"That's great!", Richard said sarcastically. "Now this will only be 498 dollars!"
 
They both chuckled as Richard swiped his debit card. If only all his medications were generic.
 
"Have a great weekend!" John said as Richard walked away. "You too!" This WILL be a good weekend Richard thought.
 
Richard got home, unloaded his groceries, and let his dog out. His other neighbor, Carl, was outside working on one of his cars. It was a day like any other.
 
Except this day would be different. THIS day Richard would remember as the real start of it all. THE turning point. The beginning of something no one, past or present could imagine.
 
Richard sat at his desk and switched to his programming environment. On the screen in front of him was the result of over a decade of work. Tens of thousands of lines of code. Countless sleepless nights agonizing over bugs. Solutions, ideas for features, and, most importantly, safeguards.
 
Being the first to create Artificial Intelligence brought with it a moral obligation to ensure that his work wouldn't just be useful, but friendly too. Getting it wrong could mean Terminators, the Matrix, or any other of the countless doomsday scenarios from movies, books, and some of the great minds of the day had suggested. Get it wrong and the human race could be finished.
 
While friendliness was important, Richard was convinced it wouldn't be a problem. "That isn't how intelligence works!" he would say to himself. "It's Artificial Stupidity that we need to be worried about!"
 
Just as he was digging into his code the doorbell rang. It was his neighbor Carl holding his laptop. "I think the wife clicked on something from Facebook and now I've got weird screens popping up everywhere."
 
Not one for doing technical support, he was a programmer not an IT guy, a slight tingle went up Richard's spine. He knew what the next hour or hours could entail. He'd hoped this wouldn't require a system re-install.
 
But Carl had been such a great neighbor. Just an example of more 'Minnesota Nice'. Carl helped Richard with his car, his lawn, his furnace, and numerous other household maladies that Richard just wasn't good at. He was a software guy, not a hardware guy.
 
"Come on in! We'll take a look at it in my basement."
 
"Thanks man. I really appreciate it. I know you don't like to be disturbed."
 
"Nonsense! With my luck my snowblower will need some tweaking this winter." Carl smiled. Luck would play no part Carl thought to himself.
 
After 15 minutes of chatting and poking around Carl's laptop, Richard came to the conclusion he dreaded: time for a system re-install.
 
"This is going to take a bit. I'll bring it over when it's finished."
 
"Sorry to interrupt your day like this," Carl said as he shook his head. "Is there a better virus scanner or something you can put on it? Or do I need to look over the Wife’s shoulder while she's looking at selfies?"
 
"I'll install the best virus scanner I can find. I have to tell you though: no guarantees." Richard would have suggested getting a Mac, but years of experience taught him that suggestion would fall on deaf ears.
 
"Yeah, always someone out there trying to cause trouble. Hey... is that looking at me?"
 
Carl pointed to one of the monitors on Richard's desk. There was an image of a silver face with 2 eyes and a mouth that seemed to follow the interaction between the two of them.
 
"Oh that? No, he's not looking at you." Richard turned and looked at the screen. "At least not yet."
 
"He? What is it like a robot or something?"
 
"Not a robot, just a WebCam and some software. It's a side project I've been working on." Richard had learned it was best not to say he was working on Artificial Intelligence. Strange looks and doubts of sanity were easily avoided by saying that he simply did contract work for different websites.
 
"Huh. Interesting. How long until it's done?"
 
"Oh, it will never be done. Such is the nature of software. But I hope to have him talking before Sunday's big game."
 
"Talking? It's going to look at you and talk to you too? Wow!”
 
"We'll see how 'wow' it is. If everything goes the way it should then it might deserve a 'wow', but for now it's just a dumb motion tracker."
 
"Dumb eh? Looks pretty smart to me!"
 
"Thanks, but there's not a lot to it. The code is actually pretty simple. Trivial really. Now if I can just get it to talk..." Richard's words trailed off as he considered the possibility.
 
"So it is this weekend." Carl mumbled to himself.
 
"What's that?"
 
"Oh, nothing, umm, just, nothing."
 
"No, you said 'it is this weekend.' What is this weekend? Other than the Packers kicking the Viking's butts in their new stadium hehe.” Richard loved being a Packer fan deep in the heart of enemy territory.
 
"Umm... geez. I shouldn't have said that. Forget it."
 
"Uhhh... no. What do you mean 'it is this weekend'?"
 
Carl had grown immensely uncomfortable. They had told him repeatedly what could happen if he interfered. Paradoxes was the first course Time Travelers had to take at the institute if they wanted a ticket to the past.
 
"I've said too much. Just bring my laptop over whenever. And thanks again, I really appreciate it."
 
With that Carl went up the stairs and out the backdoor to get back to work on his car. "That was strange" thought Richard.
 
Three hours later Richard knocked on Carl's door with laptop in hand. Carl answered the door looking disheveled with his phone to his ear.
 
"No, I think it's OK." he said into his phone as Richard handed him the laptop. "We'll just keep a close eye on it over the weekend." Carl mouthed 'Thank you' to Richard and pointed at his phone in slight disgust. "No problem. Anytime." Richard whispered back.
 
Richard returned to his house thinking about getting back into the zone so he could get some programming done. Waiting for him on the back porch was his neighbor Ben.
 
"We need to talk." Ben said sternly.
|
I fumbled to pick up the water bottle as it slipped out of my bag. The grime from the street covered the once-clean vessel. I grimaced in disgust. But I could not litter, I reminded myself. I had to save the planet! I held the bottle in the hand I picked it up with and marched on. Home was 5 klicks away. I would either lose weight or drop dead but I had to make it home in time for Billy Joel's AMA.
The walk through the city streets was mainly boring. I thought of my therapist and became lost in my memories of her. Her smile, her shoes, the words she would often say, the way she looked as she analyzed me, her intense hatred of me....Suddenly, a man bumped into me. The dirty water bottle flew out of my hands and hit him in the face. Or I threw it at him, I don't remember. All I remember is the gross experience of him spitting on me. Then, one by one, everyone around us spitting on me. By the end of it all, I was drenched in people's spit. "WHAT HAVE I DONE TO YOU?" I cried. I caught sight of the original spitter, grabbed the water bottle once again, and ran to catch him. His shirt collar was within my reach when suddenly a flash of lightning struck us. It was gone as quickly as it came and I grabbed the man and we crashed into a building. The man's finger somehow ended up in my nose. "Yuck," I pushed him away and stumbled back on my feet. I farted and made him smell it. I would avenge my disgrace!
I left him there, dulled and dazed by the stench of my lunch. After a few minutes of walking I checked my surroundings to be sure I was headed in the right direction. A poster caught my eye: "Kjlhgvcfv2: Scum of the Earth!"
|
This is sometimes what I think when I meet strangers. They paid to meet me.
|
[WP] In the future, you are world famous. A lot of the of the arbitrary people in your life (grocers, people you bump into) are actually zillionaires from the future paying a huge amount of money to travel back in time just to get a glimpse of you.
|
*Snick*
I glanced up to see a woman leaning on the seat back of the booth in front of me. It wouldn't have been too weird, except she wasn't getting up for anyone. As a matter of fact, the midday lunch rush had been brief if anything, and most of the restaurant was empty. Seeing nothing unusual, I kept eating.
*Snick*
What the hell? I glanced around, for the sound. Was that my phone? It wasn't my phone... Then who-
*Snick*
It was her alright. She was so focused on getting the shot, her eyes widened in horror when the photo developed with me glaring right at her.
"Ummm... Can I help you?" I asked in frustration.
"Oh, um, hi." She stammered, "I didn't want anything. I mean-"
"What are you doing?" I wondered.
"Taking photos?" She seemed to pause.
"Of me?" I guessed correctly. "Eating??"
"No, why would you say-" She began in a fake tone. By that point, I had already plucked the phone from her hand. She began eagerly trying to get it back, only for me to scoot back into my seat. There was a picture of me alright. And then another... And another.... I scrolled the gallery, just to be sure. There had to be at least 50 pictures of me. Of my car. And me in the parking lot. And in line to get food. And eating. *She'd been watching me eat for 15 minutes.*
"What the fuck is this?" I asked her as she continued reaching for the phone, "Stop it. What is this?" I'd never seen a phone like this actually. It seemed pretty new, and expensive, but it wasn't hard to figure out. Actually, this phone was fantastic.
"I just wanted to get pictures." She pouted. Her lip piercing shimmered as she breathed heavily for a moment.
"Of me? Why?" I inferred in anger.
"Um, because." She seemed to blush, "...I don't know." I watched her hesitate and glance out the windows as if trying to regain composure. She was actually kind of cute in a way. "I just wanted to... Um." She began to quiver slightly.
"Okay look;" I began calmly, "You're creeping me out. Here's your phone back." I gave her the phone back, picked up my sandwich, and wrapped it before quickly walking towards the exit.
"Hey!! You erased my photos!" She yelled after me in defeat.
"Quit taking pictures of people you don't know then!" I yelled back on the way out. Driving out of the lot, I caught her snapping a shot of the car as I drove away.
-1 hour later-
"So I'm eating, and she was taking pictures of me the whole time." I explained.
"What the hell was that all about?" Mark asked as he laughed at the coffee machine.
"I dunno' man, it was weird." I shrugged, "Worse, she took a picture of my car as I left. She's probably got my license plate."
"Awww," Amber smiled nearby, "Sounds like you have a stalker. How adorable."
"Hahaha." I mocked absently, "That's weird as hell."
I noticed someone walked into the room while we shot the breeze, and they caught my attention randomly. The man seemed like he there for something as he sat down. I wondered what he wants. Boss probably wants me to fill something else out.
"Hey. Hey there. Are you Jamaican_Dynamite?" He asked quietly. I froze at the name he called me.
"What?" I realized.
"Are you Jamaican_Dynamite?" He whispered again. I glanced to see if Amber and Mark were paying any attention to the situation at hand. They were busy bickering at the coffee machine with their back turned.
"I'm a fan, honestly. Big fan." He continued.
I've never been so scared in a long time. I've never been called out by my reddit handle. I know I never told anyone here about it. The fuck was this guy's deal? I didn't want to make a big deal however, no sense in getting stabbed by some weirdo at work right?
"What do you want man?" I asked calmly. I tried not to jump to conclusions as he slid me a napkin.
"Can you sign this for me?" He said in anticipation.
"What the fuck is going on?" I asked quietly. I returned his stare, and thought about how I could fight this dude if I had to. I calmly wrote my reddit handle, and slid it back to him.
"You okay there?" I said as I balled a fist subconsciously.
"This is so cool!" He reacted, "Dude, thanks!" And before I knew it, he took off out the door. I stood up and followed him to the door, only to see him run completely out of the office and down the hall.
"Um." Amber said as she joined me, "What was that?" I could only guess what.
-That night-
Nothing else happened. I went through the rest of the day, no problem. Got the files done at work, and made sure that that freak wasn't coming back to mow me down with an Uzi. Missed a traffic jam, and hit mostly green lights going home; hell even scored some grass from the homie Big Skillet for the weekend. Everything seemed normal.
Boy, the apartment building was a sight for sore eyes. I'd missed the smell of curry, arguing couples, and the occasional loud music in the halls. I found my room, turned the key... And that's when I heard it again...
*Snick*
"No fucking way..."
I glanced up to see her peeking from the door to the stairs, one door down, her dyed hair hiding her eyes, which stayed glued to me. The phone still in her hands. The same striped hoody she wore at the burger joint over her head.
|
I fumbled to pick up the water bottle as it slipped out of my bag. The grime from the street covered the once-clean vessel. I grimaced in disgust. But I could not litter, I reminded myself. I had to save the planet! I held the bottle in the hand I picked it up with and marched on. Home was 5 klicks away. I would either lose weight or drop dead but I had to make it home in time for Billy Joel's AMA.
The walk through the city streets was mainly boring. I thought of my therapist and became lost in my memories of her. Her smile, her shoes, the words she would often say, the way she looked as she analyzed me, her intense hatred of me....Suddenly, a man bumped into me. The dirty water bottle flew out of my hands and hit him in the face. Or I threw it at him, I don't remember. All I remember is the gross experience of him spitting on me. Then, one by one, everyone around us spitting on me. By the end of it all, I was drenched in people's spit. "WHAT HAVE I DONE TO YOU?" I cried. I caught sight of the original spitter, grabbed the water bottle once again, and ran to catch him. His shirt collar was within my reach when suddenly a flash of lightning struck us. It was gone as quickly as it came and I grabbed the man and we crashed into a building. The man's finger somehow ended up in my nose. "Yuck," I pushed him away and stumbled back on my feet. I farted and made him smell it. I would avenge my disgrace!
I left him there, dulled and dazed by the stench of my lunch. After a few minutes of walking I checked my surroundings to be sure I was headed in the right direction. A poster caught my eye: "Kjlhgvcfv2: Scum of the Earth!"
|
This is sometimes what I think when I meet strangers. They paid to meet me.
|
[WP] In the future, you are world famous. A lot of the of the arbitrary people in your life (grocers, people you bump into) are actually zillionaires from the future paying a huge amount of money to travel back in time just to get a glimpse of you.
|
I hated the stares.
It could happen at the shop, the pharmacy, the gym -you name it. I began noticing it about a month back, but today it was worse than usual.
Now don't get me wrong, I was shopping for breakfast in some dirty old clothes, but nothing that garnered the level of looks that I was getting.
At one point I reached over to grab some cereal and when I glanced up, no less than four people had their eyes trained on me. All of them had that same excited look, the kind that a girl might give you when she's interested. Pupils dilated, eyebrows raised, quick breathing with a slight smirk on the lips.
You know.
So I did what any reasonable person would. I power walked outta there like I was trying to set a record. And once outside, I called my best friend - Sarah - and asked for her help.
----
"Tim, what happened?" Sarah asked when I arrived at the cafe.
I explained the situation and how I had spotted no less than four people looking at me at once. I'd talked to her about this on many occasions.
She listened like a good friend should and then leaned over and gave me a hug.
There were few things that could make me feel better than Sarah's hugs. I think it was the way she wrapped her arms around my neck and cradled her head against my chest. It made me feel powerful like I could do better. And when she pulled away, my anxiety seemed to filter out with her.
Until I noticed the old guy at the other end of the cafe.
He had a newspaper in front of him, but he wasn't fooling me. His eyes were looking straight over the top, directly into mine. And he only had one hand on the paper, who knows where the other one was.
I felt like somebody had dipped me in ice. It made me shudder on the inside, despite the frown I gave him. "Look, he's watching me, just like the others," I told Sarah.
"What a creeper," she said.
"I think I'd like to leave."
Sarah pouted. "Look, just ignore him, Tim. Why don't we take a selfie? Get your mind off of things."
The last thing I wanted to do was spend another second here, let alone take a selfie. But when I saw that look on Sarah's face, my resistance melted, and I couldn't help but give in. "Alright, one selfie and then we go somewhere else for coffee."
She jumped up in excitement and came over to sit on my lap. The picture wasn't all that bad. And afterwards, we decided to go to her apartment.
Apparently she had: 'really good coffee'.
---
"You know, I think it's dangerous that people are watching you," Sarah said, as we walked into her apartment.
"I could be imagining it," I said, "I don't think I am, but I could be. . ."
She pulled two cups out and emptied Hazelnut Mochonna into them. They were soon steaming with hot water. "Every time you've talked about it, it makes me scared for your safety. Like, what if staring isn't enough?"
I scoffed. "Well, I'm pretty hefty, Sarah. I can protect myself. But what on Earth would all these random people want with me anyway?"
"I dunno," Sarah said, "have you noticed anything unusual?"
I hadn't and that was the thing. Well, a few months back a girl had asked me for my autograph. But I think she mistook me for someone else. A Hollywood celebrity or some other loser that makes more money than they should.
"We're outta milk," Sarah said, closing the fridge.
She kept a storage down in the garage.
"I'll get it," I said, making my way down.
"Don't worry about it, Tim."
But it was already too late when I heard her, I was closing the garage door behind me and climbing down the steps. It was a good reason to escape from the conversation -temporarily. She always fretted over me.
The milk fridge was stacked up with *Trim*, which was both mine and Sarah's go to with coffee. I turned to walk back to the garage steps but tripped over a cord. A long orange cord that I hadn't noticed in the garage before. In fact, it made sense that I hadn't seen it, as it was protruding from a rip in her floor mats.
I knelt down to feel the cord, it was awfully thick, and when tracing its destination, it seemed to lead into the wall. "Sarah!" I called.
No response.
I followed the outline of the cord along the mat, to the point where it disappeared into a wall panel. I pushed on it and the panel slid forward a little. Bright light streamed through the crack.
I looked back, but Sarah still hadn't come down. "Sarah, get down here! I've found something."
The wall slid open like a door. It led into a room filled with hundreds of photographs. The room was the size of a small lounge and lit up with this weird blue lighting. Clothing lines extended from either side, and photographs hung from each one. The photo's on the walls were all pictures of Sarah.
And as I looked closer, I realised they were pictures of a second person as well.
They were snapshots of me.
My heart sunk in my chest. "Sarah, what the hell is this?"
The door to the photo room slammed shut. I dropped the carton of milk and ran to it, and just as my hands closed around the handle, the deadbolt on the other end slid into place.
"Sarah?" I asked.
"I can't let them take you from me," Sarah whispered through the crack in the door.
I frowned and held tight on the handle, slamming it toward me with all my strength. But the door didn't budge.
"Don't be stupid. Let me out."
"You're mine, Tim. . ." Sarah said, "mine forever."
|
I fumbled to pick up the water bottle as it slipped out of my bag. The grime from the street covered the once-clean vessel. I grimaced in disgust. But I could not litter, I reminded myself. I had to save the planet! I held the bottle in the hand I picked it up with and marched on. Home was 5 klicks away. I would either lose weight or drop dead but I had to make it home in time for Billy Joel's AMA.
The walk through the city streets was mainly boring. I thought of my therapist and became lost in my memories of her. Her smile, her shoes, the words she would often say, the way she looked as she analyzed me, her intense hatred of me....Suddenly, a man bumped into me. The dirty water bottle flew out of my hands and hit him in the face. Or I threw it at him, I don't remember. All I remember is the gross experience of him spitting on me. Then, one by one, everyone around us spitting on me. By the end of it all, I was drenched in people's spit. "WHAT HAVE I DONE TO YOU?" I cried. I caught sight of the original spitter, grabbed the water bottle once again, and ran to catch him. His shirt collar was within my reach when suddenly a flash of lightning struck us. It was gone as quickly as it came and I grabbed the man and we crashed into a building. The man's finger somehow ended up in my nose. "Yuck," I pushed him away and stumbled back on my feet. I farted and made him smell it. I would avenge my disgrace!
I left him there, dulled and dazed by the stench of my lunch. After a few minutes of walking I checked my surroundings to be sure I was headed in the right direction. A poster caught my eye: "Kjlhgvcfv2: Scum of the Earth!"
|
This is sometimes what I think when I meet strangers. They paid to meet me.
|
[WP] In the future, you are world famous. A lot of the of the arbitrary people in your life (grocers, people you bump into) are actually zillionaires from the future paying a huge amount of money to travel back in time just to get a glimpse of you.
|
I hated the stares.
It could happen at the shop, the pharmacy, the gym -you name it. I began noticing it about a month back, but today it was worse than usual.
Now don't get me wrong, I was shopping for breakfast in some dirty old clothes, but nothing that garnered the level of looks that I was getting.
At one point I reached over to grab some cereal and when I glanced up, no less than four people had their eyes trained on me. All of them had that same excited look, the kind that a girl might give you when she's interested. Pupils dilated, eyebrows raised, quick breathing with a slight smirk on the lips.
You know.
So I did what any reasonable person would. I power walked outta there like I was trying to set a record. And once outside, I called my best friend - Sarah - and asked for her help.
----
"Tim, what happened?" Sarah asked when I arrived at the cafe.
I explained the situation and how I had spotted no less than four people looking at me at once. I'd talked to her about this on many occasions.
She listened like a good friend should and then leaned over and gave me a hug.
There were few things that could make me feel better than Sarah's hugs. I think it was the way she wrapped her arms around my neck and cradled her head against my chest. It made me feel powerful like I could do better. And when she pulled away, my anxiety seemed to filter out with her.
Until I noticed the old guy at the other end of the cafe.
He had a newspaper in front of him, but he wasn't fooling me. His eyes were looking straight over the top, directly into mine. And he only had one hand on the paper, who knows where the other one was.
I felt like somebody had dipped me in ice. It made me shudder on the inside, despite the frown I gave him. "Look, he's watching me, just like the others," I told Sarah.
"What a creeper," she said.
"I think I'd like to leave."
Sarah pouted. "Look, just ignore him, Tim. Why don't we take a selfie? Get your mind off of things."
The last thing I wanted to do was spend another second here, let alone take a selfie. But when I saw that look on Sarah's face, my resistance melted, and I couldn't help but give in. "Alright, one selfie and then we go somewhere else for coffee."
She jumped up in excitement and came over to sit on my lap. The picture wasn't all that bad. And afterwards, we decided to go to her apartment.
Apparently she had: 'really good coffee'.
---
"You know, I think it's dangerous that people are watching you," Sarah said, as we walked into her apartment.
"I could be imagining it," I said, "I don't think I am, but I could be. . ."
She pulled two cups out and emptied Hazelnut Mochonna into them. They were soon steaming with hot water. "Every time you've talked about it, it makes me scared for your safety. Like, what if staring isn't enough?"
I scoffed. "Well, I'm pretty hefty, Sarah. I can protect myself. But what on Earth would all these random people want with me anyway?"
"I dunno," Sarah said, "have you noticed anything unusual?"
I hadn't and that was the thing. Well, a few months back a girl had asked me for my autograph. But I think she mistook me for someone else. A Hollywood celebrity or some other loser that makes more money than they should.
"We're outta milk," Sarah said, closing the fridge.
She kept a storage down in the garage.
"I'll get it," I said, making my way down.
"Don't worry about it, Tim."
But it was already too late when I heard her, I was closing the garage door behind me and climbing down the steps. It was a good reason to escape from the conversation -temporarily. She always fretted over me.
The milk fridge was stacked up with *Trim*, which was both mine and Sarah's go to with coffee. I turned to walk back to the garage steps but tripped over a cord. A long orange cord that I hadn't noticed in the garage before. In fact, it made sense that I hadn't seen it, as it was protruding from a rip in her floor mats.
I knelt down to feel the cord, it was awfully thick, and when tracing its destination, it seemed to lead into the wall. "Sarah!" I called.
No response.
I followed the outline of the cord along the mat, to the point where it disappeared into a wall panel. I pushed on it and the panel slid forward a little. Bright light streamed through the crack.
I looked back, but Sarah still hadn't come down. "Sarah, get down here! I've found something."
The wall slid open like a door. It led into a room filled with hundreds of photographs. The room was the size of a small lounge and lit up with this weird blue lighting. Clothing lines extended from either side, and photographs hung from each one. The photo's on the walls were all pictures of Sarah.
And as I looked closer, I realised they were pictures of a second person as well.
They were snapshots of me.
My heart sunk in my chest. "Sarah, what the hell is this?"
The door to the photo room slammed shut. I dropped the carton of milk and ran to it, and just as my hands closed around the handle, the deadbolt on the other end slid into place.
"Sarah?" I asked.
"I can't let them take you from me," Sarah whispered through the crack in the door.
I frowned and held tight on the handle, slamming it toward me with all my strength. But the door didn't budge.
"Don't be stupid. Let me out."
"You're mine, Tim. . ." Sarah said, "mine forever."
|
*Snick*
I glanced up to see a woman leaning on the seat back of the booth in front of me. It wouldn't have been too weird, except she wasn't getting up for anyone. As a matter of fact, the midday lunch rush had been brief if anything, and most of the restaurant was empty. Seeing nothing unusual, I kept eating.
*Snick*
What the hell? I glanced around, for the sound. Was that my phone? It wasn't my phone... Then who-
*Snick*
It was her alright. She was so focused on getting the shot, her eyes widened in horror when the photo developed with me glaring right at her.
"Ummm... Can I help you?" I asked in frustration.
"Oh, um, hi." She stammered, "I didn't want anything. I mean-"
"What are you doing?" I wondered.
"Taking photos?" She seemed to pause.
"Of me?" I guessed correctly. "Eating??"
"No, why would you say-" She began in a fake tone. By that point, I had already plucked the phone from her hand. She began eagerly trying to get it back, only for me to scoot back into my seat. There was a picture of me alright. And then another... And another.... I scrolled the gallery, just to be sure. There had to be at least 50 pictures of me. Of my car. And me in the parking lot. And in line to get food. And eating. *She'd been watching me eat for 15 minutes.*
"What the fuck is this?" I asked her as she continued reaching for the phone, "Stop it. What is this?" I'd never seen a phone like this actually. It seemed pretty new, and expensive, but it wasn't hard to figure out. Actually, this phone was fantastic.
"I just wanted to get pictures." She pouted. Her lip piercing shimmered as she breathed heavily for a moment.
"Of me? Why?" I inferred in anger.
"Um, because." She seemed to blush, "...I don't know." I watched her hesitate and glance out the windows as if trying to regain composure. She was actually kind of cute in a way. "I just wanted to... Um." She began to quiver slightly.
"Okay look;" I began calmly, "You're creeping me out. Here's your phone back." I gave her the phone back, picked up my sandwich, and wrapped it before quickly walking towards the exit.
"Hey!! You erased my photos!" She yelled after me in defeat.
"Quit taking pictures of people you don't know then!" I yelled back on the way out. Driving out of the lot, I caught her snapping a shot of the car as I drove away.
-1 hour later-
"So I'm eating, and she was taking pictures of me the whole time." I explained.
"What the hell was that all about?" Mark asked as he laughed at the coffee machine.
"I dunno' man, it was weird." I shrugged, "Worse, she took a picture of my car as I left. She's probably got my license plate."
"Awww," Amber smiled nearby, "Sounds like you have a stalker. How adorable."
"Hahaha." I mocked absently, "That's weird as hell."
I noticed someone walked into the room while we shot the breeze, and they caught my attention randomly. The man seemed like he there for something as he sat down. I wondered what he wants. Boss probably wants me to fill something else out.
"Hey. Hey there. Are you Jamaican_Dynamite?" He asked quietly. I froze at the name he called me.
"What?" I realized.
"Are you Jamaican_Dynamite?" He whispered again. I glanced to see if Amber and Mark were paying any attention to the situation at hand. They were busy bickering at the coffee machine with their back turned.
"I'm a fan, honestly. Big fan." He continued.
I've never been so scared in a long time. I've never been called out by my reddit handle. I know I never told anyone here about it. The fuck was this guy's deal? I didn't want to make a big deal however, no sense in getting stabbed by some weirdo at work right?
"What do you want man?" I asked calmly. I tried not to jump to conclusions as he slid me a napkin.
"Can you sign this for me?" He said in anticipation.
"What the fuck is going on?" I asked quietly. I returned his stare, and thought about how I could fight this dude if I had to. I calmly wrote my reddit handle, and slid it back to him.
"You okay there?" I said as I balled a fist subconsciously.
"This is so cool!" He reacted, "Dude, thanks!" And before I knew it, he took off out the door. I stood up and followed him to the door, only to see him run completely out of the office and down the hall.
"Um." Amber said as she joined me, "What was that?" I could only guess what.
-That night-
Nothing else happened. I went through the rest of the day, no problem. Got the files done at work, and made sure that that freak wasn't coming back to mow me down with an Uzi. Missed a traffic jam, and hit mostly green lights going home; hell even scored some grass from the homie Big Skillet for the weekend. Everything seemed normal.
Boy, the apartment building was a sight for sore eyes. I'd missed the smell of curry, arguing couples, and the occasional loud music in the halls. I found my room, turned the key... And that's when I heard it again...
*Snick*
"No fucking way..."
I glanced up to see her peeking from the door to the stairs, one door down, her dyed hair hiding her eyes, which stayed glued to me. The phone still in her hands. The same striped hoody she wore at the burger joint over her head.
|
This is sometimes what I think when I meet strangers. They paid to meet me.
|
[WP] In the future, you are world famous. A lot of the of the arbitrary people in your life (grocers, people you bump into) are actually zillionaires from the future paying a huge amount of money to travel back in time just to get a glimpse of you.
|
"Honey, no one is following you," my boyfriend, Nate, reassured me again.
I craned my neck around anyway, certain that I had heard my name whispered furtively behind my back for what seemed like thousandth time that day.
"Maybe you should go see someone, dear. Paranoia can be a sign of a serious mental illness."
"I *am not* crazy. Something's up. For the past month, things have been strange. People following me, whispering my name, cashiers, bus drivers, janitors greeting me with a creepy degree of eagerness...something is *wrong* and it's driving me insane." I began ringing my groceries out at the checkout counter, the cashier wonderfully proving my point by keeping up an overly cheery string of small talk, despite having said a total of three words to the past five customers.
"Do you see what I mean?" I asked as we left the store. "That woman's behavior isn't normal."
"Auri, are you actually *complaining* about people being nice to you? Jeez, I would pay anything to get everyone to treat me like that. Can't you just accept that you inspire people to be genial towards you and move on?"
I dropped the subject, turning instead to our plans for the evening. Dinner at six, then a jog through the park at eight, watch the sunset on top of Horsefarm Hill, and then back to our humble one-bedroom house, with a shack in back repurposed for my experiments. The same shack I'd toil in until long past midnight tonight, just like every other night.
"Dear, I am *so close* to discovering the mechanism. *SO CLOSE.* Just a few more nights and I might work out all the right equations…" I started rattling on about my research while he tuned me out. I was used to it by now. How could I expect him to understand the deep complexities of time travel? I was working towards a PhD in physics, and he was the owner of an (extremely successful) bar.
"That's nice, hon," Nate yawned distractedly. I caught myself mid-sentence, realizing that I was boring him to tears with my discussion of space-time continuum and flux capacitors.
"Sorry, Nate. I just get so excited about my research, you know?"
"I know Auri. I'm glad you love it so much. I'm just afraid it's taking up too much of your time."
---
Neither of us brought up my project for the rest of the night, staying instead on lighter topics. So it was that I went out to my shed at nine o'clock, utterly distracted and unable to focus at the task at hand. I sat on my hands at my desk, staring blankly at my pages and pages of equations. Numbers and letters swam in front of my eyes as my head dipped down onto the table. It wouldn't be a terrible thing if I didn't work on the project tonight…maybe Nate was right, and I needed a break…
Just before my eyes fluttered closed, I noted something strange on one of the first sheets of equations. The basic foundation required for time travel to even work. One of the formulas was wrong. Off, somehow. I snapped my eyes back open and examined the offending line of numbers. There, a needle hidden in row after row of complex equations, was an almost unnoticeable mistake. Unnoticeable, but crucial.
Moving hastily, I reworked the equation and the ones that derived from it. Suddenly, the theory flowed together as brilliantly as if it had been handed down from God. I threw down my pencil and ran into the house.
"Nate! Nate! I've done it! I figured it out! Time travel is possible! I can't wait to show this to my doctoral committee! I'll be published, and work with engineers to make a prototype, and maybe I'll even be famous!"
"I know you will be, darling. I'm so happy for you." Nate smiled from the kitchen table.
"Wait…what is that supposed to mean? And why are you still awake? Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, everything's wonderful! This very day will go down in history as the day time travel was discovered–and that a woman discovered it! I can't believe I got to be here to witness it…"
I furrowed my eyebrows, puzzled. "What do you mean? You act like you knew this was going to happen…I mean I love that you had faith in me, but…"
"Umm…I'm not sure exactly how to explain this to you, but…I *did* know this would happen. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but I just couldn't. It would have ruined the space time continuum."
"NATE, TELL ME *RIGHT NOW* WHAT IS GOING ON!" Fear crept through my veins, and I had to lean agains the door frame for support.
"Honey, I love you." I glowered at him, saying nothing. "I do, really. But there's something I've been keeping from you."
"OUT. WITH. IT."
"Auri, I'm from the future. Actually, a lot of people you've been interacting with are. There was an auction for one hundred people to travel back in time and meet the mother of time travel itself. The higher the bid, the more closely associated with you one would get to be. I bid the highest, so…"
"So you interfered with the fabric of space and time to make yourself my boyfriend?!" I was livid, the entire thing was beyond anything I could have imagined.
"No, no. Well, the messing with space time, yeah, but I didn't win the opportunity to be your boyfriend. I won the opportunity to be your housemate. That's all. You chose to love me all on your own."
"God DAMNIT Nate, what am I even supposed to say to that? That it's sweet? That you idolized me so much as to travel back in time to meet me? I suppose that now that the discovery has been made, you and the others will go away." I started crying in spite of myself.
"Most of them, yes. But I spoke with the people who awarded the trip, and they granted me leave to stay."
"To stay? For how long?"
"For the rest of our lives, if you'll have me." He looked down sheepishly at the table. "But if not, I'll just tell them to take me back tomorrow." I could see tears welling in his eyes as well.
"Back…to when? When are you from, exactly?"
"Five hundred years in the future. This was an auction to celebrate the 500th anniversary of the discovery of time travel."
"Five hundred years…" I sat down on the floor. "Why would you want to be trapped here, if you could be back in the future, with your family and friends, and all your cool new technology?"
Nate started crying more heavily. "My–my family is all dead. Died in a hovercraft accident a few years ago. My best friend…he went off to war and never returned. My parents had been wealthy, and I inherited their entire estate when they passed. I spent it all on this. To fulfill my one remaining hope in life–to meet you."
I stood up, walked over to him, and pulled him into an embrace.
"Come here, you," I whispered. "Let's build a better future than the one you came from. Together."
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The glass isn’t as strong as they think it is. There’s a crowbar I have hidden under a bush in the enclosure. Could smash through and grab each one of them by the throat, their eyes bulging in disbelief. Equal parts incredulity and amazement. Gawking and gasping at the utility of the man standing in front of them. A voice would glare over the loudspeaker, “Attention, please do not panic, security will be in shortly to sedate him.” And like the animal they think I am I would strangle the last breath out of the poor bystander in my path. A quick glance towards the barrel of the rifle as everything turns to black.
But I don’t. I wake up in the morning at 8:00 AM, shower, shave, go to work. On a good day it takes 23 minutes door to door. That is unless I hit the red light on Maple street, which cascades into hitting red lights the rest of the way, next thing you know it’s been 34 minutes. I sit at my desk and update spreadsheet after spreadsheet with quarterly updates. Sure I could automate it but then I’d be putting myself out of a job. The drive home is almost always slower, on average 39 minutes. But I usually just put on an audiobook. So it’s not too bad I guess.
And every step of the way they are just out of reach. They might as well have binoculars and a Mickey Mouse hat. It’s just so apparent. The guy standing behind me at the grocery store yesterday ran his goddamn fingers through my hair before running off into the distance giggling like an idiot. Or the flight attendant on a business trip to Omaha who took my used cup of water and crumpled it up into her pocket. Don’t even get me started on the guy who ran on the field at a baseball game, not to run the bases or anything, but ran right back into the stands on the other side of the field and gave me a big bear hug.
And sure you might be thinking, “well yea weird shit happens to everyone!” I mean, maybe something that absurd happens very infrequently. Maybe a few times a year. Once a month if you’re lucky. It happens to me every fucking day. And those are just the people with enough chutzpah to actually make contact. The rest just wait back, staring intently at my every move. Sometimes I’ll occasionally drop pennies on the ground and keep walking for a little while, only to turn around and see a group of at least five people fighting, literally fighting over it.
I have no idea how many people I meet who are authentic in any way. How many of my day to day interactions are with people who truly don’t give a shit about me. Would be just as happy if they never saw my face. But more importantly I wonder why the fuck so many people care so much about me. At first I assumed it was the FBI, but this has veered much further towards escalating fandom than professional investigation. I haven’t done anything notable up until this point in my life. I mean unless you count that mean Pokemon card collection I had when I was twelve. But I’d imagine that had very little bearing on my current predicament.
The only thing that seems to make sense, and now bear with me on this one, is that these are like time travel tourists. That I do something fucking amazing later on, and people want to come experience my life. I mean it kind of makes sense right? Who would turn down the chance to see Shakespeare just wandering around? This also explains why my current life is still so shitty. They wouldn’t dare mess with whatever timeline led me to whatever amazing thing I do. The presumption that if the timeline is fucked up by a “time tourist” I may travel down an entirely new stream and end up just some guy.
And if all of a sudden I break down the wall and confront these people for who they truly are, the charade completely defied, what does that actually mean? That the timeline is probably compromised so they’ll all disappear, that knowledge of my future prevents it from happening. Though I suppose even my non-confrontational skepticism may have already influenced my entire line of thought process. Whatever, fuck it. Time travel logic doesn’t make sense. What really do I have to lose? The next time some weirdo runs his hand through my hair I’m taking the crowbar and breaking down whatever artificial wall they think they’ve put up.
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[WP] The door will close. It's the only way in... and the only way out.
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Julius claps me on the shoulder as we walk towards the door. We've made this walk hundreds of times before and we do it in silence, not needing to say anything.
My armor rattles as I move. It's a heavy piece of equipment, but I barely feel it. No matter how many times I make this walk, I feel a rush as powerful as the first. My whole body fizzles with anticipation. With every step I take towards the door my sense of restlessness and energy increases, until I feel ready to burst.
We finally reach the door. The only way in and, later, the only way out. Julius utters some final words of encouragement and then I march on to the final part of my journey by myself.
The crowds roar as I step outside into the middle of the arena. Another man is already there, dressed in armor similar to mine and wielding a sword and shield similar to mine. In stature, he is about a foot taller and several stone heavier than me.
I pause, soaking in the atmosphere, feeding off the tension and excitement. My opponent does not scare me, for I have defeated many a gladiator much larger than him. I raise my sword high, drawing a round of cheers from the spectators.
Tonight, every person in Rome will know my name.
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We finally did it. The first fleet of hyperspace crafts hanged through various orbits, waiting for the passengers to board it. But the reason for it wasn't exactly peaceful.
To put it simply, humanity was fucked.
To give you more lengthy information, a weapon had wiped out 70% of humanity, consuming majority of atmospheric oxygen content and forcing us to leave. Thus within the span of 3 short years, what's left of us built these rudimentary spacecrafts.
Shuttles began launching from various point on earth, met the hyperspace craft, and then fell down back to earth. As the hyperspace shell encased the craft, I took one last look to earth.
There's nothing we could do. No more anyway, that weapon is just too powerful. The second that weapon detonated, we had given up on staying in the earth.
There's no way back. The road only extends forward, from now on.
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[WP] In a world where medicine is forbidden as "interfering with fate", a serial HEALER is on the loose.
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"Ouch!" I hissed, as my finger dripped fresh blood onto my homework. I suckled on it, the spit acting as a natural painkiller. I went over to the kitchen to grab my hidden supply of bandages to wrap around the cut.
I looked around in nervous anticipation, waiting for *them* to show up to "monitor" me. They didn't come, and I sighed in relief. I opened my cabinet quickly, and fished out a small box of band-aids. There was only one left, and I used it. Last thing I needed was having a long, stern talking-to behind bars. Heading back over to the living room with an empty box in hand, the T.V. droned off in the background.
"...and now with the nine-o-clock news. Just this morning, a reported individual wearing nothing but white and a stethoscope was seen about the Southern District..." I took out my pocket lighter, and threw some kindling into my firepit, along with the box.
"...the man is armed and dangerous, he is equipped with sterile needles, and a PhD. Contact Health Insurance immediately if you are to come in contact with him. I repeat..." I flicked the lighter a few times, before the flames sputtered to life. The kindling takes a moment to catch flame, but eventually the fire spread enough to erase the evidence.
Distant, but audible sirens are heard as I stand up, and stiffen. Did they find me? It was too early! I shot to the curtains, waiting for the Health Insurance nuts to break down my door. They didn't come. I wasn't going to take chances though. Wincing slightly, I ripped off the adhesive band-aid and threw it into the fire. I hissed, as peeling off the bandage re-opened the wound once more. I could handle it. It wasn't *that* bad.
"...Health Insurance is currently in pursuit of the criminal. He is suspected to be around Helms Way, where H.I. have lost sight of him. Lock your doors, and let no suspicious individuals into your homes. Stay safe." Wait. Helms Way was... *my* neighborhood.
Banging came from my door. Not the front, which was a *good* thing". Because it meant that it wasn't those H.I. nuts. But that also meant that the one causing the commotion was either a *very* dedicated Jehova's Witness, who would sell off his "Jesus is almighty" spiel in the dead of night, or it was that doctor. I made way for the stairs, pretending as though nobody was there. The banging increased, but then stopped for an usual moment. I listened closely from the railing-
"1...2...3!" at the end of the count followed a heavy bang on my back door, as the poor thing was ripped from its hinges. I didn't breathe. I didn't move. I didn't even *blink*. I stood there in horror hoping that the man would leave if he assumed nobody was home.
Footsteps. They were getting closer. And closer. And closer. And clo-
"Did I hear... Someone say Ouch!?" The man laughed, peering at me through the stair railings. I *screamed*. I backed away up the stairs, and as a result, tripped into an awkward, screeching mess. I was fairly sure that my legs were bruised now, but that was the least of my problems. Following my fall, the white clothed horror pounced me, brandishing illegal items: bandages, ointments, and by the gods that be- *painkillers.*
Sniffing about the air with his hands holding down mine, he stared with at my finger with a ferocious glint, seeming ready to devour me whole. With one swift motion, he rips open three band-aids, deftly wrapping each one around the cut at inhuman speeds. I sobbed, reigning myself to him, for he had soiled me. I wouldn't be able to go back after this.
But it wasn't over yet. On accident, he brushed by my bruised leg, and I let out a small yelp. He rolled up my pant legs, baring the skin for all to see. I tried to shake him off, but his grip was *inhuman*! It's almost like he was OD'd on vitamins, which I wouldn't doubt. Unscrewing the lid for some ointment, he smears two fingers in the jar, and coats it over where I'd been impacted the most when I fell.
He released me, packed up his things, and took out a piece of paper. He scribbled something onto it and left it on the ground, as he darted for my front door. I didn't stop him. I sat there in a sobbing mess at how *violated* I'd been. Sirens were heard in the background as a cascade of footsteps were approaching my house. I didn't care anymore.
"Second Secretary, secure the premises! Search this house up and down with your squad. Move, move, *move!*" He picked up the piece of paper, and crumpled it into a ball, throwing it angrily at the wall. "Damn it. *Another* prescription! That loony strikes again. This is the 5th one this month!" He looked down at me, face expression of mixed pity and regret.
"Don't worry. You'll be ok." He pulled out his sidearm, chambering it. "You'll be ok."
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"And lastly, Pachinsky and Markov. You're on the Panacea copycat. Dismissed."
"Hell yeah dude, that's a high profile case. Up top!" I said, throwing my hand up for Mark to high five. He considered the offer for a second or so before reluctantly complying.
"I have to admit, the case does look interesting." He said, a smile forming on his face as we walked back to our desks."
"I know right!" I said, making no effort to disguise my excitement. "I remember reading all about the Panacea Healer in the papers growing up, it was the *mystery of the century*!" I motioned a headline with my hands for the last part.
The Panacea Healer, sometimes simply referred to as 'Panacea' had stayed ahead of official investigations for 8 years before they apprehended him. He was even a big factor in how this task force got approved, if you are to believe the press.
And Detective Markov, or Mark as we call him around the office, had gotten himself in on the ground floor. He had been thrust into the spotlight after his spectacular arrest on the 'Eir' case, and as such the brass assigned him to the Bureau of Fate Interference or BFI for short. He was one of the few actual veterans you saw in our line of work.
So imagine my delight when I find out I'm assigned as his partner. A living legend working with a rank amateur like myself! Now sure, maybe I'm the greatest rank amateur in the history of rank amateurs, but it was still a great opportunity. We had only worked small time medicine smuggling up until now, this was our first healer case and I was more than a little bit excited.
"So what do we do first?" I asked expectantly when we were seated behind our respective desks. "Question the victims? Check out the crime scenes? I can have John from CSI here in 5."
He didn't even look up as he answered. "No, we need to know what to look for before we do any of that. Try and see if you can find some ties between the victims instead. I'll fill in forms that will allow us access to the old case files, and then we'll cross reference that with the current case."
Damn, I got ahead of myself. Every time I forget my inexperience, Mark's Wisdom puts me back in my place. Really goes to show how much work I still need to put in. With that in mind, I dove into the case files head first.
"Any thread connecting the victims yet?" Mark said, as he walked to his desk and unfolded his umbrella.
"Nothing." I said throwing up my arms in capitulation. "None of the victims share the same background, familial ties or even financial situation. It's almost as if they were specifically targeted to throw us off."
Mark smirked at that. "Well, wallow in despair no longer apprentice, for the case files have arrived-"
"-and so has yours truly" we both said in unison.
"Didn't peg you for a Caelstrom reader Morgan." He said after a brief pause, looking pleasantly surprised.
"Guess I'm just full of surprises." I said, a shit eating grin on my face. "Anyway, about those case files."
"Ah, yes!" He said, throwing the files over onto my desk. "Good news I think. I looked over them on the ride over, and to my surprise-"
"-None of the victims are related in any way..." I interrupted half-consciously while flipping through the documents in my hand.
"Exactly!" He said in the most excited voice I'd ever heard him use. "The Modus operandi is starting to overlap more and more with the original Panacea Healer! We know that he acts alone, when he strikes, and now who he targets"
"So at this point we can assume everything else will line up, and work our way backwards." I contributed.
"Precisely! Now come on Morgan, I've a few questions I'd like to ask these victims of ours, and we've no time to spare."
"Yes sir!" I answered, fetching my coat, grinning from ear to ear.
The woman we interrogated was staring at a point right in between us with the customary dead eyes associated with the Healed. I used to dread seeing those eyes because of the memories that surfaced, but in my profession it is a necessity and I spent hours in therapy for moments like these.
Even still, we were short on time so I went to question the victims parents after it was clear my presence was not needed. I was talking to the victims mother about anything the victim had mentioned since the Healing when Mark stormed through the room, excused us, and signaled for us to leave. I barely had time to take a seat before we were already driving down the road at dangerous speeds.
"What's this all about Mark?" I asked him once I regained balance. "What did she tell you in there?"
He just smiled at that. "I know where he is." He said without taking his eyes off the road. "I just don't know for how long, so we must get there as soon as possible."
I fixed my eyes on the road, and suppressed a smile. I'd never been this excited in my entire life.
My head was pounding. Where was I? What had happened? Why did I hurt all over? I tried opening my eyes, and was met with a cloud of thick smoke picking away at my vision. I stated coughing, my realizing I'd been inhaling smoke, but that hurt my chest a lot more than is reasonable. Several broken ribs, at best. Shit.
I could hear someone opening the door right next to me, and allowed myself a second to relax. Mark had probably gotten out on his end and was already helping me. What a nice guy, i thought. When I was laying on the soft grass, I finally allowed myself to open my eyes again. The night sky looked so beautiful, a particularly starry night to be sure.
But then I saw him. His eye were twice the size of a human, and reflected all light appearing completely white and radiant. His hair was cut short and entirely Teal, showing almost no separation between strands of hair. He was dressed in all white, except for on his chest where blood in the shape of a cross had been smeared.
It was him. Oh god it was him! I wanted to cry, to yell and scream and fight! But my body would not listen, and I could only watch in horror as he picked up the instruments that would subject me to a fate worse than death. I wanted to die. I wanted someone to, right there and then, put me out of my misery. But salvation didn't come. I was trapped. And as he leaned in, all I could see was that unnatural smile that reached from ear to ear and nose to chin, and then there was nothing.
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[WP] God is arrested by the deity police for unlicensed universe creation and abuse of lower lifeforms. Our universe has just been taken into protective custody.
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I'm not sure how or why. Maybe I was in the wrong (or right) place at the wrong (again, or right) hour. I was selected as the representative of the human race by the deity police and now I was about to speak in the deity court. What was I? Just another human in a world filled with more than 4 billion brothers and sisters.
The court looked grim and dark, void-like where there were no walls, ceiling or floor to step on, however, there was something solid beneath my feet. I could not run away, the deity police had us surrounded and it looked scary but amazing at the same time: faceless soldiers with wings and armor that only video game designers could come up with. Above us, several weird looking aliens from different places of the universe looking with interest (perhaps they were other deities?). I felt like inside a small fish bowl.
With me or should I say, in front of me, there was God. Luminous entity, human-like (two eyes, two arms, two legs) but at the same time a light aura surrounded it (he? she? don't know, it looked androgynous). It was facing three giant floating faces, with angry expressions that must have been the judges. God tried to defend itself, for making life on Earth. For creating beauty and the never-ending search for perfection, evolution, mutation, changes responding to the ever-changing environment. Sure there was suffering, lots of it, but some species learned to stand after the fall and he was responsible for all of it. Cancer, yes, it was horrible but humans managed to find cures to all its variants and expand the help to other species that were getting it too. The last war among its creations (us) destroyed 3.5 billion subjects but managed to bring more progress than any other important event in our timeline.
The judges disagreed for several reasons:
First of all: God had no license nor approval from the Higher Deities Council to create nor manage life. Even if It did, life is not supposed to progress with suffering or with such apparent lack of balance in every life equation as possible: Weird genes mutations, killer tendencies in some humans, strange diseases and weird events around us (I learned that there are no such things as coincidences, just God behind the wheel...while sleeping or texting at the same time, if the weird analogy is permitted). Genocide is not supposed to happen and the 'survival of the fittest' is not really something that happens under other deities management.
"You will lose all privileges...no more creations, no more life management, no universe creation..." - said one of the judges. God lowered its head and muttered something, sounded like "...you don't understand how life really works...". It looked to me that It was a mad scientist, so convinced that its way was the best course of action, that somehow rules do not apply to him or her at all and all that mattered to him or her was to create and see what happens. "...and your creations will be transferred to other dimensions, transformed and adapted accordingly where they will be able to live properly, this dimension one will be terminated after the transfer is complete" - completed another judge.
That was it. I was not having any of that transfer at all. If I was a representative of the human race, I had to do my damn job. So I stepped right in front of God and spoke as loud as I could:
"What the hell are you thinking?" - I heard a gasp from the aliens above - "that we humans are helpless without supervision? That we need God to manage our species or the rest of the Earth living beings? Sure! Our history is short and filled with lots of failures, wars, disease, famines, genocide. Yes, we had different beliefs and many times it was the cause of death. We praised God in its many forms and some were happy for a while, searched him or her for answers, hoped for miracles but eventually we understood that even if we didn't have any powers...we could stand on our own feet and work things trough! Yes, we have had suffering but it helped us to understand everything that surrounds us! how things work! how to make it right! And look at us now! We have managed to bring diplomacy between ourselves more frequently than ever, wars are a thing of the past now, diseases are slowly disappearing and since this trial started humans have been realizing that WE CAN DO BETTER THAN GOD!!"
Anger is what I felt. Now I was able to point my finger to God in its face and say... "You created us, yes. Our universe and its rules, but it was not out of love or mercy, or to be near your image only. As I understand it we were your lab project, a project with failed equations... ...and we don't need you, not anymore". It remained silent, even defiant. In another time it would have smitten me. Send me a deadly ray from the sky or send an earthquake, flood my city...but now, here, in this courtroom, It was not allowed to do anything to me.
"Really?..." - said one judge, raising its eyebrow - "...I would love to see that." - I turned my head in disbelief. Did they just buy my entire speech? - "Human. Your species are in charge of your dimension now. Just as it is, with the unbalanced equations and all. It is your species job to thrive and someday we will visit you again and maybe that time you no longer be...a creation. If you don't, maybe we will not even try to transfer humans to another dimension... "
Whatever that meant, now I knew I had to return to Earth as a messenger, as a prophet if you will. I don't know, but ...hope the rest of the humans will take it positively. I hope for our sakes, as there is no God above us anymore.
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"How'd they find Him? Didn't he go dark a few thousand years ago?"
"Technology did it, really. He's used to people praying at him, that's not new. He's even used to people writing about Him in situations he hadn't actually endorsed."
"That explains some of these holy texts."
"But when people come up with some contrived scenario to put an all-knowing being into on a daily basis, it turns out it starts getting to Him."
"That was happening?"
"Oh yeah. There's this website, reddit? They've got a writing prompts section and let me tell you, they couldn't go single solitary day without doing exactly that. He just broke down over the stress of it all. We didn't have to do anything; he turned *Himself* in"
"Good break for us."
"Tell me about it. In fact, it gives me an idea for what we can do about this Satan case...."
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[WP]At birth, everyone has a mark showing how long they will live, yours shows infinity. One day, you wake up shackled to a table. You see three men around you. Looking at their arms, you see infinity.
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With a grown Jake woke up. Straining his muscles, Jake tried to sit up from his lying position on some hard, metal surface. Unable to sit up Jake felt around, his senses slowly coming back. “I must have been drugged,” he thought.
Now able to feel around Jake felt rings around his wrists and ankles, some kind of restraint on his hips and throat. Feeling this, Jake began breathing faster. For several minutes he hyperventilated until he managed to get his body under control.
Now calmer, his thoughts no longer racing from one wonder to another, Jake smacked his lips. They were not dry so he had not been unconscious for long. A couple of hours at most. He had to escape soon though. The sign on his mother showed she would pass in three days. He had to get out, be there for her in her last few days on Earth.
Twisting the rings around his wrists, Jake heard the clinking of a chain. “So I am chained down,” he said softly.
From the shadows of the room, at the edge of Jake’s sight a voice said, “Indeed. It is a pleasure meeting you Mr. Stone. Our apologies for your current state but our previous encounters have taught us to take precautions.”
“So I am not the first person you kidnapped huh,” Jake said, twisting his neck, trying to get a view of the speaker.
“Indeed Mr. Stone. Now, I will keep this short. You are one of a few dozen people, that we know of, born immortal. What we do know is that you are in a state we have named “Abece”. You know it as aging. You will age. You will live. You will suffer and be conscious as you turn to dust.”
Lying back in a relaxed pose, unable to get a view of the speaker, Jake thought for a moment. “So you are telling me there are ashes with a mind, people who are suffering because they were born with the immortal sign?”
“Yes Mr. Stone,” said the speaker before walking up to the table.
Looking at the man in his black, leather robe with no sleeves Jake felt bad. So that was his fate. To become ashes. Looking up and down he noticed something. “So you are immortal too huh. Are you not afraid of turning to dust? Suffering forever?”
“No Mr. Stone. That is why we kidnapped you. We have an offer to make you, one we know you will likely take. As I said before, your current state is Abece. What we offer you is Abeca. The state of not aging, yet remaining immortal.”
“You would give me that?”
“Not for free of course Mr. Stone. Our client was not born immortal. However, the process of turning Abece to Abeca allows one to transfer life. The deal is as such. You spend twenty years powering our client. Once your term is over you will be released as Abeca.”
A tear went down his cheek as Jake said, “Will it be torture?”
“It will hurt yes. So what will it be Mr. Stone. Abece or Abeca?”
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Did you enjoy this?! There is a lot of imagination and world twisting on /r/MaisieKlaassen ! ;)
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The room was dimly lit by the eight candles flickering upon the warm double chocolate cake. The faces of my closest friends and family looked at me with great anticipation as I gathered my breath. I drew in. When I blew, the light vanished. The room vanished. Then another room appeared - the smiling faces were replaced by tearful grimaces and wide eyes that expressed great concerned. There were strange machines around me and I had a needle in my arm. My mother softly said, "Honey, we were wrong."
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[WP]At birth, everyone has a mark showing how long they will live, yours shows infinity. One day, you wake up shackled to a table. You see three men around you. Looking at their arms, you see infinity.
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I woke up shackled to a table. I see three men around me. Looking at their arms, I see infinity.
"What?"
"You've got infinity on your arm son. Also, the list that everyone uses to rank their superpowers shows you as number one, but no one knows why. Also, Bill here can see numbers above everyone's head, and he doesn't know what it means, but you've got a zero."
"What?"
"Are you a writing prompt?"
"What?"
I look around. We're on a space colony, and God is a cool dude playing table tennis with Satan. Harry Potter is walking around backwards.
"You see son, we've been watching you. An we know how you operate. Do you want that sweet sweet karma?"
"What?"
"You need the emotional twist. Top stories always use the emotional twist. That's why we put your little sister in a hospital bed."
I look over and I see Melissamantha strapped to a bed.
"And then you need a sacrifice that subverts the expectation of the reader"
He yanks the infinity symbol off my arm like a sticker, and slaps it on my sister's forehead.
"Then you need a sad ending."
"What?"
He opens the airlock and boots me and my table out. As I freeze and balloon, I can't help but think, "what?"
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The room was dimly lit by the eight candles flickering upon the warm double chocolate cake. The faces of my closest friends and family looked at me with great anticipation as I gathered my breath. I drew in. When I blew, the light vanished. The room vanished. Then another room appeared - the smiling faces were replaced by tearful grimaces and wide eyes that expressed great concerned. There were strange machines around me and I had a needle in my arm. My mother softly said, "Honey, we were wrong."
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[WP]At birth, everyone has a mark showing how long they will live, yours shows infinity. One day, you wake up shackled to a table. You see three men around you. Looking at their arms, you see infinity.
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I woke up shackled to a table. I see three men around me. Looking at their arms, I see infinity.
"What?"
"You've got infinity on your arm son. Also, the list that everyone uses to rank their superpowers shows you as number one, but no one knows why. Also, Bill here can see numbers above everyone's head, and he doesn't know what it means, but you've got a zero."
"What?"
"Are you a writing prompt?"
"What?"
I look around. We're on a space colony, and God is a cool dude playing table tennis with Satan. Harry Potter is walking around backwards.
"You see son, we've been watching you. An we know how you operate. Do you want that sweet sweet karma?"
"What?"
"You need the emotional twist. Top stories always use the emotional twist. That's why we put your little sister in a hospital bed."
I look over and I see Melissamantha strapped to a bed.
"And then you need a sacrifice that subverts the expectation of the reader"
He yanks the infinity symbol off my arm like a sticker, and slaps it on my sister's forehead.
"Then you need a sad ending."
"What?"
He opens the airlock and boots me and my table out. As I freeze and balloon, I can't help but think, "what?"
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"What is this? Where am I? Who are you?" The questions poured out of my mouth as soon as they removed the gag and blindfold. My hands and feet were shackled and I could not move. "Stay calm, we are here to help you" one of them said. He looked like a pretty normal guy. Besides the guns, weapons, and swords that were around his waist and worn on his back. "If you are helping me, then why am I tied up?" I asked. I noticed that all of the men had infinity tattoos like mine on their arms. I had never seen anyone with that mark besides myself. "This symbol means that we are able to live on through time and space. There are certain people in this world that want to use us to carry out their evil deeds throughout history and into the future. We will not let that happen. Before we let you out of those shackles, we need to know that you are not already working for them."
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[WP] You are killed by the ghost in your house... but now you're a ghost, and its getting kinda awkward.
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"You son of a bitch."
I cursed under my breath for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, trying vainly to pick up a coffee mug only to watch my hand drift through the ceramic. For a brief moment I thought I could feel the distant warmth of the steaming mug.
"Look, I apologized already. I'm still new to this whole thing and didn't think it would actually, y'know..." I looked over my shoulder at the ethereal figure standing behind me in the kitchen. At first glance he looked normal; an older fellow, with a balding head and salt-pepper goatee, a face lined with age and the stress of life. Or, what used to be life. Now the only subtle hint of his existence in this place, halfway between our world and that of the dead, was a faint shimmer around the edge of his body, like that of a mirror still frosted from the shower's steam.
"George, you literally walked through my body and stopped my heart. How is that an accident?! For God's sake, my body's still warm!" I gestured to the corpse now lying sprawled on the kitchen floor, surrounded by spilled orange juice and a few stray slices of toast, half-eaten.
George, whom I'd unknowingly been sharing my home with for almost six years now since moving in, shrugged resignedly. "I said I was sorry..."
"Just because you're sorry doesn't mean I'm any less dead! Jesus, you've been a ghost for what, seven years now? You should've figured this shit out by now!"
I groaned, walking into the kitchen and nudging what used to be my body. "Well, look on the bright side!" My head whipped around. "The bright side?! WHAT bright side?"
Shrugging, he went to the window and crossed his arms. "You don't have to pay the mortgage any more, or the utilities. Oh, and you don't have to go to work!"
I almost exploded in rage, but the thought of not having to report in for another shitty day of quality reports and team meetings made me bite my tongue. At least a little. "Yeah, but I'm still, y'know, DEAD."
"Oh come on, it's not that bad!" George waved his hand dismissively. "No obligations, not a lot of responsibility, you can walk through walls..."
My angry glare was enough for him to clam up. An awkward silence descended over the room as I gazed forlornly over what used to be my life. No more family, no more friends, no more life...no more coffee. That last one stung the most. I was on the verge of tears when George yet again broke the quiet.
"Hey...want to go haunt the McAllister's place? They're really into all this occult shit, it'll freak 'em out to no end!"
I didn't say anything for a few moments, casting one more longful gaze towards the coffee machine before letting out a resigned sigh.
"Fine, but I'm haunting the wife. At least she's hot."
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Hey, I say. It stares back at me with soulless eyes from the kitchen. Perhaps it can't speak or maybe it simply doesn't want to. I look around until I am greeted with the site of my body, well ex-body, lying in a pool of blood. Lifeless. I look back at the ghost trying to find something the his dark, sunken eyes. Perhaps an explanation, or even just some kind of sign that he understood what he had just done.
A realization slowly began to dawn on me as I stared into this things eyes trying to find an explanation. If my body is down there, what am I doing down there. Instantly emotions began to flood in and along with these dark feelings came questions. Why me, why now, WHAT DID I DO? My thoughts were interrupted by a voice. This voice didn't sound like anything I had ever heard before, I don't know how to explain it but if boredom had a sound, that's what it would sound like.
"Hi Dave, ghee really sorry about this whole thing mate". My neck snaps around looking for the source of the voice. My eyes fall on the soulless eyes I feared, or had feared so much in my last moments. Its eyes seemed to stare back. It couldn't be, could it? "Why" I whispered, searching for some sort of answer, but hadn't I been doing just that my whole life. I thought back to my childhood when our family first moved into the house. From the start I had been searching for the source of the mysterious sounds which echoed through the house at night, my parents called it the wind but I knew better. It had never occurred to me that I might not want to find the source.
The ghosts mouth begun to slowly move... "Yeah I just had to, perhaps you shouldn't have ignored that post on Facebook, the one that went something like ignore to be murdered at 2am..." "FUCK" I thought out loud recalling this moment in my head. I looked awkwardly at the ghost, "sooo do you like live here or something". "Meh I guess so" he groaned. I could sense he was a little embarrassed of what he had done, perhaps he didn't expect me to becoming like him. I guess we were gonna have to learn to put up with each other.
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One year later
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I dashed into the room, tossing a beer to John as he flicked on the TV. The screen jumped to life, "hey what's up guys it's scarce here..." Awwww cmon Dave not this shit again. Turns out we learnt to live with each other after a while. "Awww dave can we just go kill the fucker?" "Fine" I groaned as we made our way to his house. The fly didn't take too long as we slowly made our way over. Lucky for us he was on his computer editing a video, we snuck up behind him and pierced his heart with a rusty fork we found in the kitchen. "Oh thank god now we don't have to listen to those bullshit videos again", John grumbled. As we began to make our way out of his house a ghostly figure floated in front of us. "Hey what's up guys it's scarce here" "AWWWWWWWWWWW FUCKKKKKKKKKK" yelled john.
-Hey guys this is my first WP, I'm also 14 and can't punctuate for shit so don't judge too harshly. Hope I gave you guys a laugh. Also tips would be great.
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[WP] You are killed by the ghost in your house... but now you're a ghost, and its getting kinda awkward.
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Ah Christ! Seriously, Jesus Fucking Christ! Where is Christ, he’s supposed to be here. That’s the deal, right? You live life, you are a good person, you do good things and then when you die you met Christ and he gives you the skinny on everything.
Dinosaurs: meteor or was it a large kola with an appetite for lizard and the uncanny ability sneak up on raptors?
JFK: Lee Harvey Oswald, lucky shot or scapegoat?
Aliens: They are already here, right, and they are making all those body-snatcher movies just to prepare the human race mentally for when it actually happens?
I think I deserve some answers but currently the customer service pretty much sucks around here. I don’t see any Christ, no holy spirit and not even a bright light. I see Charlie. That’s who I see and Charlie is a colossal butthole.
First off, Charlie killed me which is a bit surprising considering he has no physical body. When I was living I referred to him as that dickhead ghost Charlie. Now that I am Dead Pete, I call him Butthole Charlie. He’s the guy/thing/it that punched my ticket and I’m still kinda pissed about that even though it’s been a couple of months. And I don’t mean he scared me so that I had a heart attack or scared me at the top of the stairs. No, I mean he murdered me.
I went into the barn when I heard weird noises in there at night (I know, now I’m dead because of a horror movie cliche). I didn’t see anything until I heard a soft “Mooooo” right above me. I looked up and there she is, Sissy. 1200 pounds of FFA blue ribbon Holstein, a cow I raised since she was born.
I thought to myself “That doesn’t look right” and then bam, Sissy falls 15 feet and crushes me under her udders. I was killed by cow boobs, that’s my legacy. That’s what’s was written in my obit in the Muleshoe Gazette. Pete Hawks, killed by udders from above.
And just like that I was out of my body, floating around looking for the divine intervention that would get me away from Butthole Charlie and into the sweet afterlife. I heard there were virgins, I wanted a piece of that action.
But nope, I’m still here with Charlie and his amazing ability to float cows on top of people. I spent some time confused, just kind of wandering around watching the rest my family go about their business. Mom can’t go into the barn anymore, Dad just gets real quiet when he has to go in there. Once I left my body and could actually see, the first thing I saw was Butthole Charlie laughing his ass off where he was holding up Sissy. Jackass.
After a while I thought maybe I wasn’t moving on because I had unfinished issues. Maybe I had to work some things out, get some inner peace so that I could forgive myself and then go to nirvana. So I forgave Sissy for her udders, I forgave mom and dad for buying Sissy for me to raise, and I forgave Butthole Charlie for months of terrorizing me and dropping Sissy on my head.
Didn’t work. I’m still here. And so is Charlie.
Charlie doesn’t talk and I don’t know why. I can talk, I can hear me. He can hear me because he smiles all the time when I scream at him. Jerk. No one else can hear me, of course but I think the dog is coming around. I forgave him for humping my leg while I was under Sissy. He’s not Lassie but I loved him.
So Charlie doesn’t tell me anything, gives me no advice about this afterlife, no lifehacks or protips on how to go on and absolutely no reason as to why he dropped a cow on me. What does he do?
Ghost farts. All the time, Ghost farts. And they stink and I’m pissed that as a ghost myself that I can smell them. Everyone can, I think. You know when you smell a skunk while driving? Nope, it’s ghost farts except I can smell them 1000 times more. They hang around, get all up in your business and last for about 45 minutes. I can’t puke by the way; figured that out after a week of being dead.
So I tried ignoring Charlie and just explored on my own. However, it turns out that Charlie took this as an invitation to screw with me more. I floated into my old room last month and he was in there jerking off into my old shoe. He saw me float in, come right through the wall, then he screamed and floated away. Jesus dude, wtf?
I thought sure, that was weird, maybe he’s not used to a roommate. However, after I caught him about 20 more times I have given that up. I think he gets off on it, it’s his weirdo ghost fetish. I tried avoiding him completely for a long time but he took that as a challenge. He’s gotten creative. I went into the attic to hide, floated right up. There was Charlie dressed in my grandma’s bra and mink stole, doing what he does. First off, God dammit, Charlie. Second, mom and dad, why did we keep grandma’s underwear?
Then I tried leaving as it was obvious that I wasn’t going to be any guardian angel. You know what happens when you try to leave the place you are supposed to haunt? You get sucked right back to where you died and whamo, you’ll see Charlie double gripping and working overtime. Last time we made eye contact and he held it way too long, uncomfortably long. See, Charlie is a colossal butthole.
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Hey, I say. It stares back at me with soulless eyes from the kitchen. Perhaps it can't speak or maybe it simply doesn't want to. I look around until I am greeted with the site of my body, well ex-body, lying in a pool of blood. Lifeless. I look back at the ghost trying to find something the his dark, sunken eyes. Perhaps an explanation, or even just some kind of sign that he understood what he had just done.
A realization slowly began to dawn on me as I stared into this things eyes trying to find an explanation. If my body is down there, what am I doing down there. Instantly emotions began to flood in and along with these dark feelings came questions. Why me, why now, WHAT DID I DO? My thoughts were interrupted by a voice. This voice didn't sound like anything I had ever heard before, I don't know how to explain it but if boredom had a sound, that's what it would sound like.
"Hi Dave, ghee really sorry about this whole thing mate". My neck snaps around looking for the source of the voice. My eyes fall on the soulless eyes I feared, or had feared so much in my last moments. Its eyes seemed to stare back. It couldn't be, could it? "Why" I whispered, searching for some sort of answer, but hadn't I been doing just that my whole life. I thought back to my childhood when our family first moved into the house. From the start I had been searching for the source of the mysterious sounds which echoed through the house at night, my parents called it the wind but I knew better. It had never occurred to me that I might not want to find the source.
The ghosts mouth begun to slowly move... "Yeah I just had to, perhaps you shouldn't have ignored that post on Facebook, the one that went something like ignore to be murdered at 2am..." "FUCK" I thought out loud recalling this moment in my head. I looked awkwardly at the ghost, "sooo do you like live here or something". "Meh I guess so" he groaned. I could sense he was a little embarrassed of what he had done, perhaps he didn't expect me to becoming like him. I guess we were gonna have to learn to put up with each other.
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One year later
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I dashed into the room, tossing a beer to John as he flicked on the TV. The screen jumped to life, "hey what's up guys it's scarce here..." Awwww cmon Dave not this shit again. Turns out we learnt to live with each other after a while. "Awww dave can we just go kill the fucker?" "Fine" I groaned as we made our way to his house. The fly didn't take too long as we slowly made our way over. Lucky for us he was on his computer editing a video, we snuck up behind him and pierced his heart with a rusty fork we found in the kitchen. "Oh thank god now we don't have to listen to those bullshit videos again", John grumbled. As we began to make our way out of his house a ghostly figure floated in front of us. "Hey what's up guys it's scarce here" "AWWWWWWWWWWW FUCKKKKKKKKKK" yelled john.
-Hey guys this is my first WP, I'm also 14 and can't punctuate for shit so don't judge too harshly. Hope I gave you guys a laugh. Also tips would be great.
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[WP] You are killed by the ghost in your house... but now you're a ghost, and its getting kinda awkward.
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“Dad?”
“Uh…er…hello, son.”
“What the hell are you doing in my house?”
“Well, you see-"
“Wait, you died. Years ago. There was a party.”
“You had a party?”
“But if you’re dead, then how are you here? Please don’t tell me you somehow faked that car accident.”
“No, no, that accident was real. See?”
The older man lifted up his shirt to reveal his mostly missing abdomen.
“Holy shit.”
“Yep.”
“I’m confused.”
“You’re dead.”
“What?” the son asked, his mind still burning with the image of seeing innards unguarded by skin and muscle.
“I killed you.”
“Excuse me?”
“It was an accident.”
“No, no, no. I’m not dead. You’re insane.”
“Let me explain. After I died, I came here because I felt a bit bad about never seeing you while I was alive. But you’ve got a nice place, and the entertainment never really ends with the drama of your ex-wife, so I kinda just, stayed.”
“You’ve been the one messing with shit, haven’t you? It was you who kept opening doors, moving the furniture one inch to the left, turning the TV on night and all the other shit. That was you.”
“Yes! It’s nice to have that finally found out, actually.”
“It was because of you that my wife and I argued every night over who was turning the A/C down to 60.”
“Yes, those arguments did pose amusing.”
“It was you who left the milk out to spoil, not me, you.”
“Yes, gosh your wife would get *so* angry over milk.”
“And now you’ve killed me.”
“Now, that was an accident.”
“You dropped the TV on my head.”
“I meant for it to just be a bonk, not quite the neck-breaking crash it turned out to be.”
“So you’re telling me that you are the cause of my horrific divorce and my untimely death.”
“Well, when you put it that way, it sure doesn’t sound very good, does it?"
“And now I’m stuck with you for the rest of eternity.”
“Yes, that is one thing I’ve learned with this being dead thing. Houses tend to trap the ones who die in them. I just got lucky on that front.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“But you can’t see, already dead.”
“I will make your life a living hell like you did mine.”
“Death, you mean.”
The next tenants of the house only lived in their new home for three months before putting it back on the market. They complained that the house had issues. The A/C would fluctuate from 60 back to where it had been originally, over and over again. The furniture would move an inch to left, only to be returned to its original spot a moment later. The air itself felt like they were in the middle of a war zone, but had no explanation as to why. Once, the TV fell from its stand, nearly hitting the husband in the head. For weeks, he swore to his wife that he heard someone distinctly saying, “I was just trying to prove you were a ninny. He wouldn’t have *died*.”
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I definitely remember falling down the stairs. And I definitely remember a sharp, sudden shock of pain that almost immediately dulled to an indistinct throb.
I don't really remember the feelings I had when I was alive though. I can think about love and hate and fear in the abstract but there's no real visceral reaction. I can remember seeing the ghost, and I can remember the surprise and fear which led to my hasty departure from the world of the living, but I can't seem to muster any animosity towards it.
I suppose if anything I should feel sadness for the ghost. It's still there, bobbing around. I can see it clearly now. It's trying hard to get the living to notice it but when you're alive there are just so many things that take precedence over a shimmery spot in the air.
It's not like there's much else to do in the afterlife. Everything just... stops. I'm not bored because that's an emotion. There's just a lingering sense that I should be doing something. A hangover from my previous life, I suppose.
I tried to talk to the ghost, but it's not really engaging. It definitely once was a human, because it looks like one, but decades or centuries of floating around aimlessly have burned off its higher functions. It appears to just be reacting to stimuli, without any thought or reasoning behind it.
If I were still capable of being scared I would be terrified of slowly losing my cognition like that, gradually being reduced to nothing more than a floating, mindless blob of impulse and action.
Even now I find myself bobbing up to living creatures when I can and trying to attract their attention. When there's no reaction I collect myself and move along. I've told myself I don't need to chase the living but the minute my attention wanders (and that happens all too easily when all your worries are completely eliminated) I'm back at it again.
There was a moment of brief excitement, when both the ghost and I found ourselves floating directly in front of a living person and he almost noticed us! But he blinked. And moved on. And we found ourselves drifting off again, that momentary lapse in the dull grayness of eternity already patched over and forgotten...
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[WP] You are killed by the ghost in your house... but now you're a ghost, and its getting kinda awkward.
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"I said I was sorry," I muttered, twisting the top of my glossimer skirt. "It's not like I was *trying* or anything."
"Not trying?" Henric shouted. "Look at me!"
Squinting made it easier, solidifying his semitransparent form. He was tall, even without the additional three inches he gained from floating. His hair looked white now, rather than the black it had been earlier, and his eyes had shifted from blue to gray. "Um, well," I ventured, "you still look hot."
"I'm *dead*."
I winced. "But a hot kind of dead," I assured him.
"You--you're crazy." He began pacing back and forth, the red carpet undisturbed beneath him. The only thing moving beside him was the tree outside, swaying back and forth in the storm. Watching it through the window made me feel vaguely seasick.
"A century of death will do that to a girl," with a sigh I stood up. "Look, it was an accident."
"You threw me down the stairs!" He jabbed a finger at the steps behind him, then pointed it at my face. "How is that an accident?"
"First off," I said as the tree outside groaned, "I did not *throw* anyone. I just said 'hi.'"
"What did you think was going to happen?" Henric roared. "A dead chick pops out and life is all sunshine and roses? No, I *run like hell.*"
"You trip and fall is more like it."
"Shut up. This is your fault." He resumed his pacing, and I made a rude gesture at his back. I'd learned that while watching t.v. over his shoulder last week, when he was still alive and could use the remote. "I saw that," he growled at me.
"Whatever. You're being a total jerk." Lightening struck, its fingers slashing through the sky. "It was an accident, I apologized, and there's nothing more either of us can do about it."
He spun, his shirt appearing striped with the wallpaper visible through it. "You killed me."
"I just wanted someone to talk to. You know how long it's been?" This time, when the lightening hit it was close enough to rattle the windows.
For a moment he stopped, meeting my eyes before looking away. "Just... tell me how to get out of here."
I shrugged. "You think I'd still be here if I knew?" I didn't bother following him as he started around the room again. Rain beat against the windows as the tree waved madly. I saw Henric reach for the window. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."
He set his jaw and laid a palm against it. I flinched when he did. It'd hurt, a lot. Touching anything towards the outside felt a bit like sticking a hand against an icy pole--then having to peel your skin off to let go. He yanked his hand back, then stared as his whole arm rippled. Dark gray blisters rose and burst in waves of agony before his form settled again.
I rubbed my arm in memory. "No matter how you go at it, or how many times you try, the walls won't let you out. They'll only hurt you. Bad."
His skin smoothed, the gray dissipating, but he did not move.
"It sucks, ok? Being dead sucks." I said, as gently as I could. "But it could be worse."
"How?" The single bleak word hung between us.
"You could be alone. For a hundred years."
Henric turned and glared. I simply offered another shrug and strode back towards the kitchen.
"Don't believe me? That's fine. There's plenty of time to argue about it." I glanced back at him and raised an eyebrow, "But first, want to know one of the perks of being dead?"
"What?" he said cautiously, as he stood framed before the window.
I quirked a half-smile. "You're story hit the news. We're totally going to get ghost hunters."
Henric stepped after me automatically. "What? Can they, like, hurt us?"
"Hurt us?" I laughed. "We're dead. Only those outer walls can hurt us now."
"Then what's so great about ghost hunters?"
Grinning at him, I stepped through the inner wall. "Ever heard of Peeves?" The grin shifted to all-out mischief. "Well, he ain't got *nothin'* on me."
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I definitely remember falling down the stairs. And I definitely remember a sharp, sudden shock of pain that almost immediately dulled to an indistinct throb.
I don't really remember the feelings I had when I was alive though. I can think about love and hate and fear in the abstract but there's no real visceral reaction. I can remember seeing the ghost, and I can remember the surprise and fear which led to my hasty departure from the world of the living, but I can't seem to muster any animosity towards it.
I suppose if anything I should feel sadness for the ghost. It's still there, bobbing around. I can see it clearly now. It's trying hard to get the living to notice it but when you're alive there are just so many things that take precedence over a shimmery spot in the air.
It's not like there's much else to do in the afterlife. Everything just... stops. I'm not bored because that's an emotion. There's just a lingering sense that I should be doing something. A hangover from my previous life, I suppose.
I tried to talk to the ghost, but it's not really engaging. It definitely once was a human, because it looks like one, but decades or centuries of floating around aimlessly have burned off its higher functions. It appears to just be reacting to stimuli, without any thought or reasoning behind it.
If I were still capable of being scared I would be terrified of slowly losing my cognition like that, gradually being reduced to nothing more than a floating, mindless blob of impulse and action.
Even now I find myself bobbing up to living creatures when I can and trying to attract their attention. When there's no reaction I collect myself and move along. I've told myself I don't need to chase the living but the minute my attention wanders (and that happens all too easily when all your worries are completely eliminated) I'm back at it again.
There was a moment of brief excitement, when both the ghost and I found ourselves floating directly in front of a living person and he almost noticed us! But he blinked. And moved on. And we found ourselves drifting off again, that momentary lapse in the dull grayness of eternity already patched over and forgotten...
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[WP] You are killed by the ghost in your house... but now you're a ghost, and its getting kinda awkward.
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“Dad?”
“Uh…er…hello, son.”
“What the hell are you doing in my house?”
“Well, you see-"
“Wait, you died. Years ago. There was a party.”
“You had a party?”
“But if you’re dead, then how are you here? Please don’t tell me you somehow faked that car accident.”
“No, no, that accident was real. See?”
The older man lifted up his shirt to reveal his mostly missing abdomen.
“Holy shit.”
“Yep.”
“I’m confused.”
“You’re dead.”
“What?” the son asked, his mind still burning with the image of seeing innards unguarded by skin and muscle.
“I killed you.”
“Excuse me?”
“It was an accident.”
“No, no, no. I’m not dead. You’re insane.”
“Let me explain. After I died, I came here because I felt a bit bad about never seeing you while I was alive. But you’ve got a nice place, and the entertainment never really ends with the drama of your ex-wife, so I kinda just, stayed.”
“You’ve been the one messing with shit, haven’t you? It was you who kept opening doors, moving the furniture one inch to the left, turning the TV on night and all the other shit. That was you.”
“Yes! It’s nice to have that finally found out, actually.”
“It was because of you that my wife and I argued every night over who was turning the A/C down to 60.”
“Yes, those arguments did pose amusing.”
“It was you who left the milk out to spoil, not me, you.”
“Yes, gosh your wife would get *so* angry over milk.”
“And now you’ve killed me.”
“Now, that was an accident.”
“You dropped the TV on my head.”
“I meant for it to just be a bonk, not quite the neck-breaking crash it turned out to be.”
“So you’re telling me that you are the cause of my horrific divorce and my untimely death.”
“Well, when you put it that way, it sure doesn’t sound very good, does it?"
“And now I’m stuck with you for the rest of eternity.”
“Yes, that is one thing I’ve learned with this being dead thing. Houses tend to trap the ones who die in them. I just got lucky on that front.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“But you can’t see, already dead.”
“I will make your life a living hell like you did mine.”
“Death, you mean.”
The next tenants of the house only lived in their new home for three months before putting it back on the market. They complained that the house had issues. The A/C would fluctuate from 60 back to where it had been originally, over and over again. The furniture would move an inch to left, only to be returned to its original spot a moment later. The air itself felt like they were in the middle of a war zone, but had no explanation as to why. Once, the TV fell from its stand, nearly hitting the husband in the head. For weeks, he swore to his wife that he heard someone distinctly saying, “I was just trying to prove you were a ninny. He wouldn’t have *died*.”
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Two ghosts in the room stared at each other.
"So, um... yeah, we're both ghosts now. Congratulations, dipshit, you've killed me."
"I did not kill you, dumbass! Do you feel dead? I have set you free! I am sick of people suffering tied to their physical bodies."
"I have enjoyed my body!"
"Really? Did you enjoy your *life*?"
"Well, um... It was kinda boring... But I've had a fine job as an accountant, and I was about to buy myself that nice watch... Maybe Jennie from the office would finally notice me then..."
"Listen to yourself! This is pathetic. Is that what you've been dreaming since you were a kid?"
"No, but I also wasn't dreaming about being dead."
"You've been dead for 3 minutes, and you have already decided that it sucks?"
"But I..."
"Don't be a buzzkill. Enjoy a moment for one fucking second. It's gotta be a bit easier to do now that you're dead and you have eternity to yourself and basically no worries."
"You're making it sound almost like you did me a favor."
"You bet your ass I did. Now stop being an ungrateful jerk, and let's go fly check out Alpha Centauri. Have you ever watched space from the surface of a star?"
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[WP] You are killed by the ghost in your house... but now you're a ghost, and its getting kinda awkward.
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"I said I was sorry," I muttered, twisting the top of my glossimer skirt. "It's not like I was *trying* or anything."
"Not trying?" Henric shouted. "Look at me!"
Squinting made it easier, solidifying his semitransparent form. He was tall, even without the additional three inches he gained from floating. His hair looked white now, rather than the black it had been earlier, and his eyes had shifted from blue to gray. "Um, well," I ventured, "you still look hot."
"I'm *dead*."
I winced. "But a hot kind of dead," I assured him.
"You--you're crazy." He began pacing back and forth, the red carpet undisturbed beneath him. The only thing moving beside him was the tree outside, swaying back and forth in the storm. Watching it through the window made me feel vaguely seasick.
"A century of death will do that to a girl," with a sigh I stood up. "Look, it was an accident."
"You threw me down the stairs!" He jabbed a finger at the steps behind him, then pointed it at my face. "How is that an accident?"
"First off," I said as the tree outside groaned, "I did not *throw* anyone. I just said 'hi.'"
"What did you think was going to happen?" Henric roared. "A dead chick pops out and life is all sunshine and roses? No, I *run like hell.*"
"You trip and fall is more like it."
"Shut up. This is your fault." He resumed his pacing, and I made a rude gesture at his back. I'd learned that while watching t.v. over his shoulder last week, when he was still alive and could use the remote. "I saw that," he growled at me.
"Whatever. You're being a total jerk." Lightening struck, its fingers slashing through the sky. "It was an accident, I apologized, and there's nothing more either of us can do about it."
He spun, his shirt appearing striped with the wallpaper visible through it. "You killed me."
"I just wanted someone to talk to. You know how long it's been?" This time, when the lightening hit it was close enough to rattle the windows.
For a moment he stopped, meeting my eyes before looking away. "Just... tell me how to get out of here."
I shrugged. "You think I'd still be here if I knew?" I didn't bother following him as he started around the room again. Rain beat against the windows as the tree waved madly. I saw Henric reach for the window. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."
He set his jaw and laid a palm against it. I flinched when he did. It'd hurt, a lot. Touching anything towards the outside felt a bit like sticking a hand against an icy pole--then having to peel your skin off to let go. He yanked his hand back, then stared as his whole arm rippled. Dark gray blisters rose and burst in waves of agony before his form settled again.
I rubbed my arm in memory. "No matter how you go at it, or how many times you try, the walls won't let you out. They'll only hurt you. Bad."
His skin smoothed, the gray dissipating, but he did not move.
"It sucks, ok? Being dead sucks." I said, as gently as I could. "But it could be worse."
"How?" The single bleak word hung between us.
"You could be alone. For a hundred years."
Henric turned and glared. I simply offered another shrug and strode back towards the kitchen.
"Don't believe me? That's fine. There's plenty of time to argue about it." I glanced back at him and raised an eyebrow, "But first, want to know one of the perks of being dead?"
"What?" he said cautiously, as he stood framed before the window.
I quirked a half-smile. "You're story hit the news. We're totally going to get ghost hunters."
Henric stepped after me automatically. "What? Can they, like, hurt us?"
"Hurt us?" I laughed. "We're dead. Only those outer walls can hurt us now."
"Then what's so great about ghost hunters?"
Grinning at him, I stepped through the inner wall. "Ever heard of Peeves?" The grin shifted to all-out mischief. "Well, he ain't got *nothin'* on me."
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Two ghosts in the room stared at each other.
"So, um... yeah, we're both ghosts now. Congratulations, dipshit, you've killed me."
"I did not kill you, dumbass! Do you feel dead? I have set you free! I am sick of people suffering tied to their physical bodies."
"I have enjoyed my body!"
"Really? Did you enjoy your *life*?"
"Well, um... It was kinda boring... But I've had a fine job as an accountant, and I was about to buy myself that nice watch... Maybe Jennie from the office would finally notice me then..."
"Listen to yourself! This is pathetic. Is that what you've been dreaming since you were a kid?"
"No, but I also wasn't dreaming about being dead."
"You've been dead for 3 minutes, and you have already decided that it sucks?"
"But I..."
"Don't be a buzzkill. Enjoy a moment for one fucking second. It's gotta be a bit easier to do now that you're dead and you have eternity to yourself and basically no worries."
"You're making it sound almost like you did me a favor."
"You bet your ass I did. Now stop being an ungrateful jerk, and let's go fly check out Alpha Centauri. Have you ever watched space from the surface of a star?"
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[WP] You are killed by the ghost in your house... but now you're a ghost, and its getting kinda awkward.
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"I said I was sorry," I muttered, twisting the top of my glossimer skirt. "It's not like I was *trying* or anything."
"Not trying?" Henric shouted. "Look at me!"
Squinting made it easier, solidifying his semitransparent form. He was tall, even without the additional three inches he gained from floating. His hair looked white now, rather than the black it had been earlier, and his eyes had shifted from blue to gray. "Um, well," I ventured, "you still look hot."
"I'm *dead*."
I winced. "But a hot kind of dead," I assured him.
"You--you're crazy." He began pacing back and forth, the red carpet undisturbed beneath him. The only thing moving beside him was the tree outside, swaying back and forth in the storm. Watching it through the window made me feel vaguely seasick.
"A century of death will do that to a girl," with a sigh I stood up. "Look, it was an accident."
"You threw me down the stairs!" He jabbed a finger at the steps behind him, then pointed it at my face. "How is that an accident?"
"First off," I said as the tree outside groaned, "I did not *throw* anyone. I just said 'hi.'"
"What did you think was going to happen?" Henric roared. "A dead chick pops out and life is all sunshine and roses? No, I *run like hell.*"
"You trip and fall is more like it."
"Shut up. This is your fault." He resumed his pacing, and I made a rude gesture at his back. I'd learned that while watching t.v. over his shoulder last week, when he was still alive and could use the remote. "I saw that," he growled at me.
"Whatever. You're being a total jerk." Lightening struck, its fingers slashing through the sky. "It was an accident, I apologized, and there's nothing more either of us can do about it."
He spun, his shirt appearing striped with the wallpaper visible through it. "You killed me."
"I just wanted someone to talk to. You know how long it's been?" This time, when the lightening hit it was close enough to rattle the windows.
For a moment he stopped, meeting my eyes before looking away. "Just... tell me how to get out of here."
I shrugged. "You think I'd still be here if I knew?" I didn't bother following him as he started around the room again. Rain beat against the windows as the tree waved madly. I saw Henric reach for the window. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."
He set his jaw and laid a palm against it. I flinched when he did. It'd hurt, a lot. Touching anything towards the outside felt a bit like sticking a hand against an icy pole--then having to peel your skin off to let go. He yanked his hand back, then stared as his whole arm rippled. Dark gray blisters rose and burst in waves of agony before his form settled again.
I rubbed my arm in memory. "No matter how you go at it, or how many times you try, the walls won't let you out. They'll only hurt you. Bad."
His skin smoothed, the gray dissipating, but he did not move.
"It sucks, ok? Being dead sucks." I said, as gently as I could. "But it could be worse."
"How?" The single bleak word hung between us.
"You could be alone. For a hundred years."
Henric turned and glared. I simply offered another shrug and strode back towards the kitchen.
"Don't believe me? That's fine. There's plenty of time to argue about it." I glanced back at him and raised an eyebrow, "But first, want to know one of the perks of being dead?"
"What?" he said cautiously, as he stood framed before the window.
I quirked a half-smile. "You're story hit the news. We're totally going to get ghost hunters."
Henric stepped after me automatically. "What? Can they, like, hurt us?"
"Hurt us?" I laughed. "We're dead. Only those outer walls can hurt us now."
"Then what's so great about ghost hunters?"
Grinning at him, I stepped through the inner wall. "Ever heard of Peeves?" The grin shifted to all-out mischief. "Well, he ain't got *nothin'* on me."
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*He couldn't help it,* I think. He's a ghost. He has a duty and he can't stop himself. Yet I still can't quell the bubble of rage that rises whenever he does his nightly howl. When you're a ghost, you get these urges. Urges to kill. And last time I checked, I wasn't insane. When you're a ghost, you can't really sink any lower. You want to take everyone with you. Everyone. Yet Malice as he likes to call himself made it slow. Drawn out. He made me suffer for the month that I was here. And he makes me suffer for the months that I'm not here, the months after I'd Gone.
Screw him. This is my house, this is my death.
"Come here. I'm waiting. I don't think you're quite dead yet." God, there he goes again. I need to face him. I need to put this to an end. And there's only one solution. There's only one way. It's not right. It's a crime unto itself, but it must be done. I need to perform an exorcism.
I'm hiding out in the attic and the cramped quarters are getting to me. Not that ghosts really feel much, but the same old room with nothing to do other than read is not pleasant. Being a ghost is not pleasant. I stand up. I've been sitting down, looking at the wall.
And my attention goes to the door. And I walk through it. And my attention goes to the stairs below me. And I glide slowly. And my attention goes to the ghost in front of me, Malice. And I stop. And I stare. My hands ball into fists
"Ooh, lookie. Look who came down to join me. Poor me, staying down here all alone." He feigned tragedy. It didn't suit him. His intense eyes stared right at me, right through me. His face has a mocking expression. Nothing is more fun than this to him.
"You need to get out," I said. I couldn't keep the nervousness out of my voice. And I started. I started the only thing that would rid him of me.
*Be banished, be gone*
*Never visit this one*
*This site will be done*
*Done of the evil*
*Be gone*
And I go to the closet, I go through the closet. I open the door and drag my carefully concealed body, my old body, into the space by the steps. Malice was still standing there. He couldn't move, the spell had ensured that. And I took some blood out of my body, only a tiny hole was needed. And I sprayed it over him, I drenched him in his victim. And with that, he was gone. And with that, I had quelled my urge for death. For another few months. There still would be more victims.
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My first writing prompt! Hope you like it!
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You can do it
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[WP] Write a story set on earth, with no aliens, no superpowers, no mysterious tattoos or numbers, and with no references to god whatsoever
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Why did you leave the cat? The stack of LPs you took, but the cat you left? You don’t even have a record player. And meanwhile, Daisy and I spend our days staring at each other. She’s telling me as plainly as she can manage, “You drove her away.” The cat blames me. And I told her – actually told her – “She left you behind. She didn’t want you. So don’t look at me like that.” I told the cat that. And she just kept on looking at me.
You left a sweater in the back of the closet. I don’t go in there, but Daisy does and she found it. She clawed it and tore it and rolled around in it, and eventually, she fell asleep in it. The first time I saw it she was wrapped so tight in the folds of the thing, I thought for a second the sweater was breathing. Lying there and breathing in your old closet. But it was the cat. She did that for a week. Then she figured it out. I don’t know what tipped it for her, but she put it together. I threw the sweater out.
Daisy’s like me in this: she didn’t stop doing what she does because you left. You remember Karen? I didn’t talk about Karen much because you didn’t want me to talk about Karen, but Karen was before you and she broke my heart. Really broke it. I didn’t want to die when she left; I wanted to never have been born in the first place. But that’s good, in a way. I got over it. And then you left and it hurt, but nothing will ever hurt like that time with Karen. That’s my way of saying, I guess, you aren’t that important. I’m not trying to be malicious or anything. It’s just the truth. And Daisy’s the same way. She’s pissed you’re gone, but she didn’t stop eating or anything. She didn’t stop chasing spiders and the reflection off my wristwatch. She stills naps in the window. She just looks more pissed off when she wakes up. I don’t think cats have much room in their lives for love, but I think with Daisy maybe she tried for you. And you left, so now she knows better.
And don’t think that just because I’m seeing the cat’s point of view, that I like the cat or that I’m glad you left the cat. *You two need each other. You can take care of each other.* Fuck you for writing that. Leave if you want. Steal my shit if you need to. But don’t pretend that you’re doing anyone a favor. Even the cat knows you’re full of bullshit.
But I’ll tell you this: I had a dream the other night. I don’t remember it very much, but it’s one of those edited dreams, where you’re seeing things you’ve done and places you’ve been, but it’s not a real memory. Like a messed up collage of old faces and places. But anyway, it was you and me and we were in Napa. I didn’t have much fun on that trip, but seeing it in my dream it was beautiful and exciting and just a big fucking blue sky parade for me and you. And I was seeing you like I never saw you in real life – just *otherworldly*. It was making my chest hurt and my heart race and I was twisting around in the bed and probably saying things, who knows. It was beautiful and it was terrifying. I wanted out of that dream so badly and I couldn’t wake up. I couldn’t get out.
Then the fucking cat bit my hand and I woke up. I look around and I’m all tangled in the sheets and it’s 3 in the morning and Daisy’s on the bed, staring at me. And then she meows. Have you ever heard her meow? I’ve never heard her meow before and here I’m tumbling out of this nightmare and she’s sitting there, meowing at me. She meows and then she hops off the bed, disappears into the dark.
The stupid cat pulled me back. And not out of love. Nothing’s really changed. There’s no hidden affection there. I feed her and clean up her shit and the rest of the time we ignore each other. But Daisy pulled me away – away from that dream, that nightmare…away from you.
So I think you might be right, in your usual twisted, self-serving way. I do need Daisy. Just not the way you think. I need her for those moments when I’m weak and I think I somehow deserved it. I need her when all the other goods things run out and I go tearing through that old shoebox, looking for your letters and hoping your phone number’s on there somewhere.
I need her to remind me that even an asshole of a cat thinks I’m worth saving. We may not like each other, but we respect each other. And that’s a hell of a lot more than either of us can say about you.
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"Order, order!" Mariah Jones called out, "I call this emergency town hall session to order! Now settle down." The cacaphony of the audience hushed itself to a murmur.
"Let's begin this meeting now, at 10:46 AM, on the morning of Wednesday, October 26, uh..." Mariah quickly looked up to try and figure out what year it was, then remembered and concluded, "2016." The crowd nodded in tentative agreement.
"We're here today in this emergency session to discuss the fact that our head numbers are missing now, and what we're gonna have to do about it." The audience started building their crescendo of noise again as they all looked over each others heads and saw nothing.
"Now, I know this carries huge implications for our society, not having any of our human metrics anymore." Murmured assent. "But we're going to have to figure out a way to get along, and we can't stop judging people by the big green number over our heads."
A man in the back piped up, "Wait, you mean 'number of convenience stores visited in the last week'?"
"No, Mr. Smith, the other big green number that says how much money we've earned in the last month. The one next to the pink number. Isn't the convenience store number kind of small, and behind a blue number?" Mariah corrected him.
"Oh yeah, the blue number that said how many times today someone was thinking of us romantically!" A girl up front excitedly squeaked out. She looked up to check it, and was immediately silenced when she saw nothing but florescent lights.
A rather bold-looking tall girl in the middle stood up. "Well, how are we supposed to protect ourselves from criminals, now that we can't see the red 'crimes committed in this lifetime' number on the left?"
"Well--" Mariah tried to add, before she was cut off again.
"And I'm seeing a cute girl," this time from the back, "but I have no idea what her 'romance credit rating is', the pink one that's behind the black 'letters in middle name' number! I don't wanna get trapped in an abusive relationship!"
"That's easy," Mariah quickly interjected, "just check her brown 'number of times you slapped someone else' numb... oh, right."
"Look, I think one of three things is going to happen here, people. Either we dissolve into chaos because we don't have a goddamn rainbow of numbers overhead," Mariah added, expecting the rainbow-colored 'number of times you've said rainbow in your life' number to increment over her head, then sighing, "or we're going to have to write these numbers down and ask people about them, or finally, we can just fucking trust people," she concluded, relieved that the white 'number of F-bombs dropped' didn't count up in front of the whole town hall meeting.
Everyone grumbled something about trust and filed out of the room. Oh lord.
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[WP] A horror story that doesn't involve one of the big three (Paranormal, Aliens, or a Psychopath) just to show me it can actually be done.
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Sarah looked up from the work on her desk. The clock ticked by slow as molasses. 3:55 it read.
Fuck it, she thought to herself. I've earned the right to go home early once in a while.
She placed the documents on her desk in her filing cabinet and logged off of her computer.
She thought about how nice it would be to spend some time with Jane, her daughter.
She drove him, wondering what they would do on this crisp afternoon. Maybe mini-golf, followed by some pedicures. It'd been a while, and Jane had aced her first test of the year. She deserved some pampering.
As she approached the house, she noticed Dave's car was in the driveway. How Odd. He never leaves work early. Maybe he was feeling sick. He said that the flu was traveling around the office.
She decided to be quiet. She unlocked the door, and was shocked to see Dave's clothing strewn over the floor.
She walked down the hall way, her chest tightening with worry.
She heard noises from her bedroom.
She silently pushed the door open, fearing the worst. Dave was naked on the bed. Some floozy underneath him, moaning in ecstasy. She couldn't see the bitch, but she decided to teach them a lesson.
"The Guns are for your protection. That why we have them. To protect ourselves. The world's a dangerous place." She remembered him saying to her several years ago. She laughed silently to herself as she opened the gun safe. He was the one who had insisted on getting trained, who insisted on weekly target practice.
She took out her favorite, the Desert Eagle. Still loaded, as it should be in case of emergencies.
A deep fury and anger grew in her chest. She walked over to the door. She debated whether she wanted to say anything to the bastard.
Fuck no, she decided. He would convince her to put the gun down. Well Screw that bastard. Wait till this damned bimbo gets an explosion that shell never forget. Her cheating husbands brains all over her. She looked at him.
He was doing her doggy style from behind still. The bitch was invisible from the door.
Sarah smiled evilly to herself. She raised the gun, assumed the correct stance, lined the sights up on the back of that fuckers head and pulled the trigger.
The sound was deafening in the room without the ear protectors on. Blood splattered itself all over the whore's back and the wall. Dave fell forward on to the hussy's back.
The Girl started screaming in sheer horror. She pushed Dave off of herself and the familiar face of her daughter appeared, covered in blood from under her dead father's body.
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I looked over my shoulder as I stumbled over another root. They were strewn all over the ground and made it hard to escape, hard to stay up. I started to feel my chest pumping and heaving with each step. As I tripped and fell again, I risked a glance behind me. A mass of brown, coarse fur was gaining on me. *Up the tree? No, I think they can climb*. I stumbled back onto my feet but my legs start to want to give out. As my feet pumped and my legs burned, I knew I couldn't make it. It was too far. The thudding on the ground behind me was getting louder and more rapid. I turned around to face it.
The bear's paw clipped me hard on the jaw. I fell to the ground like a wadded up piece of paper. I felt it's hot breath on me and watched as its gaping jaws dove in toward me. My cheek was crushed by its teeth and I felt as I slowly began to bleed out. In my last few seconds, I saw a hunter shoot it and wondered how it could have ended if they had shown up just a little sooner.
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[WP] A horror story that doesn't involve one of the big three (Paranormal, Aliens, or a Psychopath) just to show me it can actually be done.
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***APPALACHIAN TRAIL***
DAY 1: First time thru-hike! I can't wait to get started. My husband drove me down to Georgia, where I'll start the greatest adventure of my life, as I head north on foot to Maine. The plan is to make it to the end by late August. Better get moving!
DAY 5: Met a few other NOBO Purists, and got my trail name! They took to calling me "Brownie Jam", after I shared some of my chocolate-raspberry power bars that I made myself. I feel so connected to the community now! I'm a real Hiker!
DAY 10: Well into TN, now. Making better time than expected, but I know the topography here is much easier than what is to come. Going through my supplies faster than I anticipated. Might have to start setting up some snares soon.
DAY 20: First big storm. What a mess. Came on so fast I couldn't get my tent up in time, and the wind ripped the tarp from my hands and blew it up into a tree. It's shredded, and there's no way for me to get it. I still have the mylar blanket, so that'll do for protection. I really don't want to leave the trail over this.
DAY 22: Haven't seen any other hikers since the first meeting. Weird. I expected to pass a lot more people.
DAY 25: Saw wild boar tracks. Wow. I knew they could be in this area, but didn't expect to actually see one.
DAY 26: Shit. Shitshitshit. Turns out, boars are attracted to shiny things, and they feel the need to destroy them. Or, at least, this one did. I'd made a lean-to from my mylar blanket, and this humongous bastard tore through it like a bull through a red cape. I plan to just keep going until I get to the next blue blaze, then I'll turn off and find the nearest shelter. Oh well. There goes my Purist card.
DAY 26 (P.S.): I think that damn boar is still around. Keep hearing huffing and snorting just off the trail.
DAY 27: The boar followed me all day. As I started to set up camp, he charged me. I leapt to my feet and stumbled backwards, but he kept coming. Somehow, he goaded me back until I fell off a cliff. No supplies, legs definitely broken, no way up or down. Surely another hiker will see my camp and find me soon.
DAY 29: So thursty. hungry. Were is evryone? This trail should be fullof hkers, but noone come. Tired.
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I looked over my shoulder as I stumbled over another root. They were strewn all over the ground and made it hard to escape, hard to stay up. I started to feel my chest pumping and heaving with each step. As I tripped and fell again, I risked a glance behind me. A mass of brown, coarse fur was gaining on me. *Up the tree? No, I think they can climb*. I stumbled back onto my feet but my legs start to want to give out. As my feet pumped and my legs burned, I knew I couldn't make it. It was too far. The thudding on the ground behind me was getting louder and more rapid. I turned around to face it.
The bear's paw clipped me hard on the jaw. I fell to the ground like a wadded up piece of paper. I felt it's hot breath on me and watched as its gaping jaws dove in toward me. My cheek was crushed by its teeth and I felt as I slowly began to bleed out. In my last few seconds, I saw a hunter shoot it and wondered how it could have ended if they had shown up just a little sooner.
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[WP] A horror story that doesn't involve one of the big three (Paranormal, Aliens, or a Psychopath) just to show me it can actually be done.
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#The Cold
There's a time between night and dawn here in the Cold where light hangs heavy in the air like a dense fog, clinging to the underbelly of the clouds. Angel fingers, reaching down from the surface of a charcoal river that flows so far above and yet too close; and I the dregs of that river, tossed along on a current unseen and unknowable beneath, save the grasp of it I feel ever present upon me.
Through this dim lit dawn I walked, my feet churning through bone white snow who's very purity had become painful for my eyes to look upon. There was never a change upon its surface, never a spark of color or variation of form. I walked across a sheet of paper which no scribe had cared to write upon, the pale surface of a distant moon no eye had yet seen. Always was the White beneath me, as was the Dark above. To both I owned an intimacy better unknown. It was an intimacy void of depth, for as I saw them, so they were. And with their continuity, they strangled time, until with a whimper quieter than a breath, the memory of it faded, and naught was left to me but the White and the Dark.
Between the White and the Dark stood Terminus. Yellow as the unseen sun, it seemed to tower above me like Babel of old, and like that ancient heresy, felt like brash sin to raise it up before the White and Dark. A challenge, a mockery, a vanity, it pointed to the sky in defiance, and spread across the earth without shame. It hollowness could only be found as I crawled into its depths like a wintering rodent. A single gas lantern lit its interior, giving off a heat that was lost to the Cold. A sleeping roll lay off to the side, disheveled and worn, little more than a rag against the blade of the Cold. And opposite that sat a small crate of supplies, once full, now merely the crumbs of a meal all but consumed by the Cold.
I sat within this braggarts smirk, the Angel Fingers dancing against the hide of Terminus. They gifted me with the soft glow of yellow that gave me no little feeling of vagueness, and served to remind me that much had been lost to the Cold, and there was not much more to lose.
Outside, the Angel Fingers pulled back from the edge of the charcoal river. The Grey Sun rose in the west, and from the east came Silence to greet my heart with a chilling embrace. And I saw yet again that I had lived this day yesterday, that it had never ended, and that tomorrow had not come for many days. The Cold had killed time, and what man is there that can out live time?
I stripped of my coat, of my hood, of my gloves, and felt the Cold as I had never felt before. I had not lived this day, and tomorrow would not come.
I strode out into the White and Dark, Silence wrapped around me like the forgotten warmth of a fire, hands clasped with the Grey Sun. And across that sheet I walked, a forgotten dream on an authors page, a lost note among many sheets of music.
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I looked over my shoulder as I stumbled over another root. They were strewn all over the ground and made it hard to escape, hard to stay up. I started to feel my chest pumping and heaving with each step. As I tripped and fell again, I risked a glance behind me. A mass of brown, coarse fur was gaining on me. *Up the tree? No, I think they can climb*. I stumbled back onto my feet but my legs start to want to give out. As my feet pumped and my legs burned, I knew I couldn't make it. It was too far. The thudding on the ground behind me was getting louder and more rapid. I turned around to face it.
The bear's paw clipped me hard on the jaw. I fell to the ground like a wadded up piece of paper. I felt it's hot breath on me and watched as its gaping jaws dove in toward me. My cheek was crushed by its teeth and I felt as I slowly began to bleed out. In my last few seconds, I saw a hunter shoot it and wondered how it could have ended if they had shown up just a little sooner.
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[WP] A horror story that doesn't involve one of the big three (Paranormal, Aliens, or a Psychopath) just to show me it can actually be done.
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The flames engulfed my vision. The sound of combustion and splintering wood spiked and became deafening. The heat was overwhelming and painful, causing me to scream helplessly and cry out, convulsing wildly, as I was thrown into what was formerly a wall, broken ends tearing and puncturing my skin. I blistered from the burns, my skin paining me so that every twinge of a muscle became excruciating. In that moment, all I knew was incapacitating pain. I did not think about fear. I did not process what had happened. I didn't think of the fates of those around me. I did not think of my wife. I did not think of my daughter. I forgot everything I knew except pain. They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die. If burning alive is anything like death, I disagree. I would have ceased to exist without reflection. I would have died thinking of my annoyance with a co-worker, or how I wish that I had aspirin to ease my migraine. Then, my body would erase all other thoughts and become inhabited by the embodiment of pure fear, as it shook and degraded and melted, before ceasing function. I would have died before my body did, replaced by a screaming, spastic imposter. 36 years of existence would have culminated in a final thought of "I fucking hate work". The fresh faced child, wailing as it took in its first glimpse of light, the child so adored by his parents that they would have sold the world for him, the loved husband and father, the friendly neighbor, those lives would have achieved nothing more than fading memories and a sequence of amino acids. I was splayed across the floor a few feet from the jagged hole in the floor displaying the massacre below, screaming, melting, rotting in a corner, awaiting the inevitable. Between my own screams and the desperate cries from third parties, a creaking of wood slowly increased volume, followed by a booming crack. The floor cracked beneath me on one side, slanting on one side, and I tumbled lower and lower as the flames extinguished. I flew into the side of a room and large objects quickly tumbled into me. The screams stopped. The brightness stopped. The world around me slowly gained clarity. I was in my office, or the remains of it. The second floor had collapsed, resulting in a downwards slope that ended where I sat, nearly making contact with the wall of the first floor. The wood was split in most sections, accompanied by bloody streaks and discolored skin marks. A mangled corpse hung lifelessly from a beam intersecting the wall. Around me was chaos. Corpses, cubicles, and electronic objects piled together to my left and right. Moans and cries softly invaded my ears, accompanied by a symphony of hissing pipes and crackling flames. Beneath me, a weak hand, which belonged to a man wedged between the two floors, clawed at me to attempt freedom as he cried ceaselessly, interrupted only by his sharp breaths.
I looked at the holocaust around me, and overwhelmed by the gruesome array of death, I shouted nonsense and vomited, coating the man underneath me, who paid no attention as he was preoccupied with other matters. I sat silently, shaking from fear, until after what seemed like an eternity a voice boomed from the other side of the slope. "Anyone out there? Hello? Respond if you can hear me, we are getting you out of there. There was a gas leak which caused an explosion in the building, we need to get as many people out as we can, now. This building is going to fall, I repeat is anyone out there?" I tried to speak, but could only produce hoarse whimpering. My response consisted of loud, pained coughs. "Try and climb the floor and get out through any breaks to the other side, we have the door uncovered, you need to get out." said the man with a slightly more urgent tone than he had donned in the previous statement. I replied hoarsely, "I will try." I grabbed the side of an overturned filing cabinet and began to pull myself up, but fell as soon as I tried to support myself. Looking down, I realized my legs had been mangled, with my calves at unnatural angles from my thighs. Bone was exposed through holes in my pants, and my skin was charred. I looked up at a jutting piece of wood next to me and tried to drag myself to safely. I clawed at the floorboards, ascending the slope to a point where the chasm in the floor had been earlier, and looked through at the man that had been speaking. His hair was only existent in brief patches. His eyebrows were gone, and his face was raw and bloody, however, he was in a better looking state than most of the bodies at the bottom of the slant. "Sir", he said, "I need you to drop yourself. It is going to hurt, but we need you out of here as fast as we can" I yelled in pain as I dragged myself upward, falling through the chasm and roughly slamming into the floor, knocking the wind out of myself. ((I don't feel like finishing this at this second, call this the first volume of something. To be continued, I suppose))
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I looked over my shoulder as I stumbled over another root. They were strewn all over the ground and made it hard to escape, hard to stay up. I started to feel my chest pumping and heaving with each step. As I tripped and fell again, I risked a glance behind me. A mass of brown, coarse fur was gaining on me. *Up the tree? No, I think they can climb*. I stumbled back onto my feet but my legs start to want to give out. As my feet pumped and my legs burned, I knew I couldn't make it. It was too far. The thudding on the ground behind me was getting louder and more rapid. I turned around to face it.
The bear's paw clipped me hard on the jaw. I fell to the ground like a wadded up piece of paper. I felt it's hot breath on me and watched as its gaping jaws dove in toward me. My cheek was crushed by its teeth and I felt as I slowly began to bleed out. In my last few seconds, I saw a hunter shoot it and wondered how it could have ended if they had shown up just a little sooner.
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[WP] A horror story that doesn't involve one of the big three (Paranormal, Aliens, or a Psychopath) just to show me it can actually be done.
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Harry was curled up in bed when his cell phone rang, tucked in under a sea of white sheets and red flannel blankets. He flung a hand listlessly out from under the sheets, cursing when the hard surface of his nightstand cracked against his knuckles. His sluggish fingers curled around the cracked screen of his phone; he accepted the call and pressed the phone against his ear, retreating back into the safety of his blankets once more. "Hi, mom," he said. He heard his mother take a deep breath the line.
"Harry, love," she started, her voice trailing off at the end, uncertain. "I need to talk to you about-"
"Mom, I'm not doing anything wrong," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not partying, I'm not doing drugs, and I've been eating all my vegetables."
"That's not what I'm concerned about, Harry," his mother said. Her voice was even more tremulous now, enough even to worry Harry, who was still half-asleep.
"What's it about, then?" he asked.
His mother sighed. "Student loans."
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I looked over my shoulder as I stumbled over another root. They were strewn all over the ground and made it hard to escape, hard to stay up. I started to feel my chest pumping and heaving with each step. As I tripped and fell again, I risked a glance behind me. A mass of brown, coarse fur was gaining on me. *Up the tree? No, I think they can climb*. I stumbled back onto my feet but my legs start to want to give out. As my feet pumped and my legs burned, I knew I couldn't make it. It was too far. The thudding on the ground behind me was getting louder and more rapid. I turned around to face it.
The bear's paw clipped me hard on the jaw. I fell to the ground like a wadded up piece of paper. I felt it's hot breath on me and watched as its gaping jaws dove in toward me. My cheek was crushed by its teeth and I felt as I slowly began to bleed out. In my last few seconds, I saw a hunter shoot it and wondered how it could have ended if they had shown up just a little sooner.
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[WP] A horror story that doesn't involve one of the big three (Paranormal, Aliens, or a Psychopath) just to show me it can actually be done.
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I heard a noise downstairs and a knock of a hard object against the living room table. Chills ran through my body as adrenaline surged through my blood. Quickly, I edged under my bed and grabbed my 9mm pistol. I could remember on the news about a series of break-ins recently and shootings had increased 25% in the last year alone in our city.
Everything was quiet. The intruder knew they were heard and halted their movements. I knew my house perfectly. Each board that squeaked, where each piece of furniture was placed; the blindness from getting old helped in some strange ways, this being one.
I made my way to the living room, which only had one entrance, doubling as the exit. The table was at the far end behind the couch and in front of the entertainment system. I flicked on the lights.
I see a crouched man spring up and pull a hand from under his jacket.
I shoot.
A XboxOne controller flies out of his hand and bounces off the wall. The boy falls back. Blood is pouring out of the wound in his chest and pooling on the carpet. His eyes are looking straight in shear terror, trying to comprehend the haste of his last dying minutes.
I ran over and held his hand. I tried to tell him it was okay. I apologized again and again before reaching for the phone to call and ambulance. The boy couldn't speak and I watched as his breath began to convulse. The look of fright never left his eyes, even after his spirit left him.
It doesn't matter how many times I tell this, I still see him every night. My imagination won't stop placing him in front of me. A stone image of a kid that chose the absolute worst time to break into a man's home, with a hole in his chest in blood-stained clothes.
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I looked over my shoulder as I stumbled over another root. They were strewn all over the ground and made it hard to escape, hard to stay up. I started to feel my chest pumping and heaving with each step. As I tripped and fell again, I risked a glance behind me. A mass of brown, coarse fur was gaining on me. *Up the tree? No, I think they can climb*. I stumbled back onto my feet but my legs start to want to give out. As my feet pumped and my legs burned, I knew I couldn't make it. It was too far. The thudding on the ground behind me was getting louder and more rapid. I turned around to face it.
The bear's paw clipped me hard on the jaw. I fell to the ground like a wadded up piece of paper. I felt it's hot breath on me and watched as its gaping jaws dove in toward me. My cheek was crushed by its teeth and I felt as I slowly began to bleed out. In my last few seconds, I saw a hunter shoot it and wondered how it could have ended if they had shown up just a little sooner.
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[WP] A horror story that doesn't involve one of the big three (Paranormal, Aliens, or a Psychopath) just to show me it can actually be done.
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***APPALACHIAN TRAIL***
DAY 1: First time thru-hike! I can't wait to get started. My husband drove me down to Georgia, where I'll start the greatest adventure of my life, as I head north on foot to Maine. The plan is to make it to the end by late August. Better get moving!
DAY 5: Met a few other NOBO Purists, and got my trail name! They took to calling me "Brownie Jam", after I shared some of my chocolate-raspberry power bars that I made myself. I feel so connected to the community now! I'm a real Hiker!
DAY 10: Well into TN, now. Making better time than expected, but I know the topography here is much easier than what is to come. Going through my supplies faster than I anticipated. Might have to start setting up some snares soon.
DAY 20: First big storm. What a mess. Came on so fast I couldn't get my tent up in time, and the wind ripped the tarp from my hands and blew it up into a tree. It's shredded, and there's no way for me to get it. I still have the mylar blanket, so that'll do for protection. I really don't want to leave the trail over this.
DAY 22: Haven't seen any other hikers since the first meeting. Weird. I expected to pass a lot more people.
DAY 25: Saw wild boar tracks. Wow. I knew they could be in this area, but didn't expect to actually see one.
DAY 26: Shit. Shitshitshit. Turns out, boars are attracted to shiny things, and they feel the need to destroy them. Or, at least, this one did. I'd made a lean-to from my mylar blanket, and this humongous bastard tore through it like a bull through a red cape. I plan to just keep going until I get to the next blue blaze, then I'll turn off and find the nearest shelter. Oh well. There goes my Purist card.
DAY 26 (P.S.): I think that damn boar is still around. Keep hearing huffing and snorting just off the trail.
DAY 27: The boar followed me all day. As I started to set up camp, he charged me. I leapt to my feet and stumbled backwards, but he kept coming. Somehow, he goaded me back until I fell off a cliff. No supplies, legs definitely broken, no way up or down. Surely another hiker will see my camp and find me soon.
DAY 29: So thursty. hungry. Were is evryone? This trail should be fullof hkers, but noone come. Tired.
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I was on my way home from work, my children were alone because the baby sitter decided to leave early for some reason. I pull into the drive way and come rushing to the door, opening it slowly as the kids are playing in their rooms from the sound of it.
The lights were off though and then I noticed the carpet looked weird, I turn on the lights to see 1000's of legos covering the house floor.
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[WP] A horror story that doesn't involve one of the big three (Paranormal, Aliens, or a Psychopath) just to show me it can actually be done.
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***APPALACHIAN TRAIL***
DAY 1: First time thru-hike! I can't wait to get started. My husband drove me down to Georgia, where I'll start the greatest adventure of my life, as I head north on foot to Maine. The plan is to make it to the end by late August. Better get moving!
DAY 5: Met a few other NOBO Purists, and got my trail name! They took to calling me "Brownie Jam", after I shared some of my chocolate-raspberry power bars that I made myself. I feel so connected to the community now! I'm a real Hiker!
DAY 10: Well into TN, now. Making better time than expected, but I know the topography here is much easier than what is to come. Going through my supplies faster than I anticipated. Might have to start setting up some snares soon.
DAY 20: First big storm. What a mess. Came on so fast I couldn't get my tent up in time, and the wind ripped the tarp from my hands and blew it up into a tree. It's shredded, and there's no way for me to get it. I still have the mylar blanket, so that'll do for protection. I really don't want to leave the trail over this.
DAY 22: Haven't seen any other hikers since the first meeting. Weird. I expected to pass a lot more people.
DAY 25: Saw wild boar tracks. Wow. I knew they could be in this area, but didn't expect to actually see one.
DAY 26: Shit. Shitshitshit. Turns out, boars are attracted to shiny things, and they feel the need to destroy them. Or, at least, this one did. I'd made a lean-to from my mylar blanket, and this humongous bastard tore through it like a bull through a red cape. I plan to just keep going until I get to the next blue blaze, then I'll turn off and find the nearest shelter. Oh well. There goes my Purist card.
DAY 26 (P.S.): I think that damn boar is still around. Keep hearing huffing and snorting just off the trail.
DAY 27: The boar followed me all day. As I started to set up camp, he charged me. I leapt to my feet and stumbled backwards, but he kept coming. Somehow, he goaded me back until I fell off a cliff. No supplies, legs definitely broken, no way up or down. Surely another hiker will see my camp and find me soon.
DAY 29: So thursty. hungry. Were is evryone? This trail should be fullof hkers, but noone come. Tired.
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I had gotten as far as I had by never trusting anybody.
I was always the skiddish type. Could never relax. Always felt that someone was watching me, someone was looking to take me out, and I couldn't ever let that happen. All the people I've screwed over the years, because I had to shoot first. But now... I didn't know where to shoot. I didn't know where the next threat was coming from. Every moment I expected gunfire, but it was nothing but eerie silence. I dreaded the moment where one day, I would hear the perfectly aimed shot that would end me. Or maybe I wouldn't hear anything. They were too good for that, weren't they? When I least expected it, all I would feel is wire constricting around my throat before my body went limp.
Nobody saw this coming, not even me. A new order, a system of governments enacting a devastating display of power. Killings on a global scale, to bring down the population and create a new gene pool. I knew they were watching me. I couldn't hide, and there was nowhere left to run.
I had never trusted anybody. Now, I wished more than anything that I had somebody to trust.
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[WP] A horror story that doesn't involve one of the big three (Paranormal, Aliens, or a Psychopath) just to show me it can actually be done.
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"Run!", the cry broke the dewey stillness of their resting area. *"They found us!"*, Berta's mind screamed. *"Where do we go?"*
Revving engines, coming closer and closer. There was no time. No time! *"GO!"*
They scattered, with no direction or leadership, chaff to the wind. Everyone for themselves, sprinting for their lives.
*DOGS!* Their bloodthirsty howls, eager to chase, set fire to her legs. Oh how she ran. She ran for distance, she ran for cover. *"It can't end like this!'*
She caught her breathe on a small hillock and chanced a look. Men in uniform, combing through the bush. Dogs, running back and forth, flushing her friends from their hiding place. Screams of fear mixed with the excited shouts of the hunters and the hungry yelping of the dogs. Tears streamed as she turned and crested the hill.
*PAIN!* She saw red as a rope lashed her face, then her back, throwing her to the ground, a dog snarling in her face. She heard a chuckle from the hunter as she struggled, and knew it was all over. Then she was forced to her feet and herded to a waiting trailer along with her friends.
*"How did they find us?"*
***************
They were far from the road, so the men used the most utilitarian approach - nothing wasted, not even a bullet, unless absolutely necessary. Their prey was crowded into common farm transports - steel livestock trailers requisitioned from several ranches nearby.
Fear, blood, feces; the stench was unbearable. Berta's trailer was so full, there was no room to sit, much less get comfortable. She prayed that the ride would be short, that it would somehow turn out all right for her and her friends. *"Why us? Why?"*
They endured the suffocating ride for hours without a break or any creature comforts. The men up front smoked, joked, and laughed throughout, taking no notice and no pity on their cargo. When they reached the destination, it was growing dark. In the light of the approaching city, they could see the walls of the compound looming nearer and nearer. The passenger turned, cigarette lounging in his lips, "Y'all be quiet now! The neighbours don't like it when you disturb them." He cackled and turned back to the front.
Berta was herded off the trailer with her friends into muddy enclosure surrounded by humming barbed wire. As the last of them were forced into their new prison, the passenger collected his blood money from another man.
"This load looked better! No more like the previous - I only want the highest quality! Ok Johnson?" The passenger muttered something under his breath, then nodded in agreement to the other. "We found them hiding out in the sticks. It was fun hunting this group down. Almost like the good old days!"
"Well, Johnson, a pleasure doing business with you. Bring me more like her" He pointed at Berta, whose eyes widened. "Cattle like that will feed a family and cover their backs!"
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Let me tell you about the day I started to believe in Ghosts.
There I say. We'd all heard the stories before, but we're they really stories? Ghosts who would sweep people up at night and leave nothing but burning embers by the morning.
We all just sat, paralyzed with fear. Could we be next? None of us had seen any of these ghosts before so how could we even know we were to be next?
Some men came around earlier asking my father some questions about me. He didn't seem too keen about telling them about where I was but I could feel the tension as I sat under the rotted floor.
And so I sat. I know ghosts aren't real so why is everyone so edgy, the amount of commotion outsider is deafening. Whatever I'm done sitting. I'm 14 and I'm a man now, just like my father would tell me. I can just sneak out and deal with this like the man I am.
I could here my Mother crying. She never cried. I was going to deal with this and show everyone what it meant to be a man in the Jackson family. Just had to move this last board and -
"There he is! There's that nigger that killed my Janet!"
I wondered, if only for a split second, who Janet was as I looked towards the voice. And that's when I believed in Ghosts.
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[WP] A horror story that doesn't involve one of the big three (Paranormal, Aliens, or a Psychopath) just to show me it can actually be done.
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Harry was curled up in bed when his cell phone rang, tucked in under a sea of white sheets and red flannel blankets. He flung a hand listlessly out from under the sheets, cursing when the hard surface of his nightstand cracked against his knuckles. His sluggish fingers curled around the cracked screen of his phone; he accepted the call and pressed the phone against his ear, retreating back into the safety of his blankets once more. "Hi, mom," he said. He heard his mother take a deep breath the line.
"Harry, love," she started, her voice trailing off at the end, uncertain. "I need to talk to you about-"
"Mom, I'm not doing anything wrong," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not partying, I'm not doing drugs, and I've been eating all my vegetables."
"That's not what I'm concerned about, Harry," his mother said. Her voice was even more tremulous now, enough even to worry Harry, who was still half-asleep.
"What's it about, then?" he asked.
His mother sighed. "Student loans."
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Let me tell you about the day I started to believe in Ghosts.
There I say. We'd all heard the stories before, but we're they really stories? Ghosts who would sweep people up at night and leave nothing but burning embers by the morning.
We all just sat, paralyzed with fear. Could we be next? None of us had seen any of these ghosts before so how could we even know we were to be next?
Some men came around earlier asking my father some questions about me. He didn't seem too keen about telling them about where I was but I could feel the tension as I sat under the rotted floor.
And so I sat. I know ghosts aren't real so why is everyone so edgy, the amount of commotion outsider is deafening. Whatever I'm done sitting. I'm 14 and I'm a man now, just like my father would tell me. I can just sneak out and deal with this like the man I am.
I could here my Mother crying. She never cried. I was going to deal with this and show everyone what it meant to be a man in the Jackson family. Just had to move this last board and -
"There he is! There's that nigger that killed my Janet!"
I wondered, if only for a split second, who Janet was as I looked towards the voice. And that's when I believed in Ghosts.
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[WP] A horror story that doesn't involve one of the big three (Paranormal, Aliens, or a Psychopath) just to show me it can actually be done.
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I heard a noise downstairs and a knock of a hard object against the living room table. Chills ran through my body as adrenaline surged through my blood. Quickly, I edged under my bed and grabbed my 9mm pistol. I could remember on the news about a series of break-ins recently and shootings had increased 25% in the last year alone in our city.
Everything was quiet. The intruder knew they were heard and halted their movements. I knew my house perfectly. Each board that squeaked, where each piece of furniture was placed; the blindness from getting old helped in some strange ways, this being one.
I made my way to the living room, which only had one entrance, doubling as the exit. The table was at the far end behind the couch and in front of the entertainment system. I flicked on the lights.
I see a crouched man spring up and pull a hand from under his jacket.
I shoot.
A XboxOne controller flies out of his hand and bounces off the wall. The boy falls back. Blood is pouring out of the wound in his chest and pooling on the carpet. His eyes are looking straight in shear terror, trying to comprehend the haste of his last dying minutes.
I ran over and held his hand. I tried to tell him it was okay. I apologized again and again before reaching for the phone to call and ambulance. The boy couldn't speak and I watched as his breath began to convulse. The look of fright never left his eyes, even after his spirit left him.
It doesn't matter how many times I tell this, I still see him every night. My imagination won't stop placing him in front of me. A stone image of a kid that chose the absolute worst time to break into a man's home, with a hole in his chest in blood-stained clothes.
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Let me tell you about the day I started to believe in Ghosts.
There I say. We'd all heard the stories before, but we're they really stories? Ghosts who would sweep people up at night and leave nothing but burning embers by the morning.
We all just sat, paralyzed with fear. Could we be next? None of us had seen any of these ghosts before so how could we even know we were to be next?
Some men came around earlier asking my father some questions about me. He didn't seem too keen about telling them about where I was but I could feel the tension as I sat under the rotted floor.
And so I sat. I know ghosts aren't real so why is everyone so edgy, the amount of commotion outsider is deafening. Whatever I'm done sitting. I'm 14 and I'm a man now, just like my father would tell me. I can just sneak out and deal with this like the man I am.
I could here my Mother crying. She never cried. I was going to deal with this and show everyone what it meant to be a man in the Jackson family. Just had to move this last board and -
"There he is! There's that nigger that killed my Janet!"
I wondered, if only for a split second, who Janet was as I looked towards the voice. And that's when I believed in Ghosts.
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[WP] A horror story that doesn't involve one of the big three (Paranormal, Aliens, or a Psychopath) just to show me it can actually be done.
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Marcus stared at his laptop. He first thought that he could write about killer robots. He then decided that may be considered cheating. That was almost a loop hole. He tapped his nails against his desk and thought "Maybe the scariest things are real problems" He thought about people in soul crushing debt, the loss of a child, or maybe people stuck in the snow freezing to death.
He decided that would be it. He would write about real horror. He continued to write an epic about a troop of French infantry in the battle of Verdun in World War 1. They were stuck in a crater created by a mortar round. If they left they would be mowed down by gunfire. They were dying of thirst and there was water nearby. It was tainted by poison gas, and one of them drank it then died. They ate rats, because there were plentiful. Swarms of them had come to feast on the bodies of the fallen. They survived a month in the crater before they died. The sky turned black from smoke and death. The sounds of war were deafening.
Marcus heard a beep and his screen turned black. "What?" Marcus said out loud. When it finished booting his story was gone. He worked for hours on it. He thought it was a masterpiece. It was gone.
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Let me tell you about the day I started to believe in Ghosts.
There I say. We'd all heard the stories before, but we're they really stories? Ghosts who would sweep people up at night and leave nothing but burning embers by the morning.
We all just sat, paralyzed with fear. Could we be next? None of us had seen any of these ghosts before so how could we even know we were to be next?
Some men came around earlier asking my father some questions about me. He didn't seem too keen about telling them about where I was but I could feel the tension as I sat under the rotted floor.
And so I sat. I know ghosts aren't real so why is everyone so edgy, the amount of commotion outsider is deafening. Whatever I'm done sitting. I'm 14 and I'm a man now, just like my father would tell me. I can just sneak out and deal with this like the man I am.
I could here my Mother crying. She never cried. I was going to deal with this and show everyone what it meant to be a man in the Jackson family. Just had to move this last board and -
"There he is! There's that nigger that killed my Janet!"
I wondered, if only for a split second, who Janet was as I looked towards the voice. And that's when I believed in Ghosts.
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[WP] A horror story that doesn't involve one of the big three (Paranormal, Aliens, or a Psychopath) just to show me it can actually be done.
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Do not repeat my experiments. Do not follow in my footsteps.
By God, I wish I lived centuries earlier - that the only records that existed of my research were manuscripts that I could burn, that if I worked hard enough and quick enough, I could erase from existence every word I've written, and let this secret I've uncovered *remain* secret.
Alas. What I've made my life's work, I also struggled to share - I worked hard to publish it in as many journals as I could, to share what I saw as breakthroughs with as many people as possible. And now, I realized that I've only been spreading a seed, a diaspora of forbidden knowledge.
It is better to remain ignorant. It is better to not know what I am talking about. Be confused, and be happy about it. There is no refuge in knowledge. There is only certainty, inevitability, dread. I cannot bear to live knowing what I do now.
But I will, for moments longer, enough time to write this, to plant one more seed. To those who have pursued my research to their ends, who have not listened to my warnings, whose curiosity consumed them as it did me... I shall tell you what you're now seeing. And how to survive as long as I have, against all odds.
What you are seeing are *not delusions.* This is difficult to believe, I know, as my work involves drastic alterations of a brain's normal operations. Under many circumstances, it'd be very understandable to think that these sights are hallucinations, and that you can ignore them. Unfortunately, you cannot feign ignorance. Your first look at one of these predators - even a glimpse - will invariably terrify you. And they, to use the common phrase, *smell fear.* It is how they have lived this long, and how they have made their place as the apex predator of the world. Once you have seen one, *they cannot let you live.*
You must run. They are not fast - they are just everywhere. Escape the ones that know you have seen them, and then pretend to see no others. You will survive, if you can do that.
If you are in denial, remember this - I research neurological blindness. I began my research looking into concept such as hemispatial neglect, where people simply cannot *process or perceive* anything to the 'left'. If the left side of their house is burning down, they will not realize it. If asked to fill in numbers on a clock, they will squeeze every number - 1 to 12 - on the right side. They will apply make-up only to the right side of their face. And so on.
Importantly, these people's very reality, the logic they rely on to live, alters to fit this mistake of their mind. I attempted to cure hemispatial neglect by simply using mirrors - by placing a mirror on the right side of the patient, I could have them interact with their 'left' by relying on their 'right'. But my experiment backfired... When I held something to their left, and told them to reach towards it by using the mirror, they would do one of two things: try to grab the object *inside* the mirror, or strain to reach *over* the mirror to grab the object.
I asked these patients if they understood what a mirror was. And they did! But to them, this mirror reflects opposites - up becomes down, and right becomes... but there *is no left.* If this mirror cannot reflect something, then it *cannot be a mirror.*
When I perceived this phenomena, I became obsessed with other forms of reality-altering perception. Some people are paralyzed, but their brain does not know it - they will provide excuses for why they will not walk, or why they do not raise their arm from the table. Some people experience blindsight, where they cannot *consciously* see, but can still unconsciously see it - being able to navigate a room with objects strewn all over the floor, for example, but never realizing they are doing it.
Remember that, then realize this too - *everyone* is blind like this. In my final study, I noticed an unusual lesion in the brain of most every animal I looked into - presumably stemming from some defect of evolution, eons down the line. I hypothesized this lesion produced a sort of neurological blindness along these lines, preventing us from perceiving something that could be all around us... and, foolishly, I devised a means of altering the brain's normal processes with strong magnetic fields (much like the work done in reversing moral compasses), to circumvent this lesion.
And what I opened my eyes to was the horror that you now see. The chitinous creatures that swarm over every surface, that are the size of a man's torso, whose maws open and close silently, whose carapaces shine with unimaginable hues, a color outside of normal perception... that is *reality.* That is *truth.* That is what you have been kept from seeing, all of your life, by what I thought was a flaw of your brain.
I wish I could leave everyone with the belief that they were delusions - but you will die if you think they cannot hurt you. Because they can hurt you, and if you react to them - if you do not prevent yourself from recoiling in horror, or shivering in terror, at the very sight of them - then they *will* hurt you.
My injuries may be grave, but I do not fear death at this point... I accept it. I cannot live in a world where I must pretend I cannot see these creatures. I cannot will myself to survive if this is the sight I will face every day of my life. Even though I've turned off the magnet, restored myself to blessed blindness... I will never forget they are *there*. The hungering unknown will always be waiting for me, at the edges of the world, waiting until I am alone and forgotten, ripe to become another missing person, a number of a statistic...
I say goodbye to this cursed world. And I hope that those I leave behind will heed my warning, and stay blind.
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Let me tell you about the day I started to believe in Ghosts.
There I say. We'd all heard the stories before, but we're they really stories? Ghosts who would sweep people up at night and leave nothing but burning embers by the morning.
We all just sat, paralyzed with fear. Could we be next? None of us had seen any of these ghosts before so how could we even know we were to be next?
Some men came around earlier asking my father some questions about me. He didn't seem too keen about telling them about where I was but I could feel the tension as I sat under the rotted floor.
And so I sat. I know ghosts aren't real so why is everyone so edgy, the amount of commotion outsider is deafening. Whatever I'm done sitting. I'm 14 and I'm a man now, just like my father would tell me. I can just sneak out and deal with this like the man I am.
I could here my Mother crying. She never cried. I was going to deal with this and show everyone what it meant to be a man in the Jackson family. Just had to move this last board and -
"There he is! There's that nigger that killed my Janet!"
I wondered, if only for a split second, who Janet was as I looked towards the voice. And that's when I believed in Ghosts.
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[WP] A horror story that doesn't involve one of the big three (Paranormal, Aliens, or a Psychopath) just to show me it can actually be done.
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Harry was curled up in bed when his cell phone rang, tucked in under a sea of white sheets and red flannel blankets. He flung a hand listlessly out from under the sheets, cursing when the hard surface of his nightstand cracked against his knuckles. His sluggish fingers curled around the cracked screen of his phone; he accepted the call and pressed the phone against his ear, retreating back into the safety of his blankets once more. "Hi, mom," he said. He heard his mother take a deep breath the line.
"Harry, love," she started, her voice trailing off at the end, uncertain. "I need to talk to you about-"
"Mom, I'm not doing anything wrong," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not partying, I'm not doing drugs, and I've been eating all my vegetables."
"That's not what I'm concerned about, Harry," his mother said. Her voice was even more tremulous now, enough even to worry Harry, who was still half-asleep.
"What's it about, then?" he asked.
His mother sighed. "Student loans."
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"Run!", the cry broke the dewey stillness of their resting area. *"They found us!"*, Berta's mind screamed. *"Where do we go?"*
Revving engines, coming closer and closer. There was no time. No time! *"GO!"*
They scattered, with no direction or leadership, chaff to the wind. Everyone for themselves, sprinting for their lives.
*DOGS!* Their bloodthirsty howls, eager to chase, set fire to her legs. Oh how she ran. She ran for distance, she ran for cover. *"It can't end like this!'*
She caught her breathe on a small hillock and chanced a look. Men in uniform, combing through the bush. Dogs, running back and forth, flushing her friends from their hiding place. Screams of fear mixed with the excited shouts of the hunters and the hungry yelping of the dogs. Tears streamed as she turned and crested the hill.
*PAIN!* She saw red as a rope lashed her face, then her back, throwing her to the ground, a dog snarling in her face. She heard a chuckle from the hunter as she struggled, and knew it was all over. Then she was forced to her feet and herded to a waiting trailer along with her friends.
*"How did they find us?"*
***************
They were far from the road, so the men used the most utilitarian approach - nothing wasted, not even a bullet, unless absolutely necessary. Their prey was crowded into common farm transports - steel livestock trailers requisitioned from several ranches nearby.
Fear, blood, feces; the stench was unbearable. Berta's trailer was so full, there was no room to sit, much less get comfortable. She prayed that the ride would be short, that it would somehow turn out all right for her and her friends. *"Why us? Why?"*
They endured the suffocating ride for hours without a break or any creature comforts. The men up front smoked, joked, and laughed throughout, taking no notice and no pity on their cargo. When they reached the destination, it was growing dark. In the light of the approaching city, they could see the walls of the compound looming nearer and nearer. The passenger turned, cigarette lounging in his lips, "Y'all be quiet now! The neighbours don't like it when you disturb them." He cackled and turned back to the front.
Berta was herded off the trailer with her friends into muddy enclosure surrounded by humming barbed wire. As the last of them were forced into their new prison, the passenger collected his blood money from another man.
"This load looked better! No more like the previous - I only want the highest quality! Ok Johnson?" The passenger muttered something under his breath, then nodded in agreement to the other. "We found them hiding out in the sticks. It was fun hunting this group down. Almost like the good old days!"
"Well, Johnson, a pleasure doing business with you. Bring me more like her" He pointed at Berta, whose eyes widened. "Cattle like that will feed a family and cover their backs!"
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[WP] A horror story that doesn't involve one of the big three (Paranormal, Aliens, or a Psychopath) just to show me it can actually be done.
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I heard a noise downstairs and a knock of a hard object against the living room table. Chills ran through my body as adrenaline surged through my blood. Quickly, I edged under my bed and grabbed my 9mm pistol. I could remember on the news about a series of break-ins recently and shootings had increased 25% in the last year alone in our city.
Everything was quiet. The intruder knew they were heard and halted their movements. I knew my house perfectly. Each board that squeaked, where each piece of furniture was placed; the blindness from getting old helped in some strange ways, this being one.
I made my way to the living room, which only had one entrance, doubling as the exit. The table was at the far end behind the couch and in front of the entertainment system. I flicked on the lights.
I see a crouched man spring up and pull a hand from under his jacket.
I shoot.
A XboxOne controller flies out of his hand and bounces off the wall. The boy falls back. Blood is pouring out of the wound in his chest and pooling on the carpet. His eyes are looking straight in shear terror, trying to comprehend the haste of his last dying minutes.
I ran over and held his hand. I tried to tell him it was okay. I apologized again and again before reaching for the phone to call and ambulance. The boy couldn't speak and I watched as his breath began to convulse. The look of fright never left his eyes, even after his spirit left him.
It doesn't matter how many times I tell this, I still see him every night. My imagination won't stop placing him in front of me. A stone image of a kid that chose the absolute worst time to break into a man's home, with a hole in his chest in blood-stained clothes.
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"Run!", the cry broke the dewey stillness of their resting area. *"They found us!"*, Berta's mind screamed. *"Where do we go?"*
Revving engines, coming closer and closer. There was no time. No time! *"GO!"*
They scattered, with no direction or leadership, chaff to the wind. Everyone for themselves, sprinting for their lives.
*DOGS!* Their bloodthirsty howls, eager to chase, set fire to her legs. Oh how she ran. She ran for distance, she ran for cover. *"It can't end like this!'*
She caught her breathe on a small hillock and chanced a look. Men in uniform, combing through the bush. Dogs, running back and forth, flushing her friends from their hiding place. Screams of fear mixed with the excited shouts of the hunters and the hungry yelping of the dogs. Tears streamed as she turned and crested the hill.
*PAIN!* She saw red as a rope lashed her face, then her back, throwing her to the ground, a dog snarling in her face. She heard a chuckle from the hunter as she struggled, and knew it was all over. Then she was forced to her feet and herded to a waiting trailer along with her friends.
*"How did they find us?"*
***************
They were far from the road, so the men used the most utilitarian approach - nothing wasted, not even a bullet, unless absolutely necessary. Their prey was crowded into common farm transports - steel livestock trailers requisitioned from several ranches nearby.
Fear, blood, feces; the stench was unbearable. Berta's trailer was so full, there was no room to sit, much less get comfortable. She prayed that the ride would be short, that it would somehow turn out all right for her and her friends. *"Why us? Why?"*
They endured the suffocating ride for hours without a break or any creature comforts. The men up front smoked, joked, and laughed throughout, taking no notice and no pity on their cargo. When they reached the destination, it was growing dark. In the light of the approaching city, they could see the walls of the compound looming nearer and nearer. The passenger turned, cigarette lounging in his lips, "Y'all be quiet now! The neighbours don't like it when you disturb them." He cackled and turned back to the front.
Berta was herded off the trailer with her friends into muddy enclosure surrounded by humming barbed wire. As the last of them were forced into their new prison, the passenger collected his blood money from another man.
"This load looked better! No more like the previous - I only want the highest quality! Ok Johnson?" The passenger muttered something under his breath, then nodded in agreement to the other. "We found them hiding out in the sticks. It was fun hunting this group down. Almost like the good old days!"
"Well, Johnson, a pleasure doing business with you. Bring me more like her" He pointed at Berta, whose eyes widened. "Cattle like that will feed a family and cover their backs!"
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[WP] A horror story that doesn't involve one of the big three (Paranormal, Aliens, or a Psychopath) just to show me it can actually be done.
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Marcus stared at his laptop. He first thought that he could write about killer robots. He then decided that may be considered cheating. That was almost a loop hole. He tapped his nails against his desk and thought "Maybe the scariest things are real problems" He thought about people in soul crushing debt, the loss of a child, or maybe people stuck in the snow freezing to death.
He decided that would be it. He would write about real horror. He continued to write an epic about a troop of French infantry in the battle of Verdun in World War 1. They were stuck in a crater created by a mortar round. If they left they would be mowed down by gunfire. They were dying of thirst and there was water nearby. It was tainted by poison gas, and one of them drank it then died. They ate rats, because there were plentiful. Swarms of them had come to feast on the bodies of the fallen. They survived a month in the crater before they died. The sky turned black from smoke and death. The sounds of war were deafening.
Marcus heard a beep and his screen turned black. "What?" Marcus said out loud. When it finished booting his story was gone. He worked for hours on it. He thought it was a masterpiece. It was gone.
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"Dear fucking God! Is that thing alive?.." Dr. Henry tiptoes closer, adjusting his glasses and squinting to try and see in the lowlight. "Mario, hand me that flashilight and pole."
"No senor, I no, I no.." Mario frowns, struggling to find the words in his broken english.
"For fuckssake Mario! What the hell are we paying you for!," yells Dr. Evans before he snatches the flashlight, "Give it to me." Dr. Evans takes the only working light source and Mario's "feeler" pole, and marches onwards through centuries worth of dust and cobwebs. Each step makes a "crunch" under his tread. His flashlight dips down to locate the source of the noise and all around is a sea of white objects, like shattered china plates, too broken up to be distuingishable in the little bit of whats revealed.
Abigail scoots closer to Mario and whispers into his ear, "Mario, are you sure our team came through here? It doesn't look like anyone has been through this place in centuries." Her voice is tinged with nervousness that, despite her demeanor, clearly shows through. In fact, every member of the small expedition seems to be on edge, but none as much as Mario.
"Si senorita, I lead them to des cave entrance myself," his eyes dart around frantically and he is drenched in sweat, "We should go everybody. I no like des place. Des place es evil." Mario's L in the word evil drags out for a full second, putting unwanted emphasis on it.
"For goodness-sake Mario, please shut up! No one wants to hear about your pagan superstitions! This cave is the find of the century! All 8 of our other team members from the original expedition are probably hanging out in here as we speak, charting artifacts and making records!" Dr. Henry's voice started out outlined by annoyance, but it gradually turns to pure excitement. "I mean just think of it! A pyramind deep underground, only accessible through cave systems right here in the Jungles of South America! Look at these markings," He flashes the light onto paintings on the wall that depict large spiders all surrounding a shirtless bound man, "I've never seen anything like this at all! These are clearly not done by the Aztecs or Mayans, or anyone else! These date back further than anything we've ever found here!, and they seem to be worshipping spiders! If this had been discovered previously it would surely be known!"
"Oh my God!" Dr. Evans voice rings out shrilly, cutting off Dr. Henry, "that thing IS still alive!" Dr. Evans mouth drops in an expression that is of pure horror.
Dr. Henry whirls the light around to the massive mound in the center of the cave, the beam catches on the fist sized pitch black eyeballs and reflects it. The creatures broken hairy legs scuttle as it tries to move away from Dr. Evans prodding it with the pole. It screeches in vain when it can't budge itself.
"My God! I know spiders are technically immortal, but how could it have gotten this large?!" Dr. Henry is basically shouting, "It's just not possible! It would take thousands of years.. Look! it's legs have broken from trying to support its own weight.. This thing has to be at least 30 feet from leg tip to leg tip.. I bet it weighs a ton," Dr. Henry's voice is slowly decreasing in pitch and volume, as though he is coming to a conclusion that just can't be said out loud. "It couldn't have survived unless..." Dr. Henry's last words were almost a whisper.
There's a deep rumble, as if a wall is being moved, far off near the entrance of the cave, while, simultaneously, fire springs forth all around the small group into hidden alcoves that hold fire braziers. The once dark cave is now illuminated, revealing that the white debris all across the floors are in fact bones. Animals and humans.
Robed figures appear across an upper balcony that was previously hidden by the dark, they start chanting in an language that sounds like it was lost to the ages. The group of four all huddle together as if they will have safety in numbers. Movement catches their eye from directly above, they all look up to see thousands of black orbs reflecting the fire light. There are roughly human-sized, humanoid shaped, bundles of cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. 8 of them.
"Unless someone has been feeding it," says Dr. Evans, in a whisper just as low Dr. Henry's from earlier. Abigail screams an ear piercing wail just as the "ceiling" drops.
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[WP] A horror story that doesn't involve one of the big three (Paranormal, Aliens, or a Psychopath) just to show me it can actually be done.
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Do not repeat my experiments. Do not follow in my footsteps.
By God, I wish I lived centuries earlier - that the only records that existed of my research were manuscripts that I could burn, that if I worked hard enough and quick enough, I could erase from existence every word I've written, and let this secret I've uncovered *remain* secret.
Alas. What I've made my life's work, I also struggled to share - I worked hard to publish it in as many journals as I could, to share what I saw as breakthroughs with as many people as possible. And now, I realized that I've only been spreading a seed, a diaspora of forbidden knowledge.
It is better to remain ignorant. It is better to not know what I am talking about. Be confused, and be happy about it. There is no refuge in knowledge. There is only certainty, inevitability, dread. I cannot bear to live knowing what I do now.
But I will, for moments longer, enough time to write this, to plant one more seed. To those who have pursued my research to their ends, who have not listened to my warnings, whose curiosity consumed them as it did me... I shall tell you what you're now seeing. And how to survive as long as I have, against all odds.
What you are seeing are *not delusions.* This is difficult to believe, I know, as my work involves drastic alterations of a brain's normal operations. Under many circumstances, it'd be very understandable to think that these sights are hallucinations, and that you can ignore them. Unfortunately, you cannot feign ignorance. Your first look at one of these predators - even a glimpse - will invariably terrify you. And they, to use the common phrase, *smell fear.* It is how they have lived this long, and how they have made their place as the apex predator of the world. Once you have seen one, *they cannot let you live.*
You must run. They are not fast - they are just everywhere. Escape the ones that know you have seen them, and then pretend to see no others. You will survive, if you can do that.
If you are in denial, remember this - I research neurological blindness. I began my research looking into concept such as hemispatial neglect, where people simply cannot *process or perceive* anything to the 'left'. If the left side of their house is burning down, they will not realize it. If asked to fill in numbers on a clock, they will squeeze every number - 1 to 12 - on the right side. They will apply make-up only to the right side of their face. And so on.
Importantly, these people's very reality, the logic they rely on to live, alters to fit this mistake of their mind. I attempted to cure hemispatial neglect by simply using mirrors - by placing a mirror on the right side of the patient, I could have them interact with their 'left' by relying on their 'right'. But my experiment backfired... When I held something to their left, and told them to reach towards it by using the mirror, they would do one of two things: try to grab the object *inside* the mirror, or strain to reach *over* the mirror to grab the object.
I asked these patients if they understood what a mirror was. And they did! But to them, this mirror reflects opposites - up becomes down, and right becomes... but there *is no left.* If this mirror cannot reflect something, then it *cannot be a mirror.*
When I perceived this phenomena, I became obsessed with other forms of reality-altering perception. Some people are paralyzed, but their brain does not know it - they will provide excuses for why they will not walk, or why they do not raise their arm from the table. Some people experience blindsight, where they cannot *consciously* see, but can still unconsciously see it - being able to navigate a room with objects strewn all over the floor, for example, but never realizing they are doing it.
Remember that, then realize this too - *everyone* is blind like this. In my final study, I noticed an unusual lesion in the brain of most every animal I looked into - presumably stemming from some defect of evolution, eons down the line. I hypothesized this lesion produced a sort of neurological blindness along these lines, preventing us from perceiving something that could be all around us... and, foolishly, I devised a means of altering the brain's normal processes with strong magnetic fields (much like the work done in reversing moral compasses), to circumvent this lesion.
And what I opened my eyes to was the horror that you now see. The chitinous creatures that swarm over every surface, that are the size of a man's torso, whose maws open and close silently, whose carapaces shine with unimaginable hues, a color outside of normal perception... that is *reality.* That is *truth.* That is what you have been kept from seeing, all of your life, by what I thought was a flaw of your brain.
I wish I could leave everyone with the belief that they were delusions - but you will die if you think they cannot hurt you. Because they can hurt you, and if you react to them - if you do not prevent yourself from recoiling in horror, or shivering in terror, at the very sight of them - then they *will* hurt you.
My injuries may be grave, but I do not fear death at this point... I accept it. I cannot live in a world where I must pretend I cannot see these creatures. I cannot will myself to survive if this is the sight I will face every day of my life. Even though I've turned off the magnet, restored myself to blessed blindness... I will never forget they are *there*. The hungering unknown will always be waiting for me, at the edges of the world, waiting until I am alone and forgotten, ripe to become another missing person, a number of a statistic...
I say goodbye to this cursed world. And I hope that those I leave behind will heed my warning, and stay blind.
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"Dear fucking God! Is that thing alive?.." Dr. Henry tiptoes closer, adjusting his glasses and squinting to try and see in the lowlight. "Mario, hand me that flashilight and pole."
"No senor, I no, I no.." Mario frowns, struggling to find the words in his broken english.
"For fuckssake Mario! What the hell are we paying you for!," yells Dr. Evans before he snatches the flashlight, "Give it to me." Dr. Evans takes the only working light source and Mario's "feeler" pole, and marches onwards through centuries worth of dust and cobwebs. Each step makes a "crunch" under his tread. His flashlight dips down to locate the source of the noise and all around is a sea of white objects, like shattered china plates, too broken up to be distuingishable in the little bit of whats revealed.
Abigail scoots closer to Mario and whispers into his ear, "Mario, are you sure our team came through here? It doesn't look like anyone has been through this place in centuries." Her voice is tinged with nervousness that, despite her demeanor, clearly shows through. In fact, every member of the small expedition seems to be on edge, but none as much as Mario.
"Si senorita, I lead them to des cave entrance myself," his eyes dart around frantically and he is drenched in sweat, "We should go everybody. I no like des place. Des place es evil." Mario's L in the word evil drags out for a full second, putting unwanted emphasis on it.
"For goodness-sake Mario, please shut up! No one wants to hear about your pagan superstitions! This cave is the find of the century! All 8 of our other team members from the original expedition are probably hanging out in here as we speak, charting artifacts and making records!" Dr. Henry's voice started out outlined by annoyance, but it gradually turns to pure excitement. "I mean just think of it! A pyramind deep underground, only accessible through cave systems right here in the Jungles of South America! Look at these markings," He flashes the light onto paintings on the wall that depict large spiders all surrounding a shirtless bound man, "I've never seen anything like this at all! These are clearly not done by the Aztecs or Mayans, or anyone else! These date back further than anything we've ever found here!, and they seem to be worshipping spiders! If this had been discovered previously it would surely be known!"
"Oh my God!" Dr. Evans voice rings out shrilly, cutting off Dr. Henry, "that thing IS still alive!" Dr. Evans mouth drops in an expression that is of pure horror.
Dr. Henry whirls the light around to the massive mound in the center of the cave, the beam catches on the fist sized pitch black eyeballs and reflects it. The creatures broken hairy legs scuttle as it tries to move away from Dr. Evans prodding it with the pole. It screeches in vain when it can't budge itself.
"My God! I know spiders are technically immortal, but how could it have gotten this large?!" Dr. Henry is basically shouting, "It's just not possible! It would take thousands of years.. Look! it's legs have broken from trying to support its own weight.. This thing has to be at least 30 feet from leg tip to leg tip.. I bet it weighs a ton," Dr. Henry's voice is slowly decreasing in pitch and volume, as though he is coming to a conclusion that just can't be said out loud. "It couldn't have survived unless..." Dr. Henry's last words were almost a whisper.
There's a deep rumble, as if a wall is being moved, far off near the entrance of the cave, while, simultaneously, fire springs forth all around the small group into hidden alcoves that hold fire braziers. The once dark cave is now illuminated, revealing that the white debris all across the floors are in fact bones. Animals and humans.
Robed figures appear across an upper balcony that was previously hidden by the dark, they start chanting in an language that sounds like it was lost to the ages. The group of four all huddle together as if they will have safety in numbers. Movement catches their eye from directly above, they all look up to see thousands of black orbs reflecting the fire light. There are roughly human-sized, humanoid shaped, bundles of cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. 8 of them.
"Unless someone has been feeding it," says Dr. Evans, in a whisper just as low Dr. Henry's from earlier. Abigail screams an ear piercing wail just as the "ceiling" drops.
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[WP] You and your SO are walking along a subway platform when a badly scarred person comes out of nowhere and pushes your loved one onto the tracks. The stranger looks at you before running away - the face is your own face, unmistakable, but older, and broken. Your SO is in the ICU now, still alive.
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"God DAMMIT!" He yelled. Michael stood just outside the room his father occupied, bracing himself on the crutches he had to use because of his broken leg. "Fuck me!" Some bitch tries to kill me and now my dad's damn near dead of a heart attack!"
We had been in the ER following the strange attack in the subway. He was mad because we had missed the last train by seconds. Of course it was my fault. It's always my fault. He was shouting at me. I was shouting back. I was trying to defend myself. It wasn't my fault that he wouldn't leave when I asked to go, or that he had to chat with the sales clerk for ten minutes after we'd paid. We were standing right next to the tracks, just where the doors had closed moments before we reached them. We might as well have been alone in the world, just the two of us, shouting in the subway.
But some woman came up from behind him. She watched us. I didn't notice at first, but when I did I lost my focus and missed what he said next. The absence of my attention escalated him and he took a step towards me to redirect my attention. That's when she made her move.
She was surprisingly quick, her speed neccitated by her lack of size. It was almost comical, in a surreal kind of way. This little woman, battered and worn, suddenly burst into a run and hurled herself at him.
It never would have worked but for the fact that he had just started to take a step. She'd caught him at the perfect moment, with one foot in the air, and when they collided they both fell onto the tracks. I saw her face just before she hit him. Then they fell.
She landed on top of him and sort of slid and rolled off. She got up, looked at him, made a face that said, "Shit!" and "Fuck me! Dammit!" and looked back at me.
"Run!" she yelled. "Just run!"
She looked at him again, muttered something that might have been, "Shit," and took off down the tracks.
"Run?!?" He practically screamed at me. "I can't run! My fucking leg's broken!"
And so it was. And we were in the emergency room when we got the call from his sister. His dad had had a heart attack and was in the ISU across town. We'd come as soon as we were able, but they weren't letting us in just now.
I was shaken. I knew why she'd done it, but not how. No, I knew why I'd done it. His temper was always just out of sight, provoked by the stupidest, most innocuous things. He must have crossed the line somewhere, and I knew I would have taken what I thought would have been my best shot, but there would have been a backup plan. Maybe even two. She, no, I, was going to try again.
"Just sit, please?" I begged. "Give yourself a break. I mean, shit, just rest a minute. You just have to wait until they let us in."
He laughed ruefully at my accidental pun."No," He tools me more calmly, "I'm still too wound up." He tried to pace, but on crutches he was anything but graceful and he collapsed into the chair, defeated.
"I'm going to find a vending machine and get something to drink. Do you want anything?"
"Yeah, bring me a Mountain Dew. Regular. I need it."
I picked up my purse and surreptitiously checked for my keys. I quietly waked out of the waiting area. My footsteps sounded the hall as my heart pounded my chest. Soon I heard another set of footsteps coming towards me. My footsteps.
We met in the hall. It was unnerving to be looking at myself. We couldn't make eye contact. Never could do it, but it was even harder to try to do it with ourselves. We looked at our mouths instead. I watched myself say, "I knew you wouldn't go. Please," she begged this time. "Please. Just leave. I've already taken care of everything." She held out her hand for my purse and offered me hers in exchange. "Everything you need is in here. Maybe someday I'll be able to explain in more detail."
She was only just slightly older than me, but she looked terribly worn. She had a scar on her face that I didn't recognize. I touched myself there, feeling the smooth skin on my face instead of the scar I saw on hers. She nodded as the realization sink in. I slowly put my hand down to my side. Wordlessly I exchanged my purse for hers, and then I watched as she walked towards the ICU with my purse and a regular Mountain Dew in her hand.
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*Beep. Beep.*
I stared at her lifeless body.
*Beep. Beep.*
Perfectly still, she lay.
*Beep. Beep.*
I still couldn't believe what I'd seen.
*Beep. Beep.*
*Kerchunk.*
I turned to the door
*Creeeaak.*
*Beep. Beep.*
"Mr. Carson, police here to see you."
*Beep. Beep.*
"Okay, I'm coming."
*Beep. Beep.*
Slowly, I walked towards the door.
*Beep. Beep.*
*Creeeaak.*
*Beep. Beep.*
*Kerchunk.*
***
I sat there with them, in a MacDonalds just around the corner from University College Hospital. They'd said we could talk wherever, and I was hungry. In retrospect it was quite an odd choice, but I was hardly thinking straight. I talked through the "incident," as they kept calling it. I'd told them the story from start to finish. About how we were on our way back from London Zoo, waiting on our train from Marylebone to Chorley Wood. About how a man jumped out from seemingly nowhere, and pushed her onto the tracks in front of the departing train. About how I didn't get a clear look at his face.
But, that last part was a lie. I did get a clear look at his face. My face.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Carson. Here's your crime reference number. If you do remember any other details, give us a call using the number on that card there." The officer's voice was drab, but oddly comforting. I don't know how anything could comfort me after what I'd seen. But somehow, this woman's voice did. I took the card from her, tucked it inside my wallet, and headed back to the hospital.
I sat in the waiting for room for what felt like an eternity. In reality it can't have been more than 10 minutes. I slurped the last of my chocolate milkshake, and threw the empty cup into the bin across the room.
____________________________________________
I'm stopping here. I know where I want to take this, but I have to be up early in the morning, so I've decided to just get the opening down and put it in the bank of ideas for later. Thanks for the great prompt - if I ever get around to finishing it then I'll be sure to let you know.
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[WP] You and your SO are walking along a subway platform when a badly scarred person comes out of nowhere and pushes your loved one onto the tracks. The stranger looks at you before running away - the face is your own face, unmistakable, but older, and broken. Your SO is in the ICU now, still alive.
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I clung to Drew’s hand with all my might.
To think that a woman would come from out of nowhere and push him onto a set of train tracks was shocking. However, what irked me the most is that when I looked into her face, I saw an older version of myself looking back. In fact, it’s quite possible she was me –somehow.
“Claire. . .” Drew whispered.
I gripped his hand tighter. “Babe, it’s okay. You’re in the hospital.”
“Where the hell. . . hospital?” Drew pulled at the drip in his arm.
“Relax, no, you’re going to hurt yourself,” I said.
“I don’t need to be here!” Drew snapped.
His eyes were dark and furious. They reminded me of the lady that had pushed him. That sad look she gave me before running away. I shook the feeling off. “The doctors are coming now. Can you hold on a few minutes?”
Drew frowned at me and then settled back against the bed. He held a hand to his head and breathed in and out with his eyes closed. His forearm had a large graze on it, which was mostly covered with a bandage. Luckily, a group of strangers helped pull him off the tracks before the train came. I don’t know what I’d do if I’d lost him. I needed Drew more than anything.
“The train. . .” he said, “don’t just sit there, Claire. I’m thirsty.”
I recoiled from the order. When he was upset, he usually got like this or worse. But when things were good they were great, so I tried my best to be a good wife. I got up and filled a cup of water for him from the distiller in the corner of the room. “You should eat,” I said.
Drew ignored me and drank back the cup in one gulp. He held it out expectantly and without a thank you.
The vision of the woman came back to me. She had paused before she turned and ran, it’s as if she wanted to tell me something. But instead she glanced at Drew then back at me, and then left.
I took the cup and filled more water.
“A full cup?” Drew said.
“If you wanted less you could have told me, babe,” I said.
He gritted his teeth. “Nevermind. . .”
I reached for the cup. Drew held his hand out in front of mine. “I said, nevermind.”
“I want to pour some out, don’t be difficult.”
Drew clasped a hand around my forearm. I stared at him in a moment of tense silence. My eyes scanned the rest of his face as well. He had a bruise under his eye and cuts on his chin. The woman who had pushed him had a bruise on her cheek as well, and her eye, it was puffy –but maybe covered in make-up.
When she pushed him, her face hadn’t been one of malice, either. Which struck me as odd. Neither was it anger or even revenge, but fear. Dark eyes that were wide and hands unsteady. Her clothes came back to me as well. The long denim coat which covered her shirt and pants was not so different to the ones in my own closet.
“Let me go,” I said to Drew.
He squinted at me and shoved my arm away. My heart thudded in my chest, so loud that it filled my ears and throbbed under my neck.
“I need some time alone,” Drew said.
I walked to the door and paused. “Me too.”
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*Beep. Beep.*
I stared at her lifeless body.
*Beep. Beep.*
Perfectly still, she lay.
*Beep. Beep.*
I still couldn't believe what I'd seen.
*Beep. Beep.*
*Kerchunk.*
I turned to the door
*Creeeaak.*
*Beep. Beep.*
"Mr. Carson, police here to see you."
*Beep. Beep.*
"Okay, I'm coming."
*Beep. Beep.*
Slowly, I walked towards the door.
*Beep. Beep.*
*Creeeaak.*
*Beep. Beep.*
*Kerchunk.*
***
I sat there with them, in a MacDonalds just around the corner from University College Hospital. They'd said we could talk wherever, and I was hungry. In retrospect it was quite an odd choice, but I was hardly thinking straight. I talked through the "incident," as they kept calling it. I'd told them the story from start to finish. About how we were on our way back from London Zoo, waiting on our train from Marylebone to Chorley Wood. About how a man jumped out from seemingly nowhere, and pushed her onto the tracks in front of the departing train. About how I didn't get a clear look at his face.
But, that last part was a lie. I did get a clear look at his face. My face.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Carson. Here's your crime reference number. If you do remember any other details, give us a call using the number on that card there." The officer's voice was drab, but oddly comforting. I don't know how anything could comfort me after what I'd seen. But somehow, this woman's voice did. I took the card from her, tucked it inside my wallet, and headed back to the hospital.
I sat in the waiting for room for what felt like an eternity. In reality it can't have been more than 10 minutes. I slurped the last of my chocolate milkshake, and threw the empty cup into the bin across the room.
____________________________________________
I'm stopping here. I know where I want to take this, but I have to be up early in the morning, so I've decided to just get the opening down and put it in the bank of ideas for later. Thanks for the great prompt - if I ever get around to finishing it then I'll be sure to let you know.
|
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